DON'T TELL ANYBODY THE SECRETS I TOLD YOU by LUCINDA WILLIAMS : MISTRESS MANIFESTO BOOK REVIEW

Loved this book, and as always here at MISTRESS MANIFESTO, I was wondering if Lucinda, an erotic song writer, had ever been the other woman.  Enjoy these excerpts from the memoir and ask yourself if you have a "type" when it comes to men!

Excerpt pages 94-95

As I was growing into a full-fledged woman, I began to be attracted to a certain kind of man, and I would maintain that kind of attraction for the rest of my adult life.  The way I've often described this kind of man is that he would be "a poet on a motorcycle." These were men who could think very deeply and could have very deep feelings, but there was also a kind of blue-collar roughneck quality to them  The epitome of this kind of man for men was the pot Frank Stanford.

I met Frank sometime in the spring of 1978.  I was twenty-five years old at the time.  I had been living in Houston and Austin, plying my trade and craft in the music scenes in those towns, working odd jobs in restaurants and health food stores to pay my bills, but I was back and forth to Fayetteville to visit my father and Jorda and sometimes I would stay there for weeks or a couple of months at a time.  His literary parties were in full swing at the house as usual and sometimes in the evening I would get out my guitar and play songs... 

Pages 95-96

Frank was twenty-nine years old and married to a beautiful, smart woman named Ginny Crouch who was a painter.  Frank was also living, on the side, with another beautiful, smart woman, the poet Carolyn "C.D." Wright.  He and Carolyn started a publishing company together in Fayetteville. It was a pretty weird situation, married to one and living with the other - an ad hoc, a part-time commitment to both.....

Page 98

.... His writing was feral and on fire.  Everybody locally was proclaiming him the next great American poet.  He knew a lot about blues and country music and I think his poetry came from that background, and was also part of the Flannery O'Connor Southern Gothic tradition.

Page 99

I was enamored of him, in love with him. I don't know what you would call our relationship.  I wouldn't say it was a love triangle, or a love square, with me and Ginny and Carolyn, because Frank and I never actually had sex.  We just hung out together and talked.  He was genuinely attentative to what I had to say and he knew exactly what to say in response.  He knew what I wanted to hear, which implies some manipulation, but also suggests to me that he cared.  We talked about poetry and lyrics and feelings and desires, all sorts of topics about caring about individuals and caring for the world, about how the world was fucked up ad so hard on most people while some people had it easy, and why it was important to be a poet or a singer even if your audience was never going to be very big, which certainly seemed to be the case for me at the time.

My relationship with Frank only lasted about two months and then he killed himself by shooting a handgun into his chest.  There are various versions of the events that led to his suicide.

Basically, all the stories overlap in claiming that Ginny and Carloyn had had enough of Frank's philandering and they confronted him together, almost like an intervention, and he couldn't handle it.  He had left town for a couple weeks before this happened  He might have gone to New Orleans, possibly to visit with the poet Ellen Gilchris, who he was close to.

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Reading this book which answers the question most posed to a songwriter which is Who inspired the song - sent me right over to YouTube where I searched for Lucinda Williams and listened to the songs she mentioned in it.  It's a smooth read and perfect for a night home alone with a little wine and cheese!  Missy

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