It's been quiet around here for a few months.
I wish I could say I stepped away to work out some grand plan for Six-String Travels. I didn't. The truth is, I got discouraged.
I applied for a press pass to AmericanaFest and got turned down. They said press space was limited, which is fair enough. Plenty of people want those passes, and there are only so many to go around.
Still, it bummed me out more than I expected.
I wasn't looking for a red carpet. I wanted the chance to cover music I care about and keep building something of my own. When the answer was no, I started wondering if anybody was paying attention — or if I was just fooling myself.
For a while, I thought about giving up on Six-String Travels altogether.
THE STORIES KEPT PULLING ME BACK
The problem was, I never stopped caring about the music.
I spent months following the family tree of Americana — Kris Kristofferson, John Prine, Guy Clark, and the writers who came before them. Then I followed the branches into Steve Earle and the people who shaped him. One name led to another song, another record, another story.
That may be the part I love most: not only the music, but the stories behind it. Where a song came from. Who influenced whom. How one writer handed something down to the next. How the founders gave this music its bones before anybody settled on what to call it.
I still don't know exactly what direction this publication should take. But I know I want to keep learning about Americana and writing about what I find. Maybe that curiosity is the direction, at least for now.
THE GUITAR KEPT ME MOVING
While the newsletter sat quiet, I kept playing guitar. I'm still an advanced beginner, which mostly means I know enough to hear how far I have left to go.
Some days the chord changes come cleaner. Some days my fingers feel rented. I can work on one small thing for hours, think I finally have it, and lose it again the next morning.
But every so often, something clicks. A rhythm settles in. A chord rings the way it should. A song starts sounding like a song instead of an argument between my two hands.
Those little advances matter. So do the bad days. I want to write about both — not as an expert handing down lessons, but as somebody still learning, still practicing, and still trying to understand why a few honest chords can carry so much weight.
I DON'T HAVE A MAP
So this is the comeback, though it doesn't come with a neat mission statement or a twelve-month plan.
I'll write about the lineage of this music and the people behind the songs. I'll share updates from the practice room — the progress, the setbacks, and the things that finally make sense after a hundred clumsy tries. And I'll keep following whatever road connects the guitars, the music, and the stories worth telling.
The direction may change as I go. I'm all right with that.
AmericanaFest said no. For a little while, I nearly let that answer decide the whole thing. But one pass was never the reason I started writing, and it shouldn't be the reason I stop.
Six-String Travels is still here. So am I.
I'm not sure where this road leads next. I just know I want to keep walking it — with a guitar in my hands and a good story somewhere up ahead.