Zoom In (writer’s room)

We’re not in the room. We’re Zoomin with a purpose. Two full screens of thumbnails of hearts, minds, and optimistic ambition. I’m here too.

I recall a songwriter support network back in the day called TAXI. For a small monthly stipend, you too can get an email of what different labels were looking for. Back then, like today, we all wanted to be discovered. We wanted to write to the audience. We were (are) driven by optimism and ambition. In the era before Zoom we had no feedback loop. And even my top musician friends who tried TAXI got ZERO songs forwarded on by the moderators to the “labels.” None. I dropped that membership soon after.

Tonight, all of us hopefuls… Even the grandma-ish woman missing a tooth and swaddled in sparkling black furry scarves… Oh, wait, she’s fallen asleep. I can’t keep my mind on the pitches, they are not my cup of tea, my streaming preference, my demographic filter bubble. Mostly, I’m a tad bored. I am not pitching tonight. I see from the two “coaches” that they are here because, well, I don’t exactly know why they are here. Their credentials don’t come up with much when Googled, so I’m doing Facebook, writing this story and rejoining with every new presenter. Or trying to.

One winner, though, a woman from NZ with a pitch involving psychedelics and speaking to cats. Her accent and large array of various stringed instruments hanging behind her are a bit distracting. And that’s it, she’s done, homerun, claps and giggles all around. It was funny.

Jabba’s grandma has signed out in the chat and the next pitch is starting to drag. The next episode of Mandolorian has just dropped into my download folder.

Zoom out.

Read more Short-Short Stories from John.