Chris Loblaw, Author

Because of the circuitous and weird nature of the internet, I found myself watching an interview clip with rapper Big Boi (who you may know from his work as half of the group ‘Outkast’). In the clip he talks about his favourite songs which includes the Kate Bush’s song “Running Up That Hill”. Big Boi says the lyrics are a big part of why he likes it, talking about a couple switching perspectives to understand each other better.

This did not gel with my standing interpretation of the song’s meaning. With no offence intended to Mr. Boi, I dashed to the Google investigation machine and looked for proof that I was right and he was wrong.

Instead I found first-hand proof from the songwriter herself that Big Boi’s interpretation was the one she intended. And I was disappointed. You wanna know why? Sure you do. It’s because this interpretation is much smaller and less epic than the one I had invented.

(Before we continue, I should mention that my preferred version of the song is this one by Placebo, a much sadder version:)

This doesn’t sound like a song about wishing that you could switch bodies temporarily with your love so that they could finally understand how much it cheeses you off when they forget to buy you a birthday cake. This isn’t Freaky Friday. There is a heartbreaking sadness, powerful sense of love, and a crushing sense of futility driving my interpretation. This is because I am OVERLY DRAMATIC!

The chorus is key. “If I only could, I’d make a deal with God, and get him to swap our places.” You don’t make a plea to god to smooth over a romantic misunderstanding. You turn to deals with god (or the devil, for that matter) when all real hope is gone. When you watch helplessly as some wretched tragedy slowly consumes the person you love, and you would take on their pain in a second if it meant that they would be spared. That is the over-the-top, utterly gothic interpretation of the song that I came up with.

After mulling the situation over, I decided I’m sticking with my version of the song. Yes I know the author had different intentions. Nerts to that. It is my right and privilege as the audience to read/misread the work of art as I see fit. Once the art is in the wild, the artist has no say on how the audience interacts with it.

It’s a curse and blessing simultaneously. Curse because someone, somewhere, is going to read your work in the most hostile way possible and twist your words into something toxic, and you can do nothing to stop them. But a blessing when you accept that you cannot control the audience, so you are free to make the art you want to make for yourself.

Sidenote: this is also why artists should never ever ever* explain their work. Let the art speak for itself. Brett Emmons (singer/songwriter for The Glorious Sons) made this video when his record company wanted to preempt controversy over their song ‘Sawed Off shotgun’:

The important line: “I don’t blame them. I am scared too. But I will not explain my song to you”.

Oh, and go listen to ‘Sawed Off shotgun’ because it’s good tune from these Kingston boys.

 

 

 

 

*no not literally, you overly literal nitpicker. There’s always a possibility of an exception to a rule.

(sing the blog post title to the tune of “holly jolly Christmas” for the full experience)

I am not telling you to take a hammer to your holiday to intentionally make it more difficult than it needs to be. If you are having a bog standard, by the numbers Yuletide, then by all means, enjoy it!

But for the rest of you who are watching with building dread as you approach the emotional event horizon, Christmas is a whole other ballgame.

Maybe you are haunted by the ghosts of dysfunctional family Christmas’s past. The fear that your barely cohesive family unit will encounter the crisis that is perpetually stalking you. The stress of trying to handle the erratic behaviours, dependencies and mental health issues of the people surrounding you.

Maybe you’re trying to stay dry in a booze-soaked season. Maybe all the religious talk makes you nervous and uncomfortable. Maybe you’re broke and alone.

Whatever the reason, it’s okay. It is okay to have a complicated Christmas. You choose how you want to interact with all the ho ho ho and fa la la. Do nothing. Do everything. Go wild. Go grinch. Take the parts you like and embrace them with furious intensity. And ignore each and every part that brings you sadness. I give you that permission.

I hope you find a little bit of happiness in every corner of the room.

Do I like waiting for things? A casual study of my way of life would make it clear that no, no I do not. I self-published books 1-4 expressly because I did not want to wait for the world to ask for them. As a consequence, some may say that I rushed in half-cocked to the process and made a lot of mistakes in public. Those people are right.

What makes waiting even worse? Until I turn a book loose onto the unsuspecting public, it is only ‘real’ to me. There is no proof that I have done anything productive with my time. I know, I know, I don’t have to prove to anyone that I have actually been working, but try telling that to my insecurities.

So here’s the ironic situation I find myself in. I have, not one, but TWO unpublished books sitting on my metaphorical desk. The first draft of book 5 of the Spellbound Railway series was finished a few weeks ago (weeks? Sheesh. Time flew by.) And I have a 2nd draft, on the way to a 3rd and possible final draft of my super-secret detective thriller book.

If you’re wondering, those two books represent 2 years of work. Other than me, a total of about 5 folks have read the detective book. Not one other soul has laid eyes on book 5 yet. So much time, and fretting, and cussing has gone into these two novels that the outside world has yet to see.

I have never let a book sit un-released for a few months, much less a whole year. It’s unsettling. And now I have a second book needing exhaustive editing and revising. The to-do list is longer than it has ever been before. To tweak the pressure to get these blasted things out the door, there’s my self-imposed pressure/guilt about bringing home the bacon. Unpublished books don’t make money, honey.

But despite my natural inclination to slapdash my way to the end of a project, I am not going to hurry. I am going to act like a responsible adult doing business. Realistic timelines! Steady progress towards achievable goals! Proper nutrition! The detective book will get its next edit finished up in the next week or so. Then I will query a handful of publishers, to tell them that they need to publish this book. Maybe one of them will answer! Then it will be onto editing book 5.