Author: Dan Steven Erickson

Remove the Fluff

What happens when you get rid of the mask you put on to act an acceptable member of society? What if you stop trying to be who you think you’re expected to be? I’ve been on a personal journey to remove the fluff. You know, all the excess, the things we carry around because we believe that’s what we’re supposed to do. I’m stripping myself naked so to speak.

No, I’m not taking off all my clothes. I’m talking about finding my core creator, the honest writer, the one who doesn’t care what others think. I’ve used my share of profanity in my writing. Why? Because I don’t care if I offend anyone. However, it’s also not my goal to be offensive. My goal isn’t even to be authentic. It goes deeper.

My goal is to be the truest representation of myself that I can be, even if others don’t like it.

How can I reach that goal? I can start by removing the fluff, by telling it like it is. In writing, I’ve found poetry to be the best kind of writing for that. Music is good for expressing the deeper emotions. But in either case, keeping it simple, primal, and direct is key.

You might have noticed that the essays on this site are short and to the point. That is the point. Much of the writing I see today is too verbose. Why use analogies if you can just tell it like it is? Niceties and politeness only go so far. Stop hiding behind societal norms. If you have dirty thoughts, share them. If you want to write a book about homosexuality, or suicide, do it.

Don’t be afraid to be who you are, to write how you feel. It doesn’t matter what others think, if they agree or disagree. Just write your core. Be direct. Remove the fluff. – dse

Train Stories

A life well lived leads to lots of stories. I have a bunch of train stories to tell. In my debut book, A Train Called Forgiveness, I mix some of my train stories with my childhood as a victim of an abusive cult. I like to think the result is unique.

There’s more. There’s a lot more.

Recently, I wrote a series of confessional poems about some of the crazy stuff I did in my late teens and throughout my twenties. Trains play a significant role. I’ve rode more than 50,000 miles on Amtrak trains, and many more miles if you add in all the Greyhound buses. I have stories to tell.

Trains aren’t really the point. It’s the things that happen to us in life that make for the stories we tell. I’ve hitchhiked hundreds of miles, drank too much, loved too hard, had sex in unusual places, smoked too many cigarettes, driven too fast, and been to most every state and major city in the United States.

I’ve got stories. Train stories. I’ve tasted failure, success, life, and death.

I have stories to tell, and tell them I will. In time, you’ll find more short stories in my writing mix. They’ll come in many forms: poems, songs, essays, pictures, and in the wail of a guitar or the simple moan of a blues harp. – dse

Risk

In today’s world, we must be willing to take risks. Whether you decide to get the COVID-19 vaccine or not: risk. Your political stance and willingness to fight for what you believe: risk. Driving a car: risk.

The popular entertainment world is full of talent. It’s also full of people who are not willing to take creative risks. It might hit them in the pocketbook. It’s better to stick with what sells. This is why we see so much cheap imitation art, and a lack of intuitive thinking among popular artists and musicians. There are great artists and musicians that infiltrate pop culture, but they are the marginal, not the norm.

Studies show that it’s more often those who come from wealthy families who create some of the greatest works of art. And why wouldn’t it be? If money is less of a factor, it gives them more freedom to create work that breaks norms. They have more freedom to risk creating the new and unusual.

To make great and unique art, profit can’t be the primary goal. If it is, the art will be tainted by the need to stay within the bounds of what is commercially successful. Perhaps, any thought of creating art that will hold monetary value is vain. There are four fundamental roles of the visual arts, none of which are profit. – dse

On Minimalism

If you’ve followed my writing journey, you know I like the idea of minimalism. But I want to set the record straight concerning what minimalism is.

First, minimalism is not a lifestyle. Period. You might live simply, perhaps economically and environmentally-friendly. But that’s not minimalism. Minimalism is a specific form used in architecture, art, photography, music, and writing. A sparsely-decorated home is quite possibly a form of minimalism, but it’s the aesthetic of it that makes it minimalist, not your lifestyle.

Do I prefer to live small and with less stuff than the average Joe? Yes. Does that make me a minimalist. No. It just means I understand the value of living with fewer things.

Creating music with a repetitive beat and very little melodic structure, however, is a practice in minimalism. Writing poetry that uses the fewest words possible to relate meaning is minimalism in writing. Photography that focuses on a single subject could be considered minimalist.

Simple living is a lifestyle. Minimalism is an art form.

I attempt both, however, I’m much more interested in the art of the matter. – dse

Fellow Travelers

My fifth EP as Anderhill is Fellow Travelers. No, it’s not about communism or socialism, it’s just more experimental electronic music. The title simply suggests that the music is for like-minded people, those who either write or appreciate listening to music with ambient and droning qualities to it.

The EP seems to pick up where the last one, Time & Texture, left off. I could almost add the two EPs together and make a single LP, yet there are subtle differences between the two works. Fellow Travelers has fewer drums and more drones.

It’s another step in my musical journey that continues to lead me up new and unique paths in electronic music composition. – dse

Night

Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night with words and ideas running through my head. Sometimes, they’re just there, and other times they come in a dream. In both cases, they are so powerful that I have no choice but to write them down.

Writing can be a sort of magic. Something similar to what happens at night can happen in the day, while walking, sitting, or driving. But the words that come at night, in my sleep, those are often the best. I don’t pretend to understand how it works, or why. It just happens.

The words come. I wake. I write.

Writers write. That’s just what we do. One must take advantage of the moment, even if it comes in the middle of the night. – dse