My current ms is hell to write. This story has been simmering in my brain for months, so this isn’t a surprise. After thinking I’d finally settled on a title that’s now up for debate… and I suck at titles. So, there’s that.
Then, there’s the issue of the actual subject matter. We won’t go there. It’s bad enough I have to write about it in the story. I’m not going to repeat myself here.
But every now and again a piece from a larger puzzle comes into focus, and I can see the moment perfectly, which is important, because this story isn’t about external action as much as it’s about internal turmoil.
This piece came about because of the title debate. For some bizarre reason, looking at my itunes playlists, I was drawn to Tom Cochrane’s 1986 album, although I hadn’t listened to it in ages. Funny that later this year I’ll be debating with Peter over the use of musical references in crime fiction. I’m just handing him ammunition here, admitting this, but I was convinced I’d find something on Cochrane’s album. And this is doubly strange because when I’m looking for musical inspiration I usually listen to Bruce Cockburn…
My favourite song by Cochrane is from Mad Mad World. It’s a cheery little song about love lost:
God I hate your needles and
Your dirty little vial of pills
I guess I love the sweat you put me through
I know I love your body
Like I used to love your mind
But now your soul's a slave
To all the things you use
I put you in the tub babe
With five big pounds of ice
If you don't get back up
I don't know what I'll do
I've walked around the room
Here nearly 37 Times
Can you hear me now
And am I getting through
That wouldn’t really fit this book. My instincts were correct, though. I may just have found a new title option because of this song, but that pales by comparison to the moment of clarity that some of the other tracks provided.
So, although this ms is proving to be torture, I at least now have music to go with the misery. And the song is just ambiguous enough to not really give any clues to even the three people other than my agent who have read What Burns Within. Much of it isn’t a direct correlation – it’s the sentiments that are more precise – but there’s one line in there of raw truth that connects to the story that it just guts me.
With that, I’m off to find Kleenex.
Another place in another time
I'd know that face anywhere
Without a trace and without a sign
Anytime you could come to me
In the night
When you thought
No one should have known
With your hard luck little girl look
And the trouble that you'd own
You'd come like the wind
When the night got so cold
And leave with the light
Like you didn't even know you'd
Come at all
CHORUS
One more time
You could walk back in
One more time
It's the same south highway again
One less chance and then one less mistake
Some old habits are hard to break
Like you
If a heart could ever learn to say goodbye
And not let time take the best away
Still I Learn
Look down and I'd ask knowing why
Still this time is the destiny
I'd wait while you climb your golden stair
Hard luck then little girl
I know it's nowhere
Still you feel
They beat on you like a drum
If you get tired, torn and wasted
You know I'd never be one
CHORUS
So many times
When it gets hard to
See the truth
When you got to survive you
Tow the line and you compromise
Until you live a lie
Another place in another time
I'd know that face anywhere and I
Without a trace and without a sign
I still remember
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
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2 comments:
I hate to see a post with no comments. Just for the record I think one of the best song titles ever is "Haiku d'Etat".
It has nothing to do with the post but thats all I got. :)
I don't mind Brian - sometimes it's nice! And I've been having trouble posting comments elsewhere, so blogger may just be being pissy today.
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