Glamour. Definition:

“an attractive or exciting quality that makes certain people or things seem appealing;

enchantment; magic”

At a friend’s 50th birthday party – my novel on the table, his on another friend’s Kindle and a tape of his band playing in the background.

His actor friend fresh from an audition, rolling his baritone voice around accents and anecdotes.

Another guest, a woman of elegant years, learning to play the bass guitar, her tutor once part of a successful heavy metal band – and a moment of less-than-six-degrees-of, as another guest realised they too knew the same guy, in a different setting.

The neighbour, a retired airman, restoring a Spitfire in the garage behind his mid-Victorian terrace. three demijohns of wine in the sunshine

Home-printed beer labels, professionally impressive, on bottles of a home-brewed beer that lived up to all the hype promised on paper. Wine too, and bread; jam and pickles and cake. Fresh-grown strawberries from the garden. Honey from back-garden bees.

Three voices reading a story in parts, and our fresh laughter filling the room.

From webs like this is true glamour spun, and the lives we lead outside our work weave tighter webs than within.

There are so many of us creative folk making our art outside the confines of an artist’s life. Some of us prefer the regularity of a monthly pay cheque. Some of us find the flim-flam and puffery of promotion too preposterous. Some of us don’t want to delve into the depths of our souls to find meaningful work, and push out our perfectly formed art without searching for angst or drama that might not be there in the first place.

And some of us – poets, I’m looking at you – know we won’t pay the bills with our art, ever. Doesn’t stop us making it. Because it’s ours.

Glamour lies in the life, not the gloss.

Published in: on August 15, 2013 at 12:00 am  Comments (7)  
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