Hello everyone!

From now on, my bacon obsessions will no longer be shared on this tumblr. For current blog posts, please visit www.alytadros.com/blog.

You know that ick feeling you get when you put on an outfit that just…doesn’t…feel right?

I hate that feeling. I know it well. I got it every time I censored myself on stage, hesitated to express my opinion, or sent someone to my odd, minimalist website. It just didn’t feel like…me. I held onto that “ick” feeling for too long because I thought I had to. That’s what you have to do to make it, right? Please everybody but yourself? Wrong. Ignoring my instincts was a recipe for disaster. Burnt out, tired of the road and the grind - I seriously lost all desire to make music. I lost sight of my dream. My life felt like an outfit that just didn’t fit. For the last eight months I’ve stripped away at the bullshit to find my voice and rediscover my dream. I’ve worked to create an experience for you that doesn’t compromise who I am, but lets you in even more: through my stories, music, live shows, social media, photos — basically all the ways I show up for you.

And now, it’s finally happening….

MARCH 6, I launch my new brand into world! And I want YOU there to celebrate with me! WHERE: Your computer screen (Click here to buy your tickets)   WHAT: Brand Launch Party & Concert Streaming live from the Golightly Media Offices in NYC! WHEN: Thursday, March 6, 8-9PM EST INCLUDING… - Songwriting MADLIB! From NOW till March 2nd - I want YOU to submit your most ridiculous phrase via email and social media. From there, I’m going to write you a song and perform it live at the launch party. If your phrase ends up in the song, we’ll send you a free album bundle!  C’mon - submit your phrase now and show me what you got!      - Just dying to know if I really eat that much bacon? Here’s your chance to find out: Tune in for the Live Q&A. - Interactive chat & live song requests!

Best part is, it’s all the comfort of your living room. You can make it a pajama party. or a no-pants party. Everybody loves a no-pants party.* Can’t wait to see you there! *I will definitely be wearing pants.

Get your ticket today!

It’s easy to discount where you come from. But have you ever stopped to think about all the ways you’re stronger because of it?

Where I grew up, nobody was a “full time” artist. It didn’t exist. I did community theatre, but our budgets were tiny. Went to open mics at artsy cafes that all eventually closed down. It was heartbreaking. The message was clear: the arts aren’t really important here.

So I left Laredo at seventeen, and I made a promise to myself to never turn back. As I navigated my music career, I learned to turn to mentors for guidance. I used their stories to inspire me to do what I thought wasn’t possible.

That’s how I first heard about TED.

I was in the studio recording my first album, and Derek Sivers sent me Elizabeth Gilbert’s talk on Creative Genius. I watched it, in awe - and ended up writing one of my most personal songs. After that, I was hooked.

I started watching TED Talks to pull me out of depressed days, inspire me while folding laundry, and get me going before hitting a run. I drew so much strength from my hero’s stories - Amanda Palmer’s talk on The Power of Asking reminded me of the endless generosity I’d found on the road. Brene Brown’s talks on Vulnerability and Shame inspired me to get sober, get honest and get real with my demons. 

I was a bonafide TEDhead.

I remember thinking - if only I’d heard this stuff ten years ago.  I might have spared myself a lot of teenage angst. In all my years as a student in Laredo the only inspirational speaker we got was an army recruiter. I wanted to change that. 

I contacted an old teacher from my high school and asked if I could speak to his class while I was in town.

Then I told his students the story of how I dropped out of college and started living my dream. Visiting his classes ignited a fire in me. So much, that I did it each time I came to Laredo to play. 

After every speech, a few students would pull me aside so frustrated they were in tears - I want to be a singer but my parents think it’s not a real job, I love cooking but everyone says I should go to law school. I just thought, whoa.

I saw myself in each one of them. Ten years ago, I was them.

When I heard Laredo would be hosting their first TEDxYouth conference, it seemed all too perfect. I applied immediately. I wasn’t totally sure what I’d be speaking about - but I had a good hunch....

When I got news that I was accepted, I kind of freaked out. People come together at TED to give the best talk of their life: share the most innovative, cutting edge new ideas. All in the hopes of inspiring others. To be frank, I was nervous as hell. That’s a lot of pressure. 

Now I wanted to use my voice to inspire others.

I’d been to Laredo a million times to put on big shows. That was all well and good, but this was my chance to share the story of how it all happened. Explain how I did it - and why I believed everyone in that room could, too. I wanted to share the same principle that got me to TED in the first place - that fear is a compass. Do what scares you.

I enlisted so much help - reaching out to every friend I could think of to refine my talk. Three times a day I went through my speech, recording it and posting it on privately on Youtube for critiques. We were on the road - so that meant running my talk in parking lots, laundromats, and airplane bathrooms. 

The morning I boarded my flight to Laredo, I got news that I was the closing speaker. I was beyond freaking humbled and excited. I wanted to send everyone home on an inspired high.

This was my chance to tell them all the things nobody ever told me. Giving my first TED Talk was something I’d dreamt of since first watching Elizabeth Gilbert’s talk on Creativity. It meant so much to finally realize that dream in the city that molded me into the big dreamer I am today.

That little community theatre and artsy cafe open mic nurtured a dream in me. How has where you come from shaped who you are today? Ask yourself. You never know where it could lead...

How the hell do I do THAT? 

I stood dead center of the Cordoba Guitars booth, staring up at an huge poster of a pretty brunette with a classical guitar, sprawled out in the backseat of a convertible. She looked so happy and confident, and I remember wondering if she was even a musician.

It was four years ago, and I was NAMM, the world’s largest trade-show for music gear. Imagine Guitar Center, times ten thousand.

I hadn't exactly snuck in, but I wasn't exactly invited, either.

YEAR 1 My first year there, I spent all three days walking around the thousands of vendor booths, trying out guitar after guitar, dreaming of an endorsement deal. It made me feel so needy. Like, will you take me? Will ANYBODY take me? I didn't even know what I wanted in a guitar; I just wanted to be wanted. For someone to tell me I mattered.

I felt tiny. YEAR 2 My second year at NAMM, I was fresh off the heels of signing an amazing endorsement deal with Fender and Guild Guitars. And guess what? Instead of feeling tiny, I felt like a massive raging impostor. Like, who the fuck just gave this janky self-taught singer-songwriter/babysitter an endorsement deal? Did they know who I was? HADN’T THEY DONE THEIR HOMEWORK?!

When I saw other bands showcasing, I felt a little kicked in the gut. You still don’t REALLY belong here, the chatterbox in my head told me.

I remember stopping in the Marriott Hotel to watch the bands play in awe, wondering, again - How do I do THAT?" I still felt like a fraud - but ONE thing had changed. I had an endorsement, so I didn’t need another guitar. I stopped going from booth to booth trying to win over companies. What I did want was friends. So one night, I took a few drink tickets and started offering them to strangers. I made it a point to really listen in conversation, instead of waiting for an opportunity to jump in and talk about my music. I walked away with two new wonderful friendships that I maintain to this day. YEAR 3 This year, I applied directly to NAMM. Out of 600+ bands, I was accepted as a showcasing artist. Booked twice on two of the biggest stages at the conference (including that Marriott stage). For a conference that draws over 90,000 people. I was STOKED!

Then Fender contacted me about playing on the Guild stage. Twice. The Fender team would be there to see me play with my trio for the first time ever. Then...I got nervous. For better or worse, if they didn’t know who I was then, they’d definitely know now.

I prepared like crazy. Watched hours and hours of live production coaching videos and set up two-intensive rehearsals. It freaked me the fuck out, but I emailed my bandmates telling them we were going to prepare a set fit for an audience of thousands. I was sure they’d think I was batshit, but I had to get past that fear if we were ever going to grow. 

Instead, they showed up to rehearsal just as stoked to get their hands dirty and build a new show.

I was determined to do a great job of representing Guild, but most of all - I was done playing small. Done throwing together set lists at the last minute and sort-of improvising my way song to song. I wanted a polished, fucking killer set. I wanted to know I had done everything in my power to create an experience for people to be engaged and have fun. I wanted to build a show that changed people’s lives.  

After years of feeling like the underdog, I arrived at NAMM to strut the floor in my bright turquoise dress and favorite boots, beaming with pride.

A few minutes later, my drummer sent me a photo from the Fender showcase room floor. Sitting right there, next to my D-55 and Richie-fucking-Havens (the man who became a legend after slaughtering an impromptu set at Woodstock because Sweetwater got stuck in traffic), was a poster of ME.

I was humbled. Even though I still feel like I’m in the early stages of my career, the impostor feelings had totally melted away. Instead, I thought; wow. I’m doing it. The possibilities are endless. Not only does Fender believe in me - but I believe in me.   If there’s anything this experience has taught me, it’s that it takes courage to believe in yourself.

A few minutes later, I grabbed a copy of the new Guild Catalogue to take a look through all of the guitars they’d be producing for 2014. I knew it would include one of the shots I did at the Rebrand Photo Shoot, but I had NO fucking idea that it would be...

I used to hide from fear.

Literally, I HID. The morning of a big test or a big anything I hadn’t really prepped for I’d make my mom call the school and tell them I was sick. Then I’d unplug my alarm and pull the sheets back over my head. It was a terrible pattern but I couldn’t help myself.

Sometimes I waited until the last minute to promote a show I was really nervous about, and if things didn’t go as well as I’d hoped I would tell myself I could’ve done better IF I’d tried harder. Oh well.

Eight months ago, I set out to radically change that.

I hired a coach, and like any serious athlete would - I made the decision to Go Pro. To condition myself to be better, act better, and perform better. Then crazy shit started happening. I started losing track of the number of songs I’d written and I was excited about my newsletters. I thought, I got this!

But when my coach, Jo-Na, told me it was time to launch the brand we’d been building, I got scared. We needed to do a photoshoot, but there’d be no bootstrapping this one. She went through the checklist of things we’d need: photographer, stylist, hair/makeup, rental space…

and I thought… I don’t have the money I’ve been dressing myself since I was five. My focus should be on the music. Seriously, the money. People will think I’m full of myself. Gahhh my double chin. Last I checked there was no money tree growing in my backyard. Here’s what it all came down to: I was afraid of fucking it up.

I was afraid I’d be unprepared, come up short, and not follow through. Pull the covers back over my head. Except this time, my mom couldn’t call in sick for me. Against my natural instinct, I had to believe this time could be different. The rest would just be growing pains.

These were my biggest takeaways from the photoshoot that led me down the lovely ol’ path of Growing a Pair and Going Pro.

1) Pros feel the fear, and do it anyways.

I had NO idea how I’d pay my stylist. I booked her, and then said a prayer. Ten minutes later, I got a call from a friend asking if I’d be available to babysit for a new family. BAM. Hello, Universe!

Steffany was amazing and worth every penny. She reminded me how great it felt to throw on a hot dress and a dangerously high set of heels. We also discovered that I’d stolen half my wardrobe from my mom (oops) - so it needed a liiiiittle updating.

2. Pros Delegate.

My photographer (Jen) volunteered to help pick out fabrics for our backdrops, and when she found amazing pieces, I hesitated - thinking I could go out and find something cheaper. I didn’t take into account the amount of time it would take me to find them. I had a busy tour schedule and there were a host of other things that ONLY I could do (or so I thought). Picking up fabrics wasn’t one of them.

BUT NOoOOo, Controlly McTrollerPants thought she could do a better job. Turns out, I couldn’t. In the end, I would’ve saved more time and money had I just trusted Jen to handle it.

3) Pros take challenges as opportunities to get creative.

You know those fabrics I was real stubborn about picking out on my own? Yeah, that didn’t happen. I waited until the NIGHT BEFORE THE SHOOT to find them. I had so much else to do that day, I put it off for last. I got to Michael’s Craft Store to realize they didn’t even carry fabrics. An hour before close. And every other store in town was closed. So, we had no backdrops. I wanted to cry. Full on, ITS MY PARTY AND I’LL CRY IF I WANT TO. I’d been here a million times before, procrastinating papers and massive projects - except this time, it was my ass and my money on the line.

I STOPPED. Thought, NOPE. I CAN DO THIS. Charged down Michael’s craft aisle and got to wo»I showed up to the photoshoot the next day with wrapping paper, streamers, pinatas and fishing wire. Hello, Fashion Runway! Jen didn’t flinch. She grabbed some mic stands, started hanging stars with fishing wire and worked her magic.

The end result was amazing:

4) Pros remember the bigger picture.

Day of the shoot - I was a big ball of nerves, but my team showed up and supported me through it. By picking photos, hanging pinatas, grabbing me a bad ass pair of heels or simply telling me it was all going to be okay (first world problems, mkay?). I learned that this doesn’t have to be a lonely journey, nor do I want to be.

I do all this because it enables me to share my art with you. All of this work is meant to be an honest reflection of my music. The photoshoot turned out to be about so much more than marketing or branding. It was about believing in myself enough to move past my fear of failure. It was about believing I deserved to feel like a pro.

In the end I had to let go and put some faith in the universe.

Of course, it didn’t hurt that I hired a team of badass women. —

When the photos came back, I was so grateful. For the first time, I got shots that I felt like I actually looked like myself. Not looking off into the distance, hiding behind smoke and mirrors.

Here’s the thing - nothing about my fear of failure has gone away. It still exists. But I get up every day and I make a conscious choice to pull back the covers and remind myself why I do this. How lucky I am. All the things I’m grateful for. What’s different now is ME.

I’m determined not to let anything get in my way - not even myself. That’s how Pros get it done.

I'm not a rock star.

Rock stars walk with swagger. I knock my teeth on the mic, without fail, at EVERY show. Rock stars jet set around the globe. I babysit 7-year-olds and swipe their chocolate chip cookies when they're not looking.

I'll never forget the first time I admitted to the Fender Artist Relations rep that I babysat. He had a picture of Sting sitting on his desk. I was TERRIFIED.

Pretending you're something you're not is exhausting.

For a long time, I only posted the best reviews and sent newsletters when I had exciting updates. I did it all in the third person. That's what Aly thought she was supposed to do.

It sucked. Cause it's boring.

Then one day I sat down to build yet another e-mail list template and I decided: fuck it, I'm done.

Instead I wrote a letter about how I sometimes get home from tours and do nothing but eat Ben N' Jerry's and watch Grey's Anatomy for a week.

Admitting that felt GOOD.

I didn't want to be a rock star because I thought they were cool. I wanted to be a rock star because I thought they were happy. You know what makes me happy? Being myself: a living, breathing human being.

Hello, my name is Aly, and I am an expert in the art of making an ass of myself.

HUMAN MOMENT #1 - Caught in the Act.

One fine day, I forgot to wear deodorant to work.

I was sitting on the M train when I realized I'd rushed out the door without swiping on deodorant. Well, maybe. I couldn't quite remember. So like any normal person does standing in full view of a dozen strangers, I sniffed my pit.

That's when I spotted HIM. The elusive “Hot Guy On The Train.” The one who is always way too cool to make eye contact. Except for this. one. time. This time, he looked me straight in eye -  AT THE EXACT SAME MOMENT I sniffed my armpit. Caught like a deer in damn headlights.

I turned beet-red, and then I laughed my ass off.

HUMAN MOMENT #2 - #baconawareness

I switched to the Paleo diet back in January. I've become a little obsessed with it since, but I know that's annoying. ANYONE ON A DIET HIGH-HORSE IS ANNOYING. You know what isn't, though? Bacon. Everyone loves bacon.

I was a vegetarian for four years, and then one day a friend in Seattle showed me how to cook with bacon grease and my life was forever changed.

The second or third time I posted about bacon, the thought actually crossed my mind that I shouldn't because I might piss off my vegetarian/vegan friends.

I kept posting anyways, because I loved it and it made people laugh. Bacon photos, poems, love stories.

Then the weirdest thing started happening. Other people started sending me photos of bacon. Posting their own bacon stories on my wall. MY OWN MOTHER called the day before I went home to visit to assure me that the fridge was stocked with bacon.

The other day I bumped into a songwriter-friend from London whom I have massive respect for. He was like, "Hey! I’ve been following you on Facebook." (and I was like, YES!)...."you're the one who's obsessed with bacon!"

My ego was like, "WTF!". Then I thought, well, shit, I’m being associated with something that's indulgent, delicious, and a little bit naughty. I can live with that.

HUMAN MOMENT #3: #beunstoppable

When I was a kid I used to listen to Britney Spears on repeat and dance around my room, daydreaming that some big company would dress me up and make me into a star.

Later, when I became a musician, I dreamt that somebody would do the marketing for me. Like some big fancy label would sweep in, deconstruct the elements of my music and put together the perfect packaging for my website.

That's not how it works. When you're an independent artist, you either shelve out thousands of dollars for someone to do a half-assed job, or you do it yourself.

Six months ago, I started the process of rebranding: new website, new bio, new social media presence. It is, in essence, a new way of representing myself as an artist.

Somewhere deep down the whole thing embarrasses me. It feels so egocentric. Like, Hey! Look at me! Look at my website! Give me attention!

My coach, Jo-Na, calls it "the itchy sweater." It makes me deeply uncomfortable.

I felt like a fraud. Like REAL artists don't spend days figuring out the right "brand words" and color schemes. REAL artists don't care.

You know what? Real artists don't define what makes a real artist. They accept that they're uncomfortable, and then just fucking do it. They're the Madonnas, the Beyonces, the Lady Gagas. They get their art into world because they have to. They don't stop.

That's me. Unstoppable.

Now I understand that I'm lucky I get to do this: I get to be the bad ass, the spaz, the bacon lover and the one who is deeply dedicated to telling the truth.

It’s cute when someone younger than you freaks out about turning a year older. You think, Oh isn’t that adorable, you think you’re old! Well, I’m ancient. So shut your trap or something totally innocuous like that.

I just turned 27.

So I will resist the urge to do that. Since this is the Holiday Season, I do want to reflect on all that’s happened in the past year. I am the sentimental type and will never pass up an opportunity to get touchy-feely (like in the back of a packed subway car, for example).

In chronological order, here is my Great Big Unexpected Grat List of 2013.

1) I released The Fits.

The Fits saved my life. There’s no other way around it.

Duane Lundy’s Clustferfuck of Record Production

Going back into the studio completely rebuilt my confidence as a solo artist. For the first time ever I had a clear vision of what I wanted my sound to be. It was my most ambitious project - drawing from string players, arrangers, and musicians from all over the country over the span of a year. I’m self-taught, with no music theory background, so running on my instincts alone was a rush. It was heaven. The Fits was also my first fan-funded project. My parents (i love you i love you i love you) cut a check for my first album and honestly, it always made me feel like an amateur. Anyone can cut a check without earning their keep. So instead I saved up from money from the road and my fans came through with the rest. If you contributed to the Kickstarter campaign, thank you. You saved my life.

2) I shot my first music video.

I waited YEARS to put out a video because I was afraid of sucking in a very public way. But, just like my first album - I knew I had to finally take a crack at it if I was ever going to get better. My largest investment (time and money) was the “The Sweet on Me” video. We recruited 15 volunteers, including the director and camera crew. Day of, the bus broke down, the green screen kept falling over and we ended up having to change the entire concept.

Broken down bus on “Sweet on Me” Set || Bryan & Johnny On Set Stop with the cute. just stop.

If everything had gone as planned we NEVER would have come up with the idea to use the freakishly adorable girls I babysit (shot out to my brother in law!) Because of the concept we picked up some amazing press. MTV Buzzworthy said it best: ”heads-up to all the chicks out there — this video will probably make your ovaries explode.”

3) I took a MAJOR break from the road.

After my fourth run of national dates I considered relocating to LA (because why not?). Then my agent suggested a cross-country tour and I nearly threw up into my phone. I’ve played over 700 shows. I’ve slept in treehouses, WalMart parking lots, five star hotels; just about everywhere other than my own bed. Earlier this year, I also slept here:

Five Star Towel

I burnt out. I wasn’t writing. Show attendance was low and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was doing everything wrong. So instead of hitting the road again, I decided to do something radical. I STOPPED. I signed a lease in a Half-Hasidic, Half-Trinidadian neighborhood close to Prospect Park and decided it was time I go back to the drawing board. It was scary; I’d defined myself by my busy tour schedule. When I finally slowed down, I began the process of re-evaluating what I actually wanted in life.

4) I went Pro.

Once I decided to take a break from the road, I hired a business coach. I didn’t have the money going in, so I sold my first classical guitar. When I met her I was depressed, struggling with alcohol and an eating disorder that had been my crutch for fifteen years. I was on the brink of quitting music altogether and badly in need of help. Making that huge investment was my way of telling myself and the universe I very serious about and my career. I acknowledged that my way just wasn’t working.

Outtake from the Rebrand shoot with Jen-Painter .

It’s been six months, and her support has absolutely nurtured my transformation. Today, I am excited about the music I’m creating, writing more than ever - and in the best shape of my life: mentally, and physically.

5) I got sober.

Somewhere between the jug of J&D in my backseat and the water bottles filled with tequila in my gig bag, I realized I had a problem. Getting totally sober this year was a very personal and very scary decision - one that I’ll bridge here eventually. For now I’ll say this: I’m proud to say I haven’t had a drink in over six months. Of all the changes I’ve made - this has had the most profound impact on my life. Removing the buffer of alcohol has enabled me to face myself dead on, no filter. And guess what? I’m learning that I actually really dig me.

6) I said “NO.”

…and invested in Spandex.

No to open bars, no to networking events, no to music conferences - anything that didn’t excite me. Then I took all that extra time and joined Crossfit, a running team, songwriting workshops, and improv. I spend most Friday nights at home now with my roommate, drinking peppermint tea and songwriting. Am I picking up a million and a half business cards? NO. Am I still meeting incredible people that inspire me to be better evey day? HELL YES.

The point is, I started saying YES to the things that nourish my spirit.

7) I nerded out.

All the money I saved on booze I spent on books. I am a MASSIVE self-improvement and autobiography book nerd, so instead of forcing myself to read on the music business I went all out and only read what felt good.

The one book I keep referencing again and again is James Altucher’s "Choose Yourself".

James Altucher is a blogger, hedge fund manager and entrepreneur. He has made millions, lost it all, then made it back just to lose it all over again.

After reading (and re-reading his book) I realized that for any of this to work, I HAVE to take care of myself. Not in a selfish, trampling-over-you-at-the-grocery-store kind of way. For me, self-care means living a healthy lifestyle, maintaining a spiritual practice, being a spaz and surrounding myself with positive, creative people. James’ Blog is like crack to me. I STRONGLY recommend checking it out here.

8) I said goodbye to my dad.

A week before The Fits release my mom called to tell me my dad was dying. I had a three week tour slated for the West Coast, my biggest show in NYC and how I managed not to crumble into a million pieces is beyond me (see: water bottles of tequila). The months that followed were a roller coaster ride of close-calls, near misses and last minute trips home. When he passed in August, I was relieved. He’d been in a lot of pain, and it was time. I’d had a chance to come to peace with our relationship, his passing, and said my goodbyes.

My biggest anthem this year has been “When you resist reality, you cause suffering.” Accepting and learning find love in the hand I’ve been dealt has been the key to my serenity.

9) I lost friends, and gained new ones.

Three of my closest girlfriends totally cut me off the week before my dad died. Losing them and my dad in one-fell swoop was the massive punch-in-the-gut reminder that NO RELATIONSHIP is permanent. Think about it. Every single relationship in your life will end some day. Either you will part ways or one of you will die. Morbid, but it brought me a lot of peace. I started to look at loss as a natural and beautiful part of the circle of life. I had other friends, old and new, who came out of the woodwork to hold me up. I was so RAW from shock, I couldn’t censor. I just CRIED LIKE A CRAZY PERSON. And they loved me through it. I love them for it.

10) I started to give a fuck (literally).

I love swearing as much as the next sailor, but as a gal raised in the south it makes me extremely nervous to do things that might be considered “unlady like.” On stage I went as far as using ‘clean’ words in place of swear words: ”skit” for “shit,” “God Darn” for “God Damn,” all to avoid pissing off the language police.

Then I thought, What the hell?! I do this so I get to BE me, under a magnifying glass, times a million. So I stopped censoring my emails and tweets. Then I said shit on stage….AND there were children present (GASP!). Guess what? I didn’t get arrested.

—

^Outtake from the last week shoot w/ Jen Painter.

I want to tell you a story about ownership.

I went to see Mary Lambert play at Subculture last Saturday, and it shook me. This girl has some balls. She described herself on stage as "Queer, Bipolar, a Survivor and a Poet". I'm a pretty open person, but I was a bit taken aback. THEN she told us she just signed with Capitol Records (major label + spoken word = whaaat?). My instinct was to compare myself, as I often do with other artists. Don't compare, identify. Embrace, my gut told me.

Then her voice kicked in. Everything else faded. She played so beautifully, it brought me back into the moment of life and made me appreciate every broken heart, every lover, and made me want to feel every experience fully. And I got it.

She owned it. She owned all of her imperfections and it made me love mine. Suddenly it seemed INSANE to me that I would second-guess my power. Worry about some photo shoot, hate my size 6/8/16 jeans. There've been so many sizes and so many hours whittled away punishing myself.

Her art shined through. Never mind that - it was her spirit. It was God.

It's all a process of pulling back the layers. Peeling back every piece that's stopping me from revealing myself to the world. When I do that I can help. Other women. To love themselves. Our imperfections.

There are two kinds of energies I experience. Light, and dark.

The dark comes when somebody tells me how to do my job. How to make my art. More upbeat songs, no time changes, don't play the sad stuff. It makes me want to stuff my voice down into my throat and go on a diet.

The light energy comes from filling the well. From reading a beautiful sentence or getting an email from someone whose been inspired by my music. There was light bursting from all ends of the stage Saturday night. It took me back to high school, to reciting spoken word bravely and proudly in a tiny cafe in Laredo and just fucking OWNING every last word. I don't ever want to stop being that girl.

Life is so amazing. It is so, so, incredible. Poetic justice thrives. It's on the horizon. I saw it Saturday night.

I want to be a part of it. 

The craziest thing happened at CMJ.

I only went to one panel, “The Art of Storytelling.” Showed up late and had to stand in the very back, but right off the bat, I noticed this cute songwriter on the panel. She had crazy hair and a bow tie; and was kind of neurotic but in a good way. The producer sitting next to her was spewing off a bunch of depressing numbers on the music industry and I wanted to vomit. Songwriter girl shut her down, and then switched the conversation to self-care. I decided I wanted to be her friend.

Then the panelist sitting next to her figured out she’d gotten a huge cut on Kelly Clarkson’s album and started flipping out.

Q&A time came around, and I asked her how I could find co-writing partners without seeming like a creepy stalker. Right away she was like, Just say hello. I’d be friends with anybody in this room.

I called bullshit (in my head. duh).

But get this: I walk up to the table afterwards, and nearly double over. Turns out, I ALREADY FREAKING KNEW HER. Not only do we share the same booking agent, but we’ve hung out…like, gotten drunk, sung karaoke and eaten pizza at 2am hung out.

WE ARE SO FREAKING BLIND we couldn’t tell. Neither of us were wearing our glasses. Just…wow.

Then it hit me! When we first met, she asked me for my record. Not only did she actually listen to it – but she’d emailed me with all kinds of nice things to say. She even asked if she could introduce me to some of her licensing contacts.

I had no idea she was an established songwriter. None.

You know what I call that? I call that shit ”God showing off.”

Oh, and yes, we totally killed our CMJ showcase. Download the set for FREE!

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I just got back from a 10-day run of shows in Texas. The ONE weekend I was in Austin to play at MEOWCon (a women’s music conference), my cousins were in town looking at colleges. Total coincidence. So duh, why not host a family reunion and then completely surprise me by bringing my entire extended family to the show?

I missed a bunch of the conference because I was busy with other shows, so I kind of expected to have -4 people at my showcase. Instead, I got a full room and 15 family members sitting in the front row screaming their heads off.God showing off, I tell ya.

It was just one of those magical sets. I was all smiles. Mom cried. A random girl I’ve never met cried. Toby Keith’s session players stood in the back watching, arms folded, and afterwards couldn’t stop telling my bandmates how much they loved it (which, of course, I completely missed). Then this writer from Rolling Stone tweeted that it was the best showcase at the conference. (!!!!)

You’re voice has gotten stronger, my brother-in-law even told me.And it’s true. I can own that, because I put in the hours. Literally: after my plane landed we did three fucking rehearsals in thirty hours. And they were a blast.

Later that week, I arrived in McAllen, TX to headline at Music Under the Stars, where a girl who’d seen me play last year surprised me with this gift:

And that…well, that just made me smile.

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Thank you, Reverbnation! (FREE STUFF!)

Last week I was selected for the Artist Spotlight on Reverbnation. Reverb is the online music hub to over 3.23 million musicians, venues, and labels. In one week, I picked up more fans than any single piece of press EVER (probably combined), and got bumped up to the top 10 Songwriters in NYC. God bless ya, internet.

So I’d like to extend a BIG ASS THANK YOU to you for being a part of this.

You know that CMJ Showcase? As part of their new pricing model, Set.fm has asked me to give it to you! FOR FREE! HERE IT IS! Seriously. Please have.

Sending love from my little nook in Brooklyn,

Just when you think you’ll never find another festival that’ll love you again…

Have you ever been flat-out rejected?

I was on my first cross-country tour with Alyse Black. Months earlier I had royally fucked up a relationship with an amazing guy, and now I was traveling from town to town, gushing to strangers in coffee shops that I was headed to The Big Apple to see the man I loved. We were en route to NYC for CMJ Music Marathon, and I had a grand plan to win him back.  I emailed him, made plans to meet for dinner, and got to scheming.  Those long drives in the days leading up to our arrival were absolute torture. My mind drifted off into the world of our possibilities together amidst the thick reds and browns smeared across the Northeastern landscape. I would tell him I loved him. No! I would play it cool. Yes! We’d be on a little bench in Central Park. No! I wasn’t ready to settle down. Yes! I could totally move to New York City. I started telling all of my friends I was moving to New York City.  The day before I got to town, he emailed and said he didn’t want to see me. I unloaded a grand-ass love letter in a last ditch effort, clicked “send” and nearly threw up.  He was shocked! Flattered! Thought about it. Nope. Still didn’t want to see me.  That sucked.  I woke up this morning to a missed call from him. Now he’s married with an adorable son, I’ve got a life packed with experience, and our relationship has morphed into this beautiful, funny friendship. We’re closer than I ever imagined we would be again. Both of our egos took some hits along the way, but eventually we recovered. I think we’re better for it.  Rejection never stops feeling like getting picked last on the playground. Three years in a row, I’ve been rejected by CMJ. I’ll tell you what though - that shit pales in comparison. I worked through that, too. Then I found a way in. Here’s how:   Year 1 (rejected) HOW I GOT IN ANYWAY: Learned guitar parts to Alyse’s songs, and in exchange she let me play a song during her showcase.   Year 2 (rejected) HOW I GOT IN ANYWAY: Invited to fill last minute slot by EIPR, my old PR company.  Year 3 (rejected) HOW I GOT IN ANYWAY: Asked by Monarch Artists, my agency, to showcase at Rockwood Music Hall. 

I applied to CMJ by submitting a standard form which was swallowed up by the internet and spit back out onto some intern’s desk. The Anonymous Intern would then stamp a big fat “NO” on my application, and I’d open up the rejection letter to unleash a shit-storm of rage and resentment: my music sucks, the industry sucks, i’ll never find another festival that will love me again.

My brain will do funny things in the name of “protecting” me.  But then I’d dust myself off and go back to answering e-mails and writing songs. It’s all I know how to do. Inevitably, an opportunity would pop up for me to showcase. It always comes as a result of a genuine relationship I’d cultivated over time, not some shiny press package.

Sometimes you get rejected. I’ve gotten a hell of a lot more “No’s” than “Yes’s” out in the ring, but I just keep on asking. When I get turned down, I try to remember every time I didn’t get what I wanted - just to find something even better. If I spent my time moping, I’d miss out on that. I know a thing or two about rejection. I know it is every bit worth going through once you look back and realize just how far you’ve come.

(pictured: The band at Rockwood Music Hall, at this year’s CMJ Showcase) 

If he wants to be with you, then where is he?

Tucker always said things like this and it made me want to punch him. Typically, because I knew he was right. The guy I’d been pining over for months and months didn’t care; at least not in the way I wanted him to. I laughed. All that wasted energy. It was that simple.

Joe's Pub is one of New York City's most celebrated venues, hosting such world-renowned artists as Feist, Amy Winehouse, Lady Gaga, and Adele. Last Wednesday, I lowered raised the bar and took the stage with my incredible 6-piece band. For anyone else with a big show coming up, I've provided this step-by-step guide at executing a kick-ass gig from start to finish. This is a sneak peak into how a grownup musician gets shit done.

       There’s this funny thing that I do.

I’ll be out for a run - and I’ll hit a wall. I’ll get tired, my breath heaving heavily, legs dragging under me, and i’ll want to stop. In that moment, I envision a big, white puffy cloud floating above my head. Perched up in the cloud sit a few folks dear to me who’ve passed on - Grandma and Grandpa Maher, my friends Ana and Zamia. They’re all leaning over, clapping their hands, chanting my name at the top of their lungs.

Told you it was funny.