Never Tell Me

It’s the question every writer is asked, whether they look forward to waxing lyrical about their own work, are unsure about what their work is really all about, or balk at the audacity of the question itself.

So, what’s this book of yours about, then?

I’ll talk in generalities about the characters and plot, then get caught up in telling the story, complete with physical gestures, until the person asking the question stops nodding, looks confused and utters a non-committal ‘Oh’ while presumably wishing they hadn’t asked.

Not the answer they were looking for.

What is it really about … Life and death?  Love and loss?  Pain and pleasure?

Still too vague.

What they’re really asking for is a shortcut.  A succinct sentence that will tell them everything your novel is about without them having to read it, because life is too short to read them all.

And they are looking for the answer.

So am I.

It’s why I read and, I assume, why I write.

I want to uncover that one book in billions that will give to me the one answer I seek and when I am finished reading it, I will know the truth at last.

Every book I read gives me answers, sometimes to questions I had not even considered, but inevitably it leaves me with more to know, more to understand, more to seek out and uncover.

I may never read it.

I may never write it.

Perhaps it is hidden across many books, each with a piece of the puzzle, and when they are all added together, the whole becomes an answer to the sum of its parts.

It’s the journey that has me.

For every answer I receive, and the resultant nine questions it always brings, I feel the glow of knowing, and the excitement of not-knowing.  I know what is newly known and also know that there is more to be known than what I know, you know?

I think I lost myself a little there.

What I meant to say is, I don’t want a shortcut.

Of course life is short and the only thing you know for sure is where you’ll eventually end up, but how you get there is an act of sheer will and discovery, as you make mistakes, happen upon unexpected friends, or find yourself in the right place at the right time to experience something amazing.

So if someone tells you exactly what will happen and when to expect it, doesn’t that diminish the moment from being all that it can be?  Doesn’t that lessen your experience of it?

Say you listen to your favourite song because it exactly reflects the best moment in your life, does it help you to know exactly what every phrase means, what the songwriter intended to say, how they wanted you to feel when then wrote it?

I don’t think so.

The truth of what the songwriter intended can only, at best, confirm what you always believed it was about.  At worst, it can destroy the meaning you layered over the lyrics, and make you feel like you got it wrong.

It’s one of the few downsides to seeing your favourite band live, as they sometimes insist on telling you exactly what every song is about before they play it.  If you’re fortunate, the feedback will eat up their words or the people around you will be shouting to cover their voice.

I was not so fortunate.

A song I once loved has now become merely one I enjoy listening to, purely because I did not see its political meaning within the words, and when this was pointed out to me, it made me feel, quite frankly, stupid.

When I listen to it now, I can see what its' intended meaning is to those who wrote it, but it has lost its’ meaning for me.

So I prefer not to know.

I recently started watching a series called Songbook where great songwriters talk about their music and the song-writing process.  Being slightly musical and slightly writer-ish I find their processes fascinating, but am always wary of them revealing the meanings of their songs to me.

Thankfully, most of them seem to understand that their greatest songs have as many meanings as listeners, and refuse to divulge the true meaning despite protestations from fans and interviewers.

Quite right, too.

Never tell me.