Merle Haggard Actually Didn't Want To Release Hit Classic Hit “I Think I'll Just Stay Here And Drink” As A Single | Whiskey Riff

Introduction:

There are songs that touch our hearts, and then there are songs that live within them forever. One such song is “Today I Started Loving You Again,” a timeless country classic penned by the legendary Merle Haggard. But what many may not know is that this heartfelt anthem of love and loss was not merely a product of Haggard’s songwriting genius — it was born from a deeply personal chapter of his life, and from the steadfast support of a woman who understood his creative soul like no one else did.

Merle Haggard found himself in a remarkable streak of inspiration shortly after marrying Bonnie Owens. During this heated period of creativity, he admits he was writing “pretty good,” and much of that had to do with her unwavering presence. If he so much as hinted that he was about to write, Bonnie would be right there with a pen and pad, ready to catch every word. Her dedication wasn’t casual — it was essential. As Haggard once said, without her, songs like “Mama Tried” or “Workin’ Man Blues” may never have made it to paper, let alone history.

The couple’s shared rhythm was so strong that in 1968 or 1969, they had six BMI awards in one year — all songs transcribed by Bonnie. One of the most iconic, “Today I Started Loving You Again,” was written for her. It started with a quiet moment during a layover at the L.A. airport. After a long tour in Texas and another 45 dates ahead, Haggard turned to Bonnie and said, “Today I’ll start loving you again.” Her response? “What an idea for a song.”

Three weeks later, after a long night playing at Dewey Groom’s Longhorn Ballroom in Dallas, and an argument that left him emotionally frayed, Merle found himself back in the hotel room — tired, in his shorts, asking Bonnie for a hamburger. When she returned, he had written the entire song on a paper bag. Like something out of a Roger Miller story, that song, scribbled in the middle of a raw moment, would go on to become one of his most financially successful and emotionally resonant works.

And while Haggard initially gifted her half of the royalties as a token of love, fate later dictated that she’d receive even more following their divorce. Despite their marriage ending, they remained close. Their friendship endured long past their romantic chapter — all the way to her final years. Even when Alzheimer’s disease clouded Bonnie’s mind, she never forgot the man who wrote that song. During one visit, she led Merle to her room, pointed at a photograph of them above her bed, and told her guests with childlike clarity, “He’s my favorite.”

“Today I Started Loving You Again” isn’t just a ballad — it’s a living memory of a love that outgrew marriage and matured into lifelong companionship. And at its heart is a woman who never missed a word, never missed a moment, and helped a legend turn fleeting thoughts into timeless music.

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In the mid-1970s, when Merle Haggard stood at the pinnacle of country music stardom, the applause often faded into something far more private. Behind the sold-out shows and bright stage lights, he carried a quiet burden — the accumulated weight of broken relationships, endless highways, and the solitude that success can’t erase. One evening, after stepping offstage, he returned to a modest motel room and turned on the television. An old black-and-white film flickered across the screen, filled with sweeping romances and neatly tied happy endings. As he watched the characters find effortless love and redemption, the contrast felt almost piercing. His own life had been far less cinematic — marked by failed marriages, restless touring, and the emotional distance that comes with living out of a suitcase. In that stillness, he began to reflect on how easily people measure their lives against fictional standards. Movies promise that love conquers all and that every heartbreak resolves before the final scene fades. Real life, however, offers no such guarantees. Expectations shaped by the silver screen often dissolve into disappointment when reality proves more complicated. From that quiet realization emerged “It’s All In The Movies.” The song became a tender acknowledgment that the flawless endings we admire are crafted illusions. Yet rather than sounding cynical, it carried empathy. For Haggard, it was both an admission of vulnerability and a gesture of reassurance — a reminder that imperfection does not diminish meaning. Through the melody, he seemed to tell listeners that while life may never follow a script, the emotions we feel are just as powerful as any scene in film. The movies may sell dreams, but the truth — messy, unfinished, and deeply human — is what truly endures.