Joseph "Peppi" Vecchio

The first part of this blog really got me thinking.
It is so very important to hold our standards high and continue to put out work as good if not better than those before us.
I don’t want to ride on coat tails. I don’t want to jump on the band wagon and try to make a quick buck. My name is worth more than that.
Let’s aspire to something greater than that which lays before us. Will I ever put out a book as good as David Baldacci or Steve Berry? Or Lee Child? Maybe. Maybe not. But if I don’t shoot for it I’ll never know. I want to write great. I want the writing to be so transparent that you never notice I’m there.
I want there to be a deeper message. I love thrillers. I love stories. But there are always deeper questions in life that we must answer and I would love to expose the one’s that keep me up at night.
I want to write about my greatest fears, anxieties, fantasies and dreams. Only then will I have exorcised the writing demons that live within.
Here’s a funny but true story about something that happened to me in my younger days.
I was a lead and rhythm guitarist for a band. Great times. Great friends. My friends and I practiced at one of the few storage warehouses that allowed bands to crank it up at night. We played at a million clubs and bars, displaying our skills and songs we so carefully crafted. We never cared about the other local bands. They weren’t our competition. You know who was? It was Rush. Van Halen. Queensryche and Led Zeppelin. I didn’t want to be like the guy down the street. I wanted to be like the people I listened to on my records, cassette or radio.
So my band mates and I were taking a break from rehearsing and we just sat down to have a beer when one of the other bands down a few bays – we called the storage facility “metal mall” – started playing. No biggie. Just another loud band. But then the guitar player clears the way and starts going off. My jaw dropped. This wasn’t usual. This wasn’t from the local domain. This was real talent. All of us were shocked. How could someone this good sneak into our backyard?
We got up and raced down the way not knowing what to expect. I was nervous thinking that suddenly I would be dropped to the bottom of the pile of local guitar heroes.
We were confused. It was a band we knew. Sort of friends of ours. But they were sitting too. Taking a break. Then we realized they were pulsing out music through a CD player. It was a band called Pantera. I had heard of them, but not heard them directly. “Dimebag” Darrell was a massive guitar player. He was still filling our ears with technique and touch that I didn’t expect from a real heavy metal band.
I was relieved. He wasn’t local. But here was another reminder of how high I must climb. From then on I put more effort into playing and practicing.
A few years back I was in my old stomping grounds and ran across a few acquaintances from the times. They remembered me for being such a solid, emotional guitar player. That made me feel good. After all these years, they remembered what heart and soul I put into my instrument.
Now I want to do the same in writing. Maybe I won’t have the same commercial success as the authors I look up to, but if in ten or more years, someone approaches me and says they enjoyed my book, my writing and that it meant something to them, then it will be all worth it.