Good Enough

1992 The Mission, San Francisco

I’ve been listening to the mastered chapters of the audiobook I’ve recorded of the memoir Swollen Appetite - a book about the epic 5-year run I spent in San Francisco in the 1990s becoming an artist. I became an artist, and eventually, a much better one after I got sober. The book is in its post-production stages for paperback, ebook, and audiobook, and the release date is sometime this summer. Listening on earbuds as I walk through the local cemeteries and neighborhoods, the tracks sound fast but good. All 6.25 hours of ‘em. Better than I thought they would sound, considering I recorded in frenetic snatches, mostly on nights after work when my husband Brian had band rehearsals. 

I can’t remember why I wanted to record Swollen Appetite. But now that it’s done, I’m glad I did. It’s surprising how hard it is to record oneself reading. Singing is so much easier. With a song, there is a key and a melody, and the feeling the instruments provide that would land me back in almost the same way as I was a lyric before. Reading aloud, it was a challenge to resume recording the narration in the same voice. Each re-entry was a loss of control. I marked the spot where the mic and my chin were positioned with masking tape. I’d listen back and speak along (like you do when you punch a vocal on a song recording) but when I pushed the record button, I sounded like someone else. 

It makes me wonder, how many voices do I have? I’m a different person on BlueSky than I am on Facebook or Substack. 

Zira the producer asleep at the wheel.

I could have taken a voice-over class. Margaret Belton gave me some excellent pointers and made me a video of her home recording booth. Brian is my in-house art department, and also taught me how to use the Logic software, Peter Craft gave us a good mic, and Dave Cuetter helped with post-production pro tips. At the ripe old age of 61, I don’t have time to learn how to do something professionally before doing it. That’s also how 30-year-old Sandra felt, stomping through San Francisco and forcing her way into the music scene. Any project I undertake has the whiff of now or never wafting around it. My nervous system defaults to feeling behind the 8-ball. I have to talk myself down; otherwise, the window will close on my fingers. My impatience is fueled by an ancient urgency that time is running out. A lack of skill has never stopped me from churning out the work. As I age, I marvel at my scrappy ways more than despair. ”Good enough” has become a motto I stand by. 

I’m reading Neko Case’s engaging and fierce memoir, The Harder I Fight, The More I Love You. I can relate to how her buttons were installed – both of us came from childhoods with mentally-off parents and were neglected, poor, and lonely as hell. It made us inventive and mad. Fueled by fire, she loved punk rock and country music, while I loved new wave and country. We both lived in Cocoa Beach, Florida, as wee ones. But Neko could stick with the road and handle all the hard work it takes to be an innovative, experienced musician who made a living (albeit tight) by not giving up. I couldn’t handle that lifestyle. I wasn’t brave enough. I could be a part-time musician, but I always needed the security of a day job and health insurance. Plus, Neko has a voice that slays. I was a good singer at best. Good enough to get on a mic and learn the bass. Good enough to write and record original songs and a memoir about becoming a singer and getting sober. 

The audiobook was recorded in snatches, just like the memories that compile the stories. Early readers of the memoir asked how I could remember so many details so clearly. While drunk! The answer lies in a box of photos, a few old journals, cassettes filled with drunk poetry readings, and a binder with stepwork from 1997. Some recollections from folks willing to read the pages written about us. Flavors and memories were fueled by pouring over those artifacts, those conversations. I wriggled further into the rabbit hole of those five years in San Francisco in the 90s, and after spending enough time there, I could feel who I was then and tell you my story. Cobbled together one memory, one relationship, one band, one cross-country trip, one after the other, one imperfect re-do at a time. 

A preview of the Audiobook, Swollen Appetite. Promo designed and made by Brian Mello.