I like blues, the music. I like blue, the color. But I hate blues, the feeling. It’s a draggy, soggy, weight that just makes everything seem blurry even though I see fine. The blues can come from memories, bad days, fast days, slow motion days, or just a comment/moment that hit you wrong. And right now, I have the blues.
I looked around at my life and I saw a lot of room for improvement. Wow. Just saying it makes it very real. Yeah, the blues.
Don’t sing the blues, Feel the blues
Because it is so real, I can write it. Just like blues song writers use their lives to move and groove their music, I used my soul to write a deep color blue.
In a book currently in progress, a character of mine, has the blues. Before when I wrote the scene, I thought this character was feeling down. But as I reread, I know, he don’t know the blues. He doesn’t look out onto the sun and wish the clouds would blank it out. He doesn’t hide inside his mind, withdrawing from the people he loves most. He doesn’t mope like a man with the blues mopes. This man didn’t listen to Thelonious Monk with cigarette in hand, mind void of importance. Or watch the world go by on a busy street corner ridiculing materialism.
It’s time he feels the heavy haze known as the blues.