Sound, imagery inextricably linked

I listen to music cinematically. I think about music and how it would make me feel when it’s put to an image, a moving image, and I love it — Walton Goggins

In the last three or four weeks, I’ve been obsessed with a musical mash-up between Blondie (Heart of Glass) and Philip Glass (Violin Concerto: II) which was created by Daft Beatles a few years ago. Titled Heart of Glass (Crabtree remix), I never knew this was a mash-up I needed in my life and on my writing playlist.

The first time I heard the song was on the July 11 broadcast of CBC’s q with guest host Ali Hassan. Hassan was interviewing Michael Perlmutter, the music supervisor for the TV adaptation of Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale. They were discussing the rise of the music supervisor and how the Emmys finally created a category for outstanding music supervision.

Side note: Perlmutter didn’t make the cut for that category. Bummer.

Second side note: the job of music supervisor or music editor for a film or TV series fascinates me to no end. Soundscapes are just as important as the visuals and when you have a perfect marriage between the two, it is absolutely unforgettable.

The TV series Person of Interest was the first show I became aware of the music they used in their episodes. They used music by artists such as Johnny Cash, Nat King Cole, The Kills and Philip Glass for two or three key scenes in every episode during the five seasons that they ran. It was smart use of sound and visuals to manipulate the viewer into feeling a certain way about a situation or one of the characters. Although the show probably paid a pretty sum to use the music of these artists, the real star, musically-speaking, was music composer Ramin Djawadi who created the score for the series. This is where I discovered his music and have remained an ardent fan of his work. The leitmotifs he created for the series were sublime. Mind you, his work for Game of Thrones is nothing to sneeze at either. Light of the Seven will always be one of my favourite works from Djawadi.

Watching this series made me think about the marriage between sound and imagery. It also made me want to talk to the show’s music supervisor, Djawadi and the show’s producers about their views on music and its role in visual storytelling. I just wanted to pick their brains. It would have been an eye-opening experience.

Anyway, back to Perlmutter and his CBC q interview. Assuming I heard the man correctly, the show submitted its third episode for Emmy consideration which featured the Daft Beatles mash-up. Then they played the song without naming it. Well, I nearly fell over when I heard the piece. I love Blondie. I love Debbie Harry. And I have an ever-growing appreciation for Philip Glass. Holy crap. Who knew these two artists could be mashed up like that and sound so sublime. I didn’t. And had I been PVRing The Handmaid’s Tale I would have discovered this little bit of aural heaven a lot sooner.

Of course, it’s a piece of music that fits perfectly with my current writing playlist. The piece is visually and emotionally evocative. It inspires my characters. It sets the right tone for them in some of the scenes I plan to write. It sets the wheels in motion.

My playlist is forever evolving and being fine-tuned as I work on the second novel. What the playlist looked like at the beginning of the writing process will look almost completely different by the time the first draft of the book is finished. What will remain are the core pieces that represent the characters and their relationships to each other.

Music and the writing process are inextricably linked.

I’m not sure when I started listening to music cinematically. I probably started when I was a teenager. Bits and pieces of images that would pop into my head because the music I was listening to at the time demanded it. I’ve always believed in the power of combining music and imagery, be it still or moving. But not everything I hear is cinematic. The pieces of music my brain registers as cinematic share some sort of intangible quality. I know what some of the commonalities are but it doesn’t completely explain the reason they affect me the way they do.

To be honest, I’m not all that interested in over-analyzing it. I go by gut instinct when it comes to music.

And now, I’m off to obsess over music and story.

Feline musings and lacking chill

I write in my pyjamas on my sofa surrounded by my cats. It’s a bit isolating — Allison Schroeder

I can’t say I write in my pj’s on a sofa. Not my perch or outfit of choice. I’ll pretty much write anywhere but I don’t find sofas ideal no matter how much back support they may have.

I will write with the laptop sitting on my lap with my feet propped up on another chair. I will write sitting cross-legged on the floor.

I’m not surrounded by cats when I write simply because I don’t have any cats in my home. Except this week, I’m cat-sitting for a family friend. A one-and-a-half year old ginger/sand tabby named Hoody. The family has only had him for a month. They found him at the local humane society. Nobody is clear on his backstory. The folks at the humane society believe he was living on the streets.

But he is exceedingly friendly and playful. If he was living on the streets, he wasn’t there for any extended period of time. He loves attention but I always default to describing him as needy. I can also describe him as lacking a little chill. I blame that on his youth and whatever occurred in his life prior to finding his forever home.

As I write this blog, the ginger furball is napping beside the laptop on the kitchen table that doubles as my office, my writing HQ, my perch of choice. He’s found some space amongst the chaotically organized research material that inhabits the table.

I did have a cat before. I had to put him down 8-1/2 years ago. He was losing weight and it seemed his kidneys were starting to shut down. There was no other option, if you think about it. That was all before I started writing. So, I’ve never had the experience of writing while being surrounded by cats. That seems a little distracting to me, especially if they’re not particularly chill which is something I highly prize at this point. Walking all over the keyboard is hardly endearing, either. I certainly won’t miss that when his family comes to pick him up next Monday morning.

I suppose Hoody’s presence is a good way to figure out if I’m ready to make room for a furball or two of my own. Heading into Day Three… the answer is no. I’m thinking my caretaking tendencies were satiated when I had the cat and the horse. Is it horrible to be counting down the days until the furball goes home? I love animals. I love horses. I love cats and other furry and feathered creatures. But it takes time and responsibility to have one in your life. I worry he’s not being entertained enough. I worry I’ll come home to find something he’s destroyed. Child-proofing a home is one thing. Cat-proofing a home is a whole different ballgame.

Schroeder said it was a bit isolating being surrounded by her cats while she’s in her pj’s writing something. Writing can be isolating, but not in a negative way. You’re isolated with your thoughts and ideas, the very things you want to put onto paper. I like being isolated in that way. Let’s me get into the heads of my characters and talk or listen to them. I enjoy my alone time with them.

The isolation I need probably doesn’t go over very well with family members or acquaintances who don’t quite understand. I suppose the fear of me possibly being labelled a hermit or anti-social doesn’t sit well with family. The creative soul misunderstood.

Anyway, I move through life knowing that the creative soul can, and will be, misunderstood. It doesn’t bother me. I’m past the point of giving a shit about what a lot folks think I should or shouldn’t do. However, if anyone tries to coerce me into doing something I ultimately don’t want to do, I will rain Hell down on them. Just a warning.

Now, back to writing and trying to help a feline house guest gain some chill before I lose mine.

Don’t know any other way

Being a writer is an endless study in human transition and lessons learned or forgotten or misapplied —Sloane Crosley

Being a writer is also realizing that the endless study in human transition can and does include the writer him/herself. That one’s own lessons learned, forgotten or misapplied, factor into one’s storytelling and the stories one wants to tell.

The stories I plan to tell will not make everyone happy. For those who like stories that are made of sugar-and-spice-and-everything-nice, they can walk their asses right out the fucking door. Nothing I have to offer is made of sugar. I inhabit the realm of the salty, the tart, the bittersweet (emphasis on bitter, perhaps) and the uncomfortably hot. All that, yet still uniquely flavourful. Well, that’s what I believe anyway.

For the first time in quite awhile, I spent a good chunk of the weekend with my characters, my two boys. In many ways, the time together didn’t seem to suffer from a life that had kept me away from them since February. We carved out moments where we made a little time for each other. Never once did they disappear from me. They were and always have been close by. Never far from the reality of my life. Biding their time, and occasionally shaking their fists and even brandishing a weapon to use against anyone, real or fictional, who seemed to be in a threatening position to take me away from them.

It’s not surprising that other characters who might want me to tell their stories, have kept their distance from me because of the boys’ feral-like attitude to strangers and folks they don’t like. And there is a small list of folks they don’t like. Fortunately, none of them are the fictional characters I plan to work with in the future. So, yeah, the boys have gotten a bit better at allowing those folks to come closer. At least, close enough that I can hear them if they raise their voices.

Have I mentioned in previous posts that they are fiercely protective and possessive of me and what the three of us have together? I believe I have.

Most importantly, my boys love me. I don’t know why but they do. The fierce feelings are mutual.

In many ways, my boys are a blend of lessons learned, forgotten and misapplied not only in my own life but in those around me and what I see in the world. It’s more of a world view, I suppose, but the personal is very much in play.

In other ways, my boys are more than any word I could use to describe their presence and meaning to me. They are more than the ink that will form the vocabulary I will use to tell their story. We have a hold on each other. It is a powerful feeling to experience. It is tangible and intangible but undeniably visceral.

It’s bliss to be working on my writing projects again. Everything that goes into working on it, is familiar and warm. It’s something I fall into effortlessly without much thought. It’s also something I have been craving for a long time.

I think it has everything to do with the boys. They make it so easy for me to fall in with them, to let them take my hands and have them show me what they want me to know. It hasn’t been easy having them wait for me. Sometimes it hasn’t been easy getting them to co-operate when they’ve had their petulant moments.

Yes, we occasionally struggle and fight each other. But it’s only because we’re fighting for each other. This is what happens when we’re protective and possessive of each other.

My boys don’t know any other way. And that’s ok. Because when I’m with them, I don’t know any other way, either.