It was around the time the chicken lost her feet that I fell into devotion with Patti. Devotion to learning from her life’s work (as a mother, poet, songwriter, performer, singer, writer and general badass), as I’m working on mine. To allowing whatever creative jumble of words and music might pour forth if I opened myself. To diving into the process of writing and music without fear. Not that the chicken’s feet had anything to do with that, but these sorts of farm life events are useful markers for the passage of time. Like remembering an event that happened the summer the old sheep died. Or when the dog was still a puppy. That was when the garden plot was over there. The spring we planted the flowering crab apple.

I was in the midst of my first attempts at songwriting, spending hours at my beloved writing desk, pen or guitar in hand, when we found her. It was the little barred rock that one of our hens hatched and raised this summer. She was wedged between a fence and a wooden compost bin constructed from old pallets. I wasn’t sure if she was still alive at first. Turns out she was, but had spent a cold winter night outside with her feet stuck at odd angles in the fence, rather than tucked away under her fluffy feathers as they should have been. She could not walk, and I was not sure if she would live. We brought her inside, suspecting frostbite, and began to nurse her back to health. And we watched her feet turn black. Nothing could have prepared me for the day I walked in and found one of her feet on the tiled bathroom floor. She ended up losing them both, and to my surprise, adjusted quickly to life on peg legs. As soon as the dead, frostbitten feet fell off she was happy and moving around like she had not since before the injury. Now she’s my music room chicken. She loves to hang out behind the drum kit, and often comes to sit under my chair as I write at my desk. Here she is. My writing partner.

One piece of advice often given to aspiring songwriters and musicians is to dig deep into the inspirations of those who inspire you. Listen to who you love. And then listen to who they loved. The artists that inspired them. Patti Smith is, understandably, an inspiration to many artists and musicians that I love. I’ve long been aware of her. Of her brilliance. Her importance. Her influence. I read Just Kids about a year ago, and that did it for me. I was in awe. Her writing pulled me in. Her persona. Everything about her. I let myself become immersed in her words, in her world, and only reluctantly surfaced when the last page was read. I had found the fantasy mentor I didn’t know I was looking for. And to learn from Patti, to trace her roots and all that shaped who she is as an artist today, I think you have to follow her trail through her beloved authors and poets.

Fast forward a few months, and I was finally listening to the desperate call from within to write my own songs. I read through another book of Patti’s, M Train, jotting down all the books that are a part of her world that I would like to read. I set her small book Devotion down on the table in front of me as I wrote at the coffee shop – an unintentional alter to the Grandmother of Punk. Like Patti, I’ve always loved books. And not just reading books. Books themselves. I dove into the classics as a teen, transported to all of the places in the pages. Swept away by the Bronte’s and Austen, enchanted by Shakespeare.

Later that day, back at my desk, I set the same book, along with her album Horses, on the shelf of my antique secretary writing desk. Maybe she’ll keep me focused. And allow me to wander. Watch over me as I find my own voice as a writer. I also decided that I will read through the books she loves, one by one, as I write and work on my own music. I started creating a list, compiled from my own reading of her books and a useful internet search that yielded this list. I ended up with a list of over eighty books! I don’t know if I’ll read them all, but I hope to. A few will be re-reads, but by far the majority are books I have not yet read.

I don’t plan on posting the usual sort of book review. That’s been done. But I couldn’t imagine an undertaking like this without writing about it. I plan on writing about my experiences while reading through Patti’s favorite books, and about how my own creative process is affected and touched by them.

And maybe a little about chickens and cats and kids (the human kind).

Feathers are now a common sight on my music room floor. I pick one up and place it, carefully, by Devotion. A new altar, to a new beginning.

Up next, The List.