Musician’s Creative Journey: Week Six Reflections
A Musician’s Creative Journey
This post is part of my ongoing Musician’s Creative Journey—a weekly practice of reflection through music, writing, and daily life.
The snow is melting. My work in the studio has been productive. My commitment to this project with the goal of getting 1% better each day is bringing new life and depth to my creative work.
Thank you for reading and for being part of Musician’s Creative journey.
— k
Day One – February 5th, 2026
I saw Kermit in the headlights on a highway, through the windshield of a Chevy van.
Outside of Youngstown. 1981.
I moved to Youngstown, Ohio, in 1981 to play with a cover band called “Blue Smoke,” before heading to New York City to become a rock star. I was nineteen.
Riding home from band practice in Canton, Ohio, in the back of Paul Bires’ van, I climbed up from the cargo floor to see where we were. As I looked out the windshield, I caught a flash of green along the side of the highway.
I screamed, “Stop the van!”
Paul slammed on the brakes and pulled over. I jumped out the side door before the van had even come to a complete stop and took off running down the highway toward the green shape I’d seen in the headlights.
It was a Kermit doll lying there in perfect condition.
I ran back to the van Paul still recovering from the near heart attack I’d just caused wondering what in the world was going on. Grinning and laughing, I held up Kermit like a trophy.
I love to laugh, but life can be hard to laugh at when things get heavy. Hence Kermit.
It’s the little things. Kermit became a reminder to laugh and a reminder to act. I was never afraid to follow my muse, my gut, my curiosity, no matter how irrational it may have seemed in the moment.
I’m grateful I survived those years. And I’m grateful for the touchstones that surround me now small symbols of the journey I’ve lived.
Day Two – February 6th, 2026
Like an anvil is to a blacksmith, a ’65 Strat is to a guitarist.
There wasn’t a scratch on this guitar when I purchased it in 1981 for $800 at Fred Moore Music in Lexington, Kentucky.
I had no idea then the magic it would bring into my life.
Before Netflix and YouTube, there was the midnight movie at the Kentucky Theatre in Lexington, Kentucky, every Friday and Saturday night. That’s where I experienced Led Zeppelin: The Song Remains the Same, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and Woodstock. I remember seeing Jimi Hendrix play for the first time on the big screen. He had a white Fender Strat, a bandana tied around his head, and a wall of Marshall amps behind him.
I marched into Fred Moore Music in Chevy Chase—where I was taking lessons and would later teach—and begged Freddie, the owner, to order me one just like it. I called every day to see if it had arrived.
Little did I know, he wasn’t even a Fender dealer, and that white guitar would never come. But after weeks of asking and calling, one day I walked in and Freddie said, “I’ve got your guitar hanging on the wall.”
I ran over to see it—no white guitar in sight.
Freddie pointed to the sunburst Strat hanging near the front window.
“It’s not white,” I said.
“No,” he replied, “but it’s the guitar you need. It’s better than any Fender Strat you’ll find.”
It was $800. I asked for the case, told him I’d pay him as fast as I could, and drove straight to see Ron Harris to have it set up.
I knew nothing about this guitar other than that it looked new, it was the wrong color, and Freddie said it was what I needed.
Ron looked at it, checked the serial number, and his eyes got big.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve got?” he asked.
Not wanting to look dumb, I said, “Yes—of course I know.”
He could tell I didn’t have a clue. He explained that it was a vintage Strat, made before Leo Fender sold the company. I was lucky to have it.
There wasn’t a scratch on that guitar in 1981.
Now there’s almost no paint left.
That guitar became an extension of my body and my soul. The wear and tear on it frames my story. It has been the truest measuring stick of my life.
Day Three – February 7, 2026
Sustain. Clarity. Noise.
There’s a fine line.
Two Screamers in series.
Finding your tone as a guitarist is like finding your identity as a human being. That may sound dramatic, but if music is the modality through which you communicate your art, it matters.
My guitar has allowed me to express what words could never convey. The tone and sustain I used pouring my heart and soul into every note shaped my sound. Every blues-rock guitarist searches for the perfect tone and just the right amount of sustain to play with ease and fluidity.
As a female guitarist, I needed that sustain to compensate for any hand strength I may not have naturally had. I didn’t want to be “good for a girl.” I wanted to transcend labels and become the best player I could possibly be.
Thanks to Duane Adams, my soundman and guitar-gear soulmate. He suggested I try running two Tube Screamers in series. That combination gave me the tone I was searching for and allowed me to play at a volume that wouldn’t get me fired from gigs.
If you’re not a guitarist, here’s the simple version: you either turn your amp up loud enough for the tubes to naturally produce sustain, or you find a way to create that sustain before amplification. Two Tube Screamers became the secret to my sound and were instrumental in developing my style.
Each note played on a guitar is like a word spoken from a poem. If it makes you feel something, it’s never forgotten.
Day Four – February 8, 2026
We create the sacred places in our lives. No matter how big or how small, we create meaning.
Creating a sacred space for reflection or meditation isn’t about being religious or even spiritual, it’s about tending to the garden of the soul. It’s about what it means to be human, and what it means to experience awe for the life we’ve been given.
I grew up in a Southern Baptist preacher’s family. We went to church every Sunday morning, every Sunday night, every Wednesday evening, and for every special occasion. I never watched The Ed Sullivan Show, The Partridge Family, or saw The Wizard of Oz in its entirety. So when I first discovered Jimi Hendrix, I had never heard anything like it.
Throughout my career, before placing my guitar back in its case, I developed a ritual, one that symbolized connection and respect. I would give it a kiss.
Now, as a writer and creative artist, I’ve maintained that same spirit of connection and respect for my work by creating a studio and writing space that feels sacred—set apart from the noise of the world. It’s a place where I can reflect, create, and listen to my inner voice.
I’m a member of St. Thomas Episcopal Church in Terrace Park. There’s a small structure on the property a simple box with a roof, glass front, and light inside. During the day, it can go unnoticed. But at night, it glows.
It serves as a reminder that whatever we hold as sacred has the power to shape us.
My guitar.
My studio.
My writing space.
These have all been places of refuge for my creative soul, and they continue to carry me forward.
Day Five – February 9th, 2026
It’s cold. Snow melting, slowly.
A tiny Buddha beginning to emerge.
I love the snow, it quiets everything. Life slows down, things shut down, and solitude becomes easier to find. But snow melts, and life reemerges with all the salt, slush, and mud left behind after the storm.
For a brief moment, though, the earth feels tamed by nature, and we see just how small and how interdependent we all are.
This summer, when it’s 100 degrees, I’ll wish for the snow to return. And when I see the Buddha baking in the sun, I’ll remember this photo.
It’s the little things that remind us what matters. Big things demand our attention. They freeze us in place and sometimes alter our path entirely. Little things catch our eye. They make us pause, stop, listen, reflect, and remember.
It may be winter but summer will be here soon enough.
Day Six – February 10th, 2026
Flashback to a different time.
Main Street in Milford.
An ice cream parlor in the winter snow.
As my parents aged, I called to check on them every day. I remember my dad telling me he had found an old bicycle while delivering Meals on Wheels. He wanted to restore it—he was in his early eighties.
He never completed the project. His health was failing. But it gave him something to dream about, something to look forward to, something to talk about and a way to reflect on all the projects he had once finished with his own two hands.
Walking down Main Street in Milford, Ohio, I saw this bicycle in the window of an old-fashioned ice cream parlor. It stopped me. It made me think of my dad.
I took the picture wishing I could send it to him.
It was one of those moments when I reached for the phone and then remembered he’s not there.
I miss my dad.
The bike frame still hangs on the wall of the shed in Lexington, above a bucket of parts, at the rental property we own. I doubt it will ever return to the glory it once held for someone else.
But it will always remind me of the glory I feel for having had my dad.
Day Seven – February 11th, 2026
The snow has melted
37 days until spring.
Resilience.
Mr. Frog, placed just a few feet in front of Buddha, was buried under two feet of snow piled high by the snowplows for over a week. Each day, I checked to see if he was still there. I wondered if he would survive legs crossed, arms folded, not a care in the world.
The frog is actually secured by a six-inch wire that anchors him in place.
As I reflect, I think about the anchors in my own life friends, music, writing, and community. I need anchors. We all do.
There’s very little built-in structure for an artist. I create projects, goals, missions—you name it. After sixteen CDs and thousands of shows, I’ve learned resilience. But it’s the anchors around me that have been the true stabilizing force.
The snow has melted.
Thirty-seven days until spring.
Week Six Wrap-Up – A Musician’s Creative Journey
This wraps up week six of my Musician’s Creative Journey. I continue one day at a time. Each image serves as a reminder to pause, reflect, and stay the course.
This Musician’s Creative Journey continues to evolve, one week and one reflection at a time.
You can read Week Five of Musicians Creative Journey as well to continue the reflection, Week Seven of my creative journey is Coming Soon
— k
P.S. I invite you to subscribe to my Substack , a place to go deeper and build community through connection.
An Invitation to Write
Set a timer for ten minutes. Write without stopping.
Writing prompts:
- Write about resilience—where do you find it in your life?
- Where does your resilience come from? Who modeled resilience for you?
Resources
Recently, I’ve been listening to The Divine Within by Aldous Huxley for a second time. I find this book both fascinating and inspiring.
Bye for now…
