Accidental Riches

One of the best things about golf is the accidental discovery of interesting humans. Sure there are occasions when the opening in your group is filled by someone who annoys, but more often you're paired with another stricken golf romantic very much like yourself.

When I first met Michele Sturla I was struck by his thick Italian accent and wonderful sense of style. He introduced himself as "Michael" but I heard in it the anglicized apology and before we'd walked the first fairway I'd extracted his given name, pronounced Mee-kay-lay, accent on the second. I asked him if he'd mind being referred to as such. "No, dot ees fine!"

We've played half a dozen times since, including today. He's in his mid-sixties, jet black hair, lean as a jockey, immensely strong, with a finesse rarely seen on a muni course. He is a picture of golf politesse, owing to his having caddied for a few Italian pros including Constantine Rocca. And man, can he play. He may be the only golfer with whom I play who not only carries a 1-iron but uses it to great effect. After receiving a compliment on a 170-yard left-to-right shot out of the rough that resulted in a birdie, he responds-- "I've been making dat shot seentz I wussa boy . . . "

But my favorite thing about him is his endless gratitude-- for my having called him to play, giving him a yardage, replacing a pin, you name it-- he's thankful. He smiles, cigarette dangling from his lips, and says, "You're too kind."

Really, I'm just grateful. You know how rare style is these days?

Rub Of The Green by Brock Walsh will, with a little luck, appear in bookstores soon.
Contact brockwalsh@gmail.com

Fool Proof Marketing Strategy

I'm a first time author so I'm learning a lot of new stuff about the publishing world. I always thought the order of events went something like-- book deal, writing, editing, marketing, sales. Turns out that's just not how it's done.

The real order is writing, rewriting, marketing, editing, book deal, sales. Well, maybe book deal and sales.

Okay, I'm new at this so I'm playing along.

Having completed three drafts, I am now embarking on the design of a marketing strategy. I know, I have no experience in the field but somehow this doesn't seem like enough to rule me out. A publishing house, I'm discovering, needs to be told by someone as ignorant as me how they, the acknowledged experts with gobs of experience, might best sell a book.

It's one crazy world I'm telling you.

Remember when full service was the only choice at a gas station? I'm thinking it's something like that.

Seems to me selling a book ought to be pretty much like selling anything else. You gotta catch their eye and offer them what it is they're looking for.

I haven't settled on any one idea yet but I'm thinking "bacon" should be in the title.


Rub Of The Green by Brock Walsh will, with a little luck, appear in bookstores soon.
Contact brockwalsh@gmail.com

Personal Appearance

I am now ready to begin my prepared remarks. As previously announced, I will not be taking any questions.

As I stand here before my handpicked audience, I'd first like to say I am so sorry about the muzzles. But please understand, I couldn't take the chance that the air would be fouled with the sound of anyone else's voice, so beautiful and contrite is mine. And per the agreement you've all signed, please avert your eyes should my doleful gaze fall upon you as I deliver my amazing speech. When I look away, feel free to again stare at my awesome visage. I mean, who could blame you?

I would like to finally give my side of the story regarding the events of November 25, 2009. While it is true that I was admitted to the hospital that evening with a turkey leg in my ass, it is absolutely untrue that said entree was put there intentionally or otherwise by any member of my family. The media has had an absolute field day coming up with scenarios beginning with Thanksgiving dinner and ending with a turkey leg in my ass and I have only this to say. Leave my family alone.

What actually transpired was this. As my eldest son gave the blessing over the perfect feast prepared by my beautiful, faithful, and loving wife, a man appeared at our dining room window. The window was partially open to allow for ventilation. The man, a stranger, was holding a photograph of his ailing daughter, who happens to think I am just about the coolest thing on the planet.

"Please sign this for my stricken girl!' the shoddily dressed intruder said.

I leapt to the side door to satisfy the poor man's request, tripped on the Bible, accidently hit the button that releases the hounds, lost my grip on the turkey leg in question (that I had intended to give the malnourished fellow), tore my trouser bottoms, spun head over heels, and unluckily was impaled on old Tom's gam.

This hereby ends my remarks. I thank you for your attention and remind you that no good deed goes unpunished.

Rub Of The Green by Brock Walsh will, with a little luck, appear in bookstores soon.

Contact brockwalsh@gmail.com

Unfair Vanity

Some people holler incessantly and can't get noticed, others hide like fugitives and can't disappear.

Tiger's been gone for months but remains the number one hot topic of sites and blogs that cater to golf junkies. Television ratings have plummeted, and it's everything commentators can do to keep the analysis focused on who's playing rather than one golfer who might have been but isn't.

Tiger's talent explains some of our fascination. He has wowed us so many times we get hungry for another fix. We like to be reminded of what true excellence looks like.

But he demands attention by his absence almost as much as his participation. We feel like we know him. We thought we did. And until his prodigious appetites became public, we were able to assume they were . . . what? More like ours? And what exactly is that?

We're a horny unfaithful lot if you believe the polls. Why would we assume he be less so?

I think we, the public, are waiting to hear his voice-- to hear the sound of reckoning, humility, honesty, and embarrassment. Because while we're listening to him, we'll be hearing ourselves.

Rub Of The Green by Brock Walsh will, with a little luck, appear in bookstores soon.

Contact brockwalsh@gmail.com

The Golf Trip

Every April for the past 20 or so years, I've headed for Kiawah Island, South Carolina for that last great bastion of male camaraderie, the golf trip. Same guys, same courses, nothing much changed from year to year.

Perfect doesn't much call for alterations.

Well, chalk up another victim of the great recession. I had to do something prudent and surrender my place.

Here's a brief excerpt from the book:

We head out in two vans and immediately fall into the comfortable and well-worn routines guaranteed to wind each other up and get the taunts flying. Roger’s quite sure I’ve neglected to procure a wide enough variety of non-alcoholic beverages—he has amassed seven years of sobriety and can somehow maintain it around us during this week of nearly indiscriminant consumption. I play the indignant and unappreciated martyr. Gary goes as the pious reformed one as he outlines the dietary restrictions brought on by—count ‘em--five coronary vessels having been rootered and rerouted just three months prior. Kevin, too good-natured to take an unprovoked swing, says laughing, “Golf trip.”

Each day passes in a blissful blur. We wake up at 7, pull out at 8, tee up at 9, lunch at 1, watch The Masters until 6, dine at 8, and call it a night by 11. Gone is any evidence of the outrageous behavior that once threatened life and limb, frightening woman and children---condo wars with rooftop maneuvers by commandos armed with quart-sized water balloons, one a.m. golf missions that left a tee box badly disfigured, indoor freestyle climbing of walls, fireplaces, ledges et al, and Guts games where small fortunes changed hands. John Madden faithfully brings the cards and chips each year but I’ll be surprised if they even make it out of the case. 

I won't be there to see if they do or not. We're having a west coast, tee-it-up-at-Rancho golf trip this year.

Rub Of The Green by Brock Walsh will, with a little luck, appear in bookstores soon.

Contact brockwalsh@gmail.com 

What's Your Quest?

Every golfer has a goal. Breaking 100 is a fairly common place to start. With a little persistence, most of us get there. But as soon as you do, ninety raises its head and whistles. Hey, you! You want a piece of me?

With every golf goal met another is born.

What is it about golf that keeps urging us to improve? People who play pickup basketball don't towel off and start figuring their field goal percentage. They have a beer and agree to meet same time next week. 

Before you even make your way to the first tee, you reach into that wooden box and----

Today, just as I have for years, I’ll take a fresh scorecard, carefully fold and crease it, pencil my initials and enter my scores. I’ll circle the pars and, if I’m lucky, etch a neat tiny triangle around the birdies. When the last putt rolls in, I’ll sum up and write down a total. And like always, perched in the upper right hand corner will be that number that seems forever out of reach. You know the one I mean--even when you’re not looking at it directly you see it out of the corner of your eye . . . like Venus.  

Par? In 43 years of playing golf, I’ve never done it.

That's right, 90 fell and 80 beckoned. And when 80 finally toppled over, par was waiting, smirking and too smug to waste its breath on a whistle.

So what's your goal? Have you already crashed through or are you stuck in a rut? I'd love to hear your story.

From Rub Of The Green by Brock Walsh which will, with a little luck, appear in bookstores soon.

Contact brockwalsh@gmail.com 

Secret of Vaudeville

My dad fancied himself a bit of a song-and-dance man. He'd do Jolson or Durante, occasionally ending with a brief soft shoe and a "Good night, Mrs. Calabash". And then he'd offer this advice, which at the time seemed too corny to be worth heeding. "The secret of Vaudeville-- tell 'em what you're gonna tell 'em, tell 'em, then tell 'em what you told 'em." Hokey? And then some.

It is shocking how often those words have rung true over a thirty year  writing career. And that is precisely what I didn't do in this third draft. I got the first two right but assumed I didn't need the third, alas.

In a song, the verse announces what's coming, the chorus states the theme, and the all important bridge provides that vital reiteration that feels so good and makes the last chorus feel complete.

In a movie's final scenes, the hero states, sometimes so blatantly it makes your skin crawl, exactly what he/she's been up to for the last 90 minutes-- even though we've been watching their every move. It's just the nature of story telling and the odd wiring of the human brain.

You gotta tell 'em what you told 'em.

Rub Of The Green by Brock Walsh will, with a little luck, appear in bookstores soon.

Contact brockwalsh@gmail.com or
Beverley Slopen slopenagency@gmail.com

Light

The rain relented yesterday and Los Angeles looked like a vagrant freshly showered and shaved, surprisingly beautiful. Joined by Richard, Tom, and Jim, I was among the first to walk Rancho's fairways at seven.

"Light is more beautiful out here. Book-ending the day are those brief spans-- the movie business calls them “magic hours” --when the sunlight is a deep gold and the shadows are so dark they think it’s still night. Backlit you are treated to a vision of crystal clarity. Turn around and the dew sparkles like a sweeping field of diamonds. The fairways are double cut, leaving a wide expanse of checkerboard."

From Rub Of The Green by Brock Walsh which will, with a little luck, appear in bookstores soon.

Contact brockwalsh@gmail.com or
Beverley Slopen slopenagency@gmail.com

How much does the Court matter?

Possibly everything.

Please take a moment to read and if you're sufficiently outraged, take a moment to write your congressperson:

Editorial - The Court’s Blow to Democracy - NYTimes.com

www.nytimes.com

Rub Of The Green by Brock Walsh will, with a little luck, appear in bookstores soon.

Contact brockwalsh@gmail.com or
Beverley Slopen slopenagency@gmail.com

Existential moment

So here is the question-- satisfaction or amusement?

I am as prone to seeking amusement for its own sake as much as the next drooling cretin, just ask my poker friends on Facebook. I can put off a worthy task for days if dealing with it sparks a scintilla of discomfort. Boxes wait forlornly by the closed garage door day after day and I walk by with no more than a sideways glance. This despite the nagging feeling of uselessness and the knowledge that it would take less than a minute to stow them away. 

Just not right this moment--- I have to check my email.

But back to the question. I can amuse myself as I'm so good at doing, drawing from a long list of games and goodies, or I can deposit my distracted self at my desk and do the one thing that might bring real creative satisfaction--- solve the problem with the ending of this book.

In the hopes of spurring me to that end I will state-- sometimes you need to overcome life's obstacles for no other reason than to prove to yourself that you are capable of answering fate's bullying with a little vinegar of your own.

It's an amusing thought.

Rub Of The Green by Brock Walsh will, with a little luck, appear in bookstores soon.

Contact brockwalsh@gmail.com or
Beverley Slopen slopenagency@gmail.com

Cliff Divers

It's a long way down but I'm jumping back in.

The Japanese have a saying-- you're never done building your house. The same goes for a book evidently.

I had hoped that whatever editing and rewriting remained would wait for a book deal but what happened yesterday has made me rethink it. The editor I referred to in last Friday's post (1/8), returned my email and invited me to call him asap as his wife was about to go into labor. I looked at the clock and saw I had thirty minutes before my session with the LA Jerk Kings was scheduled.

He answered the phone and was warm and personable. Over a full thirty minutes, we talked about the book--he reiterated how much he enjoyed it, how rare it was for him to finish a manuscript and not offer a deal--and how I might improve it by increasing the emotional impact. This, he felt, was all that was missing. 

He had me take him through the various incarnations, three drafts, and how each differed from the preceding. He wondered if I had it in me to have another go at this point. I answered that I had nearly all my chips in the middle of the table and had little choice but go all in. He is a golfer himself and I offered to take him to Rancho should he make it to LA.

His attention feels like fuel and I'm going to need some to complete the task ahead.

But first I have to jump.

Rub Of The Green by Brock Walsh will, with a little luck, appear in bookstores soon.

Contact brockwalsh@gmail.com or

Oh, good, another page

At my eldest's behest, created a FB page for the completed and yet unpublished Rub Of The Green with the following proviso:

Spent the last 10 years watching the music business go the way of that 'cake out in the rain' and arrived at the publishing world's doorstep just in time to learn that it's celebrities only. So it's time to play make-enough-noise-to-get-heard or die trying.

By joining, you can either be part of the excitement as we go from promising longshot to Oprah's darling, or watch a grown man submit to endless humiliation and ultimately be rendered disgraced and penniless!

Here's what we're saying to prospective publishers:

Rub of the Green

In Golf and Life You Play it as it Lays

In a chaotic and uncertain world, the goals we set can soothe our fears and guide our destiny. Brock Walsh, a Los Angeles songwriter and avid golfer, pursued a two-year quest to shoot a round of "level par", a feat achieved by one amateur golfer in a thousand. What he didn't know was that life was cuing up its own slew of challenges that would test him far more.

Walsh takes us on a wild ride of harrowing reversals and surprising victories. He is betrayed by his business partner, loses his job, has to fight to keep his home, while his wife battles a life-threatening drug resistant bacteria. Staring into this dark vista, he is forced to contemplate deeper issues of aging, courage, and self. For Walsh, who has had a stellar career writing songs for the major stars of his generation, the change in fortune could not have been more vertiginous.

Rub of the Green is a golf story, a love story, and a life story. Whether he takes us backstage with the Rolling Stones, in the studio with Michael Jackson, or down the tree line with the dawn patrol, Walsh weaves a tale that is smart, funny, and heartbreakingly real.

Available, with a little luck, in bookstores soon.

After graduating from Harvard, Walsh began his professional life as a touring musician with Linda Ronstadt, Karla Bonoff, and Andrew Gold with whom he produced the hits "Lonely Boy" and "Thank You For Being A Friend". He was a staff producer for Quincy Jones and has written and produced for such artists as Christina Aguilera, Celine Dion, The Pointer Sisters, and Aretha Franklin.