Be Brave Tonight

In 1998, a song I wrote called Be Brave Tonight was being pushed to be the end credit song for the Kevin Costner/Paul Newman/Robin Wright movie based on Nicholas Sparks’ bestselling novel Message in a Bottle. I loved all three of those actors—Costner was superb in JFK, Wright was heartbreaking and wonderful in Forrest Gump, and I’d been a massive fan of Paul Newman from the days of Cool Hand Luke and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. 

As for the song, I had recorded it a couple of years earlier in the home of the parents of a friend who were travelling and needed some vagabond to look after the place, and the dog, Spencer. A lovely house in the boonies, where the Manson Family might choose to come and kill you. Yes, I’m vulnerable to ridiculously paranoid thoughts—many that make it into my songs. 

Plus I get unnerved at night sometimes, when I’m alone in a house in the countryside, away from city crime. Who doesn’t? Those unfamiliar creaks and knocks double as footsteps, all set against the relentless roar of crickets, bullfrogs and wheezing psychopaths.

Anyway, the parents left for Thailand or Taiwan or Tunisia and I brought in $1,229.63 of rented recording equipment to make my second album—and drain my pitiful bank account. I lived off rhubarb pies in the freezer, fed Spencer the dog, and, feral as a ferret, recorded my face off with fantastic musicians dropping by to add magic. 

Put another way, to get this kind of opportunity—Hollywood, dammit!—for a song produced by me for 12 cents was encouraging. This was the same year the novel Understanding Ken came out for me, and I was in love with a proper English actress (who shared my mom’s maiden name), and spending months at a time in the dreamworld of LA, writing screenplays and songs and experiencing that ephemeral summer breeze of potential (blowing through the jasmine in my mind). 

Meanwhile, the music score for the film was not only in the delicate hands of Academy Award-winner Gabriel Yared (the composer of the profoundly lush The English Patient—far from my sensibilities), it was being mixed at Abbey Road Studios in London.

You read that right. Abbey Road Studios.

I wasn’t there—I wasn’t invited—but my song Be Brave Tonight was, and being played on some console that may have been used to record Here Comes the Sun, while Paul Newman acted on the screen above the console—or at least that’s how I picture it all going down, with the ghost of John Lennon digging it.

More importantly, the song meant a lot to me. It was written in a time of seeking and doubting and longing; about holding onto one’s soul despite our own limitations, not quitting on life, and not selling out—and not giving up even if you have sold out. The refrain was to anyone in crisis: “There is a call from the light / Be Brave Tonight.”

Then one afternoon Jim Wilson, the Oscar-winning producer of Dances With Wolves, who was also producing Message in a Bottle, called me from Abbey Road:

“Sorry Pete, Be Brave Tonight is not going to be in the film.” 

I was strangely not too beat up. The process itself had been fulfilling and I’ve always been resilient enough to never stop creating no matter how little (or how much) people care. Hell, I’m still on Facebook. And what a perfect song title with that news, right? Be Brave Tonight.

The best part was the reason why it didn’t make the film? A focus group brought in to judge the film, filled out their forms, and said the ending was way too depressing. All I knew was Kevin Costner’s character Garrett Blake died at the end of the film (spoiler!) and my song was playing as the credits rolled—so one of those two things had to go. It wasn’t going to be Kevin—even if he was dead.

Be Brave Tonight. You’re out. 

So whoever was in charge pulled the song and put in Gabriel Yared’s strings—or, I don’t know, a different song maybe. I’m not even sure if I saw the film. I’m not even sure how accurate this story is. But it’s close. And it is now the official story of Be Brave Tonight, a tender, pleading dirge with Aeolian pipes and a lot of heart, that carried on despite being rejected, and thus, had to live up to its name…

And here it is, calling from the light, through an older face, 28 years later … 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e3e-ryZ5xwc

STAY WITH ME: A Dream 32 Years in the Making

The dream continues in video form when you click or tap the image.

In 1994, as Grunge blew up in Seattle and the Gulf War exploded, I spent nearly all my money and gave all I had to make an independent CD. In the preceding years, after dropping out of university and picking up a guitar, I’d had a band called Oh Yeah—with great players I loved—and written a batch of songs that I hoped would connect with people. My creativity reflected my brain and my soul,

both being packed with big ideas and a blend of spirituality, politics and desire—and a bulging suitcase of neuroses that is to this day only partially unpacked.

Point of neurotic fact: I remain one of the few (maybe the only) lead singers in the annals of rock ’n’ roll history to not get laid over a three-year period as a live performer, touring and having a small fan base. I am uncertain what that says about me (or the music), but it does add resonance to the song you’re about to hear: Stay With Me.

Of all the songs, my gut said Stay With Me should be the first single. I produced it to make the poppiest pop I could pop, but still be original and cool.

But when the CD was finally pressed, a crisis of confidence, distraction and undeniable neuroses got in the way. More importantly, so did a stunning lack of marketing. Of those four things, only one do I not excel at. I simply didn’t get the CD out to record companies or even media.

I am undeniably a distracted, compulsive, creative soul—but not strategic. I was just then completing my first novel, which would also be published that year, and my brain was filled with new songs. Like a train-hopping vagabond, I had moved on.

All excuses aside, I present to you the video for Stay With Me—the video that should have been made in 1994 but had to wait until the spring of 2026, with a much older me trying to look cooler and less hairy than my back and nose care to admit.

The filmmaker, my dear friend, and dare I say huge fan of my music—the brilliant Gina Chiarelli—demanded we do videos for all of my songs. It's decades after some of these songs were written, but who could say no to the support and love? We’ve called it the Almost Live Sessions—a flurry of creative joy and experience. As of today, we have made little movies for 24 of my songs, past and present—the video series flickering on my site. It's worth checking out, even just to witness the late yet ongoing unfolding of another person's creative dreams and adventures, and perhaps remind you to get yours going.

So I give you Stay With Me.

But the power resides with you. Could Stay With Me have been a sleeper hit? A cult classic? A one-hit wonder? A big waste of marketing money? I don't know (or care), but my dreams from 1994 are, in 2026, in some wonderful way: in your hands… That gives me great joy.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c_sG9-hT1t8

Do You Have a Story in You? Yes is the answer.

Last week was a sweet week for a couple of reasons. I just released two new books on the creative process — 

Hey, Writer. 

And Hey, Songwriter. 

They're creative guides for anyone (experienced or inexperienced) who has a story, a song, or an idea living inside them that hasn't been birthed into the world yet. Who doesn't? Not because the talent or the idea wasn't there — but because nobody told you it can be done. 

It can be done. 

Or maybe life got in the way, as it does. Or fear. Or you're experienced as a writer, but lost the spark and joy somewhere along the way (asking for a friend).

How do I know your idea can come to life? That’s the crux of this post.

Last week when I  launched the books, Understanding Ken — a novel I wrote sometime in the Jurassic period — hit #1 Amazon Bestseller in Hockey. 

I didn't plan that at all. I wish I could.

But it turns out to be perfect. Understanding Ken is the proof of concept behind everything I wrote in the Hey books. In my early twenties, I had no idea there was a novel in me. Or music. Or screenplays. Or films. I was bumbling my way through life (still am). 

Then one day I just... started.

And that's the whole point. In Hey Writer, Anthony Hopkins says this about the artistic process: “Acting to me is a kind of confidence trick. Art and writing are the same. You have to con yourself into doing it and it transmits over the resistance of thought and worry and anxiety. Just do it. And your brain says: good.”

I met Anthony and he told me he loved Facing Ali, a documentary I wrote and directed. So I have to believe him. Of course, what he says is true. Nothing gets a person over the fear of doing more than doing.

If you or you know someone who has a desire to create more, one or both of these books will help a lot.

If you do pick up a copy, a review on Amazon means everything for an independent book — it's how the words find their way to new readers.

Check them out… 

Hey, Writer — https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B0H29C9QRV

Hey, Songwriter — https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B0H2FCCCY1

Some of you I know well. And I want you to know — if you feel that creative tug, it's real. Your story is worth telling.

Hope to see you down the creative road.

Pete