I love words. I love writing. I have no idea whether my writing is any good. I know that technically, grammatically, it’s far from perfect. I write by feel, so sometimes there are big mistakes. But I love it. Huge respect and eternal thanks to my Portuguese English teacher Mrs Defonseca. She made Brislington School worth going to. Mrs Defonseca taught me to express myself, something I could not any other way. And when I read newspapers and books, I still learn stuff. Last week, I learned so much more.
A week in Lanzarote and I read Bruce Springsteen’s autobiography Born To Run. Quite simply, the best rock autobiography I have ever read. Not just the narrative, but, yes, the feel. The Boss brought his life alive to the reader. He gave us colour and clarity, he put us on the stage and he allowed us to walk, invisibly, through his life. I have never been to America, but within a few chapters, I was a citizen of Freehold. By proxy.
That Springsteen is so humble helps. That he is a storyteller who understands the working man, and later, working woman, the pages explode into life. For Freehold, insert anywhere.
He never sold out, never compromised, never chased the money in place of his art. Took chances and risked everything. Now, he has no need to risk everything, but like Neil Young, Springsteen pushes the boundaries, is not afraid to alienate the ignorant or the bigot. True folk music, voice of the people.
Yes, I am inspired by Springsteen. His words command me to do better, to achieve better standards, to write my killer book, my killer blog, my killer Bristol Rovers’ programme article better than I have ever done before.
For Bruce Springsteen, insert Mrs Defonseca, Clive James, Keith Brookman and everyone else who made me want to write and write better every day.
It’s only words and words are all I have. Thanks to some great writers, I’m still striving. Thanks, Bruce.
