[Intro music plays]
Woman’s Voice:
This is Behind the Cut with Christopher Gronlund. The companion show to Not About Lumberjacks.
[Music fades out]
Christopher Gronlund:
Behind the Cut is an inside look at episodes of Not About Lumberjacks and often contains spoilers. If you’ve not listened to the latest episode and that’s a concern, go listen and check this out when you’re done.
And now: onward!
* * *
“A Deathly Mistake” is a bit of a departure for me—not in the sense that, thematically, it’s about the struggle between day jobs and creative pursuits (that’s kind of my thing), but in having characters verbally espouse the philosophies they hold dear.
It’s important to know where characters stand on things, but rarely do I have them open their mouths and let their views spill out and rise in a flood to their knees.
I generally avoid that because people often assume everything mentioned in a story is the author promoting their beliefs. Trust me: I’m a liberal vegan atheist—if I used all my stories as a platform, it would be quite apparent.
Still, if you listen to more than a handful of stories on Not About Lumberjacks, certain themes become obvious.
* * *
As much as I’ve always wanted to write fiction full time, that is not my reality. And so, I take care of responsibilities most of us have through a day job. Technically, I have a career: I am a technical writer. But I see that writing as a means to an end—definitely not a thing I would do if I paid the bills with the writing I enjoy most.
I’m not a fan of the Monetize Me economy, where every hobby must become a dreaded “side hustle,” a thing often sucking the joy out of simple pleasures. With fiction, I’ve always pursued it knowing that if I sell a novel or script, it will be changed [perhaps drastically] during the editing process. And I’m fine with that; in fact, one of the reasons I started Not About Lumberjacks was to always have a place to share stories only I control.
For me, fiction straddles the line of something that makes me happy, but also something I’m willing to release if the money or creative view is right.
For me, fiction has always been more than just a hobby.
* * *
When I was twelve years old, I went into my backyard and taught myself how to juggle. And while I always dreamed of paying my way writing novels, I became a good enough juggler that it became a thing I also considered making my life’s work. In the end, though, the stories I have as a street performer are better than the money I made passing the hat.
At a certain point, juggling returned to hobby status—and I loved it even more.
* * *
At the time of this recording, I’m a month into my fifty-second year of existence. Two years ago, I picked up a mandolin. A few years before that, I picked up an ukulele.
Because I like listening to people talk about making things they love, I have been a fan of Adam Savage’s “Still Untitled” podcast since the beginning. During an earlier episode, he talked about keeping an ukulele in his office…just to strum a few chords while thinking through problems.
The thought of filling my office with simple music and thoughts appealed to me. So…I bought an ukulele with the goal of learning three chords to roll through while giving my subconscious problems to work out.
It is important to know this: my wife plays several instruments. Outside of a month of violin lessons in fifth grade, I have never played an instrument.
It turned out I wasn’t content just to play a few chords on my ukulele: I actually learned some tunes. Later, I wanted to play music with my wife, an Irish fiddler and harper.
A mandolin is tuned like a fiddle, so I figured that was as good as any instrument to pick up. If I got stuck, my wife could always help me.
* * *
I once watched the CEO of a company I worked for step down after decades of service. By all accounts, he was everything we’re told to aspire to: the little guy starting out at the bottom, who ended up shaping a company that shaped an industry.
But on the morning he stood before us saying goodbye, he said his final decision to retire came when his family begged him to stop answering text messages from work in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner. He was given an ultimatum by his family to not ruin Christmas by constantly working.
He broke down. Not just a sniffle, here and there, but full-on weeping. Why?
He told us, for all his accomplishments in business, that he missed his children growing up. He really didn’t know them, and he wondered what damage was done to his family in his pursuit of what society holds most dear: money and power.
He closed by saying something along the lines of, “And so, I’m retiring. But here’s what really scares me…I don’t know what I’ll do with myself.”
He talked about making up time with family, or maybe even writing. Perhaps he’d sit on the board of a charity he believed in.
Want to know what he’s doing today?
He’s the CEO for another software company.
(I hope he at least makes time for his grandchildren…)
* * *
What does all this have to do with “A Deathly Mistake”?
I wanted to write a story imploring people to do things they love, simply because it brings them joy. Not monetizing every pursuit or working 80 hours a week, only to one day look back and regret all the things never done.
And I didn’t want to be subtle about it—I would have the protagonists hide nothing in their conversations.
What better way to make a point by showing how, in death, there’s no more power. As an atheist, I obviously believe there’s no more anything, but that’s not much of a way to inspire an audience.
In the end, the regrets most people have are:
- Working too much.
- Living a life others expected of them—not the life they wanted to live.
- Not spending as much time with family and friends.
- And finally: Not doing the things they wanted to do.
* * *
I’ll be the first to admit it’s not always easy to work less, pursue what makes you happiest, and have time for others. It would be a smug assertion that just because I’ve sacrificed certain comforts and security to do those things that others should do the same.
At the same time, I wish others extended similar courtesies to those of us wired differently. I wish others understood that just because some of us are not willing to give our lives over to day jobs, that we can still be serious about the work we do. Instead, many managers act as though we should do as they say and consider ourselves fortunate to stand in their shadows.
For me, “A Deathly Mistake” comes down to two character quotes:
John saying, “The weird thing about having cancer and all that time to think were the epiphanies. You’d vow that if you made it, everything would change. You’d cherish every second of life like few other people could. Then you get through it and, at first, others are happy for you. You’re the center of attention. But that goes away so fast, and then you’re back at a job to make ends meet and no one cares. You know how fleeting life is, but you still have to survive, so you go back to living like nothing ever happened. Such a profound experience wiped away by the rush of everyday life.”
And then Tommy saying, “Figuring out how to find some kind of happiness in spite of all the shit we eat day in and day out…that’s the closest thing to enlightenment I know of.”
* * *
In “A Deathly Mistake,” John finally does something he always wanted to do: he learns how to play the mandolin. At first, he has a difficult time and feels a sense of shame. That shame is quite common in people who excel at their day jobs, but feel awkward struggling through something entirely new.
I’ve worked in factories and warehouses; as a consultant and in offices—and a constant in all those jobs was an expectation of a perfection that never existed (especially in the hurried and stressful conditions in which most people work). But people have a knack for convincing themselves that flipping a few digital switches for a salary makes them more important than people moving boxes. They have a difficult time not being perceived as essential, even though they are likely easily replaced. They cling to what they know, and don’t like feeling clumsy when exposed to new things.
In death, John is still bound by the fears of the living.
He worries that struggling when initially picking up the mandolin means he’s not good at all.
* * *
When I taught myself how to juggle, I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t know the basic cascade pattern was a thing—my impressions of what I set out to do were shaped more by cartoons than actual jugglers.
I attempted to figure it out on my own, and it was frustrating. But then, on the afternoon it clicked, and I could keep things going, juggling became one of the things in life that saved me.
Juggling is a funny thing: to get good, you have to suck. A lot. You drop much more than you succeed. And if you’re wired a certain way, it’s humiliating—a thing best left on the ground and not pursued.
There was a time two years ago, when working my way through a beginning mandolin book, that I became that frustrated person. I wanted to throw my hands up in defeat. If I could have afforded it, I might have smashed the instrument like a rock star on stage.
But I know that’s part of the process, and I can now play a handful of Irish tunes with my wife.
* * *
I obviously chose to have John play the mandolin in “A Deathly Mistake” because it’s the instrument that I play. But still, there was a moment in putting the episode together that I was worried it would not come out the week I intended.
Originally, I hoped to get permission to use a tune I love by a musician I respect in many ways. That didn’t happen, though, so I had to learn something with a similar feeling at the last minute. My wife suggested Turlough O’Carolan’s Sí Beag, Sí Mór.
I learned how to play the first half of the tune, but the second section gets more complex. And because it was easier to record sounds for the episode than practice, I put things off until…one afternoon, the episode was almost complete. The only thing holding me back was the second section of Sí Beag, Sí Mór—the part with some notes that always give me trouble on other tunes I’ve learned.
I resolved to spend the evening—maybe even several evenings—working on the section I’d never attempted. I watched Baron Collins Hill play it on mandolessons.com (where I’ve learned most of what I know), and gave it a try.
Know what?
No section of new music ever came easier to me.
I set up my recorder and found myself with a problem I’d never had before with music: deciding which of the three good takes I laid down from the start to use in the episode.
I had my pick!
* * *
Earlier, I mentioned not using characters as mouthpieces, and I mean it. If John and Tommy dwelled on what I really believe—that most of humanity is miserable and suffering—a hopeful story would be dismal. There are writers who do a great job shedding light on human suffering, but I’m not one of them…at least not where that suffering is dark and deep. I believe that kind of suffering is common, but it’s not what I choose to write about.
If I can write a story that touches somebody in a positive way, even if it’s just a chuckle at one of my more crude or ridiculous tales, my job is done. And if I can inspire someone to something better, that’s an honor I hold dear.
I wish everyone could experience the joy I felt when I could finally juggle; the satisfaction I feel when putting together a story like “A Deathly Mistake”; the giddiness of recording part of a tune that worried me, only to have a hard time choosing in the end which take was the best.
I rarely ask anything of anyone, but I ask you right now: if there’s a thing you’ve always wanted to do, but haven’t: why not?
Maybe you have valid reasons—maybe you are the sole caretaker for someone in need and that’s not an option for you…at least right now. Or maybe you’re like Tommy in the latest episode: content to take care of responsibilities and then watch TV and play video games. (Nothing wrong with that!) Or maybe you’re like my wife and me and already doing plenty of other things—and lack the time and money for another hobby or pursuit.
But if you have the means to do something you repeatedly talk about doing, I hope you give it a try.
No matter what you believe comes after death, it would be a shame to meet your end full of regret, instead of carrying good memories of the things you loved and did during the time you had.
* * *
[Quirky music fades in…]
Thank you for listening to Not About Lumberjacks and Behind the Cut. Theme music for Behind the Cut is a tune called “Reaper” by Razen. Visit nolumberjacks.com for information about the music, the episodes, and voice talent.
In a month or so…well, it’ll probably be a story about a strange phone booth or a tale about a geeky teenager who finds something incredible while shopping in an antique store with his grandmother. (If you’re taking bets, it would probably be best to take the phone booth story.)
Until next time: be mighty, and keep your axes sharp!
[…] Episode Transcript >> […]