I have always been a lover of music. Not “great” music or traditional music, but plain ol’ rock and roll. I was one of those baby boomers who came of age with the Beatles, and soon thereafter I discovered many other artists I liked, such as the Kinks, Bob Dylan, Simon and Garfunkel, and so on through the 70s (Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Bruce Springsteen, the Strawbs, the Moody Blues), 80s (Chris de Burgh, Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers, Slade, U2) into the 90s (Richard Thompson, Steve Forbert, John Hiatt, The Offspring).

But one thing I never did was play music. I recall mentioning taking lessons to my parents when I was a child living in Cliffside Park, and my mother told me we could not afford them. So I concentrated my creativity on writing science fiction and was satisfied with listening to music.

When Andy was a sophomore in high school, he became interested in guitar and started taking lessons. He did so for three years, but when he was a senior he found it difficult to go to all his lessons because of school commitments, so I decided to alternate with him. When he graduated, I continued the lessons and am now in my 3rd year doing so and I have just finished the third book in the series I have been using. We’re having trouble ordering the fourth book though, since the publisher told my instructor that rarely does anybody take lessons that far into the series.

I realize that I am not a natural guitar player, and after 3+ years I do not feel comfortable playing in front of anybody except my family (of course, since how would I practice otherwise?). Besides the lessons in the book, I enjoy playing songs by Dylan, the Beatles, and Pink Floyd, which, after all, is the reason for doing it. I certainly have no illusions about ever being good enough to play publicly, nor do I care to do so. I am enjoying writing fiction for an audience; playing guitar is just for me.