[Listen]
[Intro music plays]
[Woman’s Voice]
This is Behind the Cut with Christopher Gronlund. The companion show to Not About Lumberjacks.
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Christopher Gronlund:
Behind the Cut is an in-depth look at the latest episode of Not About Lumberjacks and often contains spoilers from the most recent story. You’ve been warned…
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The first thing I ever wrote for submission was also the first thing I ever had accepted by an editor: a 12-page comic book script.
The two friends I hung out with the most in my very early adulthood were not only into reading comic books, but also writing and illustrating them. At a convention in 1989 or 1990, I met an editor looking for short scripts for a monster anthology he was putting together. While my story wasn’t quite a monster story, he liked it enough that he made an exception and accepted it for publication.
An artist friend and I immediately got to work on the story. (My friend Tim, who did the logo for Not About Lumberjacks…and convinced me to start a Patreon for the show.) We recruited other friends we met through indie comics to work on inks (William Traxtle) and lettering (the mighty Brad Thomte).
It was such a rush holding a finished copy of the book when it was published (MOJO Press’s CREATURE FEATURES), but the best part of it all was the collaboration with editor, Rick Klaw—and other people who became friends through comics.
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Writing is a solitary act: hours alone at a keyboard or notebook, lost in worlds and situations and characters. If you’re lucky, maybe you have trusted readers helping you along the way. If you’re very lucky, you’ve chatted with an agent or editor about the story…and have support when finished through a publisher. But unless you’re working on a story with another writer, writing fiction is not the most collaborative effort.
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The two creative things I’ve done that have made money—writing and juggling—were collaborative endeavors earlier in my life.
A friend and I used to street perform…not that we made a lot of money passing the hat. The fun came in the hours of practice together, honing our skills and coming up with routines. They were the stories that came with what we did: things like almost being set on fire by the lead singer of a punk band, or having a stranger on the street mess with us and our gear while we were strapped into straitjackets.
The fun with comics was hanging out with supportive friends who had a shared dream, spending most of our free time working on pitches, stories, and talking about this thing we loved. There was a time it consumed us.
(A quick side story: I met my wife, Cynthia, through a small comic book company—where she was an artist—in the spring of 1992. We started hanging out when she heard I juggled. She was taught how to juggle in elementary school and always wanted to learn more. So, I taught her—and we’ve been together since those days.)
* * *
I miss those early days of collaboration and absolute support. Not that I don’t feel supported with Not About Lumberjacks—I hear from people who love the show, and some even support it financially. What I’m talking about are those late nights staying up and working on something with friends; talking about the thing you love more than most other things every single day.
Letting a creative love wash over you and provide shelter, no matter how rough the world might become.
I sometimes talk with Cynthia about stories, but she’s usually there as a second set of eyes after I’ve finished things. And I regularly talk with my friend, Deacon, about writing, even about works in progress around during our annual long-weekend writing retreats.
But there’s nothing like the days when working with friends…when our heads—even at our day jobs—were always full of what was next in our shared efforts.
* * *
Most Not About Lumberjacks stories are lonely efforts—and I’m fine with that. I adore creating a thing that is wholly my own, from an idea, to the story…and then recording the narration, making sounds (or finding them), and choosing music tracks from a library I use. Loading it all online and promoting new stories.
It’s still a shelter I can rely on no matter how ugly the world outside may be.
When my mind turns toward stressful or even darker thoughts, a story is always there needing my attention—a switch that makes the worst of things disappear from my head. I find solace in this process that rewards my mental time and efforts, instead of making me feel even worse.
And the show is not entirely devoid of collaborative efforts…
* * *
In November, I released a tall tale called “The Legend of Mighty Missy Stewart,” that turned out to be one of my favorite stories on the Not About Lumberjacks website. It was written, in part, with a voice in mind: a professional voiceover artist and actor named Dave Pettitt.
Working with Dave was a blast! Along the way, we worked on how he’d read the story—in the more typical “podcast voice,” or treating it like an audiobook? Sample bits to approve and then the final track. The option for second takes, although none were required because it was perfect with the start!
I’ve worked with other narrators along the way, and have even done a couple one-shot audiodramas requiring multiple voices contributing to stories.
I’ve spent time in our closet recording booth with Cynthia as she’s recorded full stories, dialogue for background scenes, and even provided growls and snarls for a dragon in the story, “Rockbiters.”
Most recently, I collaborated with Clarke Jaxton Motorbike on a Not About Lumberjacks story called “Enemy Wanted.” Mr. Motorbike provided the recurring music used throughout the story.
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Sometimes collaborations didn’t work out, even when I was younger. And sometimes collaborations ended as higher paying work was offered to people you once worked with in the hope of a shared something more.
But that’s a rarity. And when things don’t work out—even today—it’s no problem: we’re all busy with life. Sometimes schedules that once seemed open close for other things.
There are always more stories and opportunities for collaboration, even with a show like Not About Lumberjacks, which is mostly a thing all my own. (Or something with Cynthia’s assistance if a story is heavily from the point of view of a woman.
* * *
There’s another kind of collaboration many people don’t consider: the support of others who do something similar to what you’re doing, even if you don’t work together.
Most of the other narrators and voices I’ve used for Not About Lumberjacks are people I’ve met through podcasting…with many working on audio fiction themselves.
I can talk to other creative friends doing similar things about snags I might encounter along the way. If I mention my digital audio workstation seizing up in the middle of recording—or that I was set up to record, but was getting a buzz that took 20 minutes to find in my setup and eliminate before recording—those friends have been there themselves. (Or, if I encounter something I can’t figure out on my own, some are only a text message away!)
And then there are creative friends working in other fields I chat with about overlapping challenges and concerns about what we do: balancing life with creative schedules; overcoming those times of lower energy and personal challenges; even talking about being a creative person in a time when A.I. keeps affecting the industries we all work in.
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I’m a very fortunate person to have begun my creative life in such a collaborative way. I still have that belief I had in my late teens and early 20s that if I want to do something, it’s just a bit of effort (or a lot) to make it exist.
I’m still in touch with most of the people I met through comics books in the late 80s and early 90s. I cherish these decades-long friendships and how we support each other even today.
Some of those friends still work in comics full time. Others went on to illustrating book covers and interiors for bestselling novels. A good friend who still occasionally works on comic books pays the bills as a voice actor, voicing cartoon characters you likely know…or maybe even grew up watching.
Through collaboration, I know screenwriters and animators; musicians, directors, and other creative people.
Outside of working with other narrators, Not About Lumberjacks is mostly a solitary effort.
But you’d be mistaken to believe I do it all on my own…
To all those who supported (and still support me), whether it’s working together on something in the past, working together on a Not About Lumberjacks story, or just rooting for me and this little thing I do: thank you so much!
(I may work in silence, but I’m never working alone…)
* * *
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.
Also, for as little as a dollar a month—and actually even free—you can have access to a bigger behind-the-scenes look at Not About Lumberjacks on Patreon. Check out patreon.com/cgronlund if that sounds like your kinda thing.
In May, it’s a return to two detectives from an earlier Not About Lumberjacks story called “Godspeed, Crazy Mike.” This one’s more of a thriller than a full-blown whodunit mystery, but there will still be plenty for those who love to guess what’s going on before things are revealed.
Until next time: be mighty, and keep your axes sharp.
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