I’ve always loved music. I mean, I was raised by a musician! When I was a kid, the first songs that caught my attention, besides Paul’s Polka, were Christmas classics. Oh Come All Yee Faithful, Do You See What I See, Silent Night. Away In a Manger. I was also struck by songs on AM radio, when everyone was getting ready for grade school. Johnny Cash’s: Ring of Fire. The Vogues: Five O’clock World. Garry Lewis and The Pace Makers: This Diamond Ring. The Singing Nun: Dominique. The first song I was loopy for, as a prepubescent teen, was, Spirit in The Sky: by Norman Greenbaum, and Sweet City Woman: by the Stampeders.

When my head was still soft, my dad tried to teach me the accordion. Every time I made a mistake, he’d hit me with a pencil. I think, those pencils had a big impact on me becoming a writer. Anyway, the accordion didn’t take; the same as, trying to put that moon-sand, back in an Etcher-sketch, out-running mall security in clown shoes, or learning trigonomnomotree, trigonamintrie, trigonymtehehe. You know what I mean. Long story short; schooling didn’t take. I dropped out in grade eleven, to join a country band. I figured, if it only took eight years to be a doctor; eleven years of solid C minus’s, was more than enough education, to play drums in a bar band. I took night classes and got my high school diploma; then took a ton of writing classes, through University and online colleges, and Adult Education. (I actually won 500$ in a hockey tournament; I used it to take the preparatory, U of A English, up grade course.

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I’ll start by stating, I’ve had many jobs, while figuring out my so called life. Drummer. Janitor. Dicky-Dee ice cream-boy. Bakery worker. Sewer worker. Ditch digger. Selling security alarms. Building fences. Carpet cleaner. Land scaping. Building trusses. Siding installer. Framing. Waiter. Concrete worker. Caretaker.

I shared a condo, where a job opportunity opened up, because the previous janitor killed himself. They took the pager from his overalls and gave it to me. I’d get voice messages from his buddies, calling me a son-of-a-bitch, because I took their deceased buddy’s, mop and bucket! One night, the princess I was living with, threw my stuff into the hallway and changed the locks, because, get this; she said, I’d never be famous.” Quote un quote. To be fair, when she changed the locks, I was headlining Lester’s liquor Pit. So, yah, I was only a minor, local celebrity. But do what you will with this; in Beaver lodge Alberta, I was considered a comedy God! Yah, not famous but not nothing either. Booyah!

Because I had no marketable skills; I continued to work at the condo, where my stuff was dumped in the hallway. Which I dealt with by being a functional alcoholic. And what I’m about to share with you, I’m not proud of. Before I was escorted off the property, for being useless; I had to squeeze behind a toolshed, with a garbage bag, to um, “use the facilities.” It’s not a pretty topic but sometimes, dropping one behind a toolshed, is what a person has to do. Sometimes, it’s what a person has to do.

I came this close, to joining the military. I strutted into the recruiting office and stated, in no uncertain terms, that I wanted to be Rambo! The recruiter paused a beat and replied. “Sign here son. You’ll start Rambo training tonight!” I said, “OK. ( Big breath.) Fabulous. I’m… um…just…going to have, a last cigarette, get a dew rag and I’ll be ready for my Nam flashbacks” I went outside, stretched and…ran away!!!

My point. The reason I had so many jobs, was because, I was convinced I was writer! I made a cold call to a university English program, and tried to get enrolled in the next semester. They asked about the status of my scholastic achievements? Caught off guard, I whisper stuttered, something about being 80% sure, of my locker number in grade eight! I was told I needed significant up-grading, before I could enter their hallowed halls. I scoffed, hung up and got my career back, ditch digging.

I know I’m my own worse enemy, but no matter how bad my life became; I always believed, I had a purpose. I felt as if something was asking me to create, through my heart, soul and spirit. I first began writing stand-up, in the early 80’s. Then one, and two act plays, and one man shows, in the 90’s. Then novels in the 2000’s. I began learning to play guitar around the same time, and started writing my own songs.

Everything I’ve been through and fought for, has lead me to this moment. I will continue to keep writing and producing my songs and I’m grateful you’re listening to and if you like, sharing my songs. With no further adieu, after all these years, here are a few of my songs, that I’ve spent a lifetime…reaching for.

(Please tell me what you think: paulsveen@shaw.ca)

The first song is, “There was A Time.” It’s about the fallout with siblings.

The second song is, “At Christmas Time, They’re All Still Here.” It’s about, how everyone we miss at Christmas, always seems to feel a little closer.

The third song is, “Under the Stars.” It’s about losing someone and realizing; they’re never really gone.

The fourth song is, “The Space Between.” The struggle we have, feeling that we matter.