Writer • Musician
Words from Quinby
Just like that it’s 2018. I thought I might change journals and maintain the tradition of one journal per year but I don’t know, I think it might be time to break with tradition and continue it all in one long and ongoing stream of thoughts with little regard for one year changing into the …
Rock stars were dying. Russians were hacking. Election season never seemed to end. Big wigs were fracking. Last year was difficult for some people. With everything going on, it was easy to overlook one of the more positive events of 2016, which was the honoring of the American National Park Service celebrating its 100th year. …
Continue reading "It Started with a Piano. Alternative Top-Ten, National Parks Edition"
Out in LA, one of my acting teachers would often remind me, along with anyone in class venting any sort of self-frustration, that Rome wasn’t built in a day. Though it was an obvious point, it was easy to forget. Few of the greats, if any at all, were incredible by day one. As a …
I'm a man deeply suspicious of creative how-to’s. That is, any book that advises me on how to approach anything creative. How to write well. How to act. How to draw. How to sing. I woke up this morning and worked on “The Morning Pages”, a daily writing exercise that demands three pages of whatever …
Broward County. I’ve known that name my whole life. Broward. Such a strange sound as I think about it and say it out loud, just a little under my breath. Broooowwwward. To me it’s always meant home. Even though, as I’ve said many times over the course of many writings throughout this young career of …
The self-titled debut album "Ren Michael" is now available for download on all digital platforms. The story begins with a girl. She looks, casts one glance in the mirror and is gone no sooner than she arrived, her voice but a whisper as it echoes down the street, leaving the hero alone in the cold …
If there’s anything that I try and avoid writing about, its writing. That being said, I’ll keep this beginning part short. For starters, I really don’t even think of myself as a writer at all. I’m no Hemingway or Kerouac or Walt Whitman. I don’t know how any of those guys fell into the …
I felt like a thief in the night. Maybe it was guilt, a sense that I was betraying someone, or something. I remember a sign, standing tall on the side of the highway while I was driving through the desert. “Blessed are they,” it said, “Who trust in Him.’ Four years ago, I moved to …
Reading John Muir's My First Summer in the Sierra makes me wish that over the past few years, I had kept a more comprehensive journal detailing my own travels, along with my many encounters and experiences in Los Angeles; as opposed to what I fear might only amount to scattered, disconnected ramblings and loose sketches based on the things I …
When I'm on the move, I write in verse Small poems to most accurately or honestly reflect the things going on around me, and how I feel about those things Often times, most of the time, these poems aren't any good But other times, they turn out alright. Simple. To the point. Just getting the …
The guitar case bears the sacred marks from where you've been Not too far but you've got the scars The stars at night still grin You look out yonder and see bright green Deep in the swamps of mud memory That one summers eve, outside New Orleans long before Yosemite and the mighty Sequoia trees …
your eyes begin to open, you look out long, pour over your mythology, over the scattered clouds across the desert, your precious afternoon the desert you know well, probably the same old New Mexico state road On the morning so cold, when you stood all alone with the night the night the night you were …
Written for the online gentleman's magazine 'Suspendermen'. Unfortunately they never published it, but at least they paid me. They're good guys. When I first watched the music video for Jidenna’s “Classic Man”, I had mixed emotions. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nsiN0W15w0U The video, on a fundamental level doesn’t seem to be anything new for a pop song these days. The singer …
Music and Lyrics by Ren Michael I walk these streets tonight burning bright by my soul My friends came and went, yea I stood alone Felt so alive, though I could soon die, yea I's far from home From the shadows rose the face I'd known from long ago I looked straight into his eyes, …
Continue reading "I Had a Showdown with the Devil in London"
Music and Lyrics by Ren Michael When I see your lover, baby When I see your man You know I'll never go under, honey Some day you'll understand That I'm your boy Not your toy I walk both day and night To even the score More and more I can't get you out of my …
You've Been Away, and You've Come Home to Search for Home Yet He'd been here before in this city and yet it was a stranger to him. He'd lived and breathed its air, and walked its streets and canals and it smiled to him and stared. It was a new night, but to life there …
My foray into acting began after returning from Portland last year. It was around that time that I took a hiatus from writing. I won't know if the break was a good idea until later. For now, I'll begin to explain where I've been. Though it's always been in Los Angeles. My city. Listening to …
We'll see how long this can go. Typing this from my phone since sleep for the moment is harder to come by. I've long thought that writing through a phone would be impossible, that I would never even try to do it. But so far it's proving easier than I thought. The only other thing …
Exercise 1 I've dedicated the past several days to Orson Welles, to that booming voice and that wonderful charisma. He was the virtuoso filmmaker and actor and magician, a student of Shakespeare, and the lifelong master of deception and trickery. -- Exercise 2 I've long been picturing a future for mankind, one that would set …
Continue reading "Orson Welles and the Michael Phoenix Rising"
A change in style ought to explain the hiatus. But it is New Years Eve. - It was some kind of Christmas. 2012 a hell of a year. I can see the beast majestic in the old desert storm and I look upon my own hands, remembering how I stood on the hilltop awaiting the …
Ren Michael 