When I was a kid I had an album (on vinyl!) called ‘Where the Sidewalk Ends’ featuring children’s poems read by the author Shel Silverstein. It was brilliant. Like fairy tales but twisted, sometimes darkly, which was a polar opposite to the super sanitized readers in my Catholic school library. I can still hear Shel’s voice screeching out “HELP! I’m being EATEN by a BOA CONSTRICTOR!!!!”.

During my teens, while rummaging around my parent’s record bin, there was Shel again – this time on the ‘Doctor Hook & The Medicine Show’ album, credited for writing everything including ‘Cover of the Rolling Stone’. The discoveries from that point on never stopped – he wrote ‘A boy named Sue’ for Johnny Cash, ‘One’s on the Way’ for Loretta Lynn, and ‘The Unicorn’ made popular by the Irish Rovers. In all – he’s got over 800 songs registered with BMI.

On a curious kick, I picked up Shel’s biography ‘A Boy Named Shel’ by Lisa Rogak, to fill in the gaps. Overall I found Shel’s biography lacking somewhat – I think it takes a special kind of creative genius to describe another one, and Lisa Rogak’s text (somewhat out of deference to Shel, I think) often focused on the least interesting aspects of Shel’s incredible Forrest-Gumpian playboy life.

Shel Silverstein was a prolific creative genius in whatever field he could apply his pen to, as evidenced by his monumental body of work. Songs, cartoons, poetry, fiction, theatre, travelogues, flowed from his hand, wherever and whenever inspiration struck. But he was also a rampant womanizer, a recluse, intensely opinionated and unable to tame his creative impulses. His ever-expanding circle of friends included an astonishing number of luminaries from the music and writing worlds, he lived in the Playboy mansion, he was afraid of cars, he constantly travelled. Despite bedding many hundreds of women (not a single one interviewed) and siring two children he never established a monogamous long-term relationship.

I don’t want to judge based on a second-hand interpretation of a life, but despite his riches (though he lived an understated lifestyle) and his many accolades, his story read like a cautionary tale. His many idiosyncrasies served to reinforce themselves. Shel lived a long life, but lived it alone – sacrificing real relationships for easy flings and the freedom to pursue his creative urges. He died alone surrounded by unfinished projects. I felt sorry for him.

I think what I’ll take from this biography is a willingness to get some perspective my own weaknesses, and to re-consider whether following my creative muse is always in my best interests.