Over the last several years I have
been undergoing a transformation. The ways of the world are not my ways
anymore, I have renewed my relationship with my Heavenly Father and my tastes
have changed accordingly.
When I was a DJ, although I would come to love different
genres, my favorite music would always be what would I guess today be called
Outlaw Country, however, as I matured in my faith, there are now only two of
the artists that I listen to now. This is about one of them.
Waylon Jennings was born in Littlefield, TX in 1937 and
wanted nothing more than to make music, and to make it his way.
The stories have all been told, about his work with Buddy
Holly, his lifestyle, the drugs and the women. The stories about the way he
fought a Nashville ‘system’ to make music his way, or else. Actually, Waylon
told the stories on himself.
Waylon was different from most of the pack because he
grew. His songs were never the “let drink and be stupid” songs that
characterize most of country music.
But his popularity was based on more than his songs-this
was someone who had walked away from Nashville after becoming a star, so
obviously, stardom was not what he was after: it was his music, his stories, or
he wasn’t interested.
I can relate to that: not that I am like a Waylon,
although I too am a writer. I’ve not had the success of Ol Hoss, but I do
things my ways where my writing is concerned.
As I was writing this blog, I remembered when I was a
reporter for a small town paper in Urbana, OH. Although it was not the first time
my words were in print, it was the first time writing was producing a steady paycheck,
but it was becoming painful. Obviously, the editor believed I had some talent or
he wouldn’t have given me a shot, but just a few months later, he was criticizing
every story I did, until I was telling the story the way he wanted it said. He told me
at one point, I didn’t know what a good story was, it doesn’t take a lot of
imagination to take the next logical leap in his argument-that I wouldn’t know
how to write it if I stumbled upon it. For someone who has wanted nothing more than
to write, that was devastating: but I knew in my heart what he said was untrue. After an
argument that proceeded to get loud, I think I may have called him everything
but a child of God, I quit and walked out.
It was an easy decision, and one I never regretted. I
think I lasted six months, I may have lasted longer: but my creativity and
confidence in my writing has never wavered. Much like Waylon, it’s my stories,
and it’s my way.
Waylon died in 2002 from diabetes, but his
creativity and story will continue to inspire countless generations.
