Once before, many years ago, I made an attempt to learn to play guitar. I was in high school. It was summertime. My parents were of the sort to say, "Your grades are good, you will be moderately well-funded so long as that continues". I had money to go grab a burger with my friends, catch mnovies, moderately indulge my book-addiction and other hobbies. So long as I didn't want something expensive, like a car, I didn't need a job. So I had lots and lots of time on my hands.
So, I picked up my father's unused, steel stringed guitar, and started playing. With much youthful determination and enthusiasm... and stupidity. The book I had did most of the beginning work on the smaller, high-pitched strings. I realized that this would uncomforatable until I built up callouses, so I ignored the discomfort.
Thus leading me right into a Bryan Adams song, and playing until my fingers bled, literally. I had to put the thing down until they healed. And by the time I was ready to pick it up again, school was back in session, and I didn't have the free time.
At least this time, working on nylon, I'm far more likely to play until the muscles of my hand get tired than until I bleed.
Your book advice sounds very reasonable to me. Luckily, I happen to enjoy a great range of folksy music, so a trip to a few bookstores will probably scare up a book decent for me.
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Once before, many years ago, I made an attempt to learn to play guitar. I was in high school. It was summertime. My parents were of the sort to say, "Your grades are good, you will be moderately well-funded so long as that continues". I had money to go grab a burger with my friends, catch mnovies, moderately indulge my book-addiction and other hobbies. So long as I didn't want something expensive, like a car, I didn't need a job. So I had lots and lots of time on my hands.
So, I picked up my father's unused, steel stringed guitar, and started playing. With much youthful determination and enthusiasm... and stupidity. The book I had did most of the beginning work on the smaller, high-pitched strings. I realized that this would uncomforatable until I built up callouses, so I ignored the discomfort.
Thus leading me right into a Bryan Adams song, and playing until my fingers bled, literally. I had to put the thing down until they healed. And by the time I was ready to pick it up again, school was back in session, and I didn't have the free time.
At least this time, working on nylon, I'm far more likely to play until the muscles of my hand get tired than until I bleed.
Your book advice sounds very reasonable to me. Luckily, I happen to enjoy a great range of folksy music, so a trip to a few bookstores will probably scare up a book decent for me.