Radioland Update!

Hello all! I am extremely pleased to announce that RADIOLAND will be published in Fall 2022, with Wolsak & Wynn. It’s been a long haul with this one, and while I still have a fair amount of work ahead of me, it’s gratifying to know that not only will this book have a home, but that it will be with the same great team, including editor Paul Vermeersch, as THE SOCIETY OF EXPERIENCE.

(This wouldn’t have been possible without my agent, Kelvin Kong at K2 Literary.)

Here’s a summary of RADIOLAND (from my author site):

— RADIOLAND —

Kris is an alt-rock musician who abruptly drops out of his popular band to rake over an unprocessed trauma from his childhood; Jill is an outcast who operates in the shadows of the city, cursed with a dangerous type of magic that draws mysterious strangers to her. By chance, they start a correspondence with each other and a strange relationship begins – one that coils around their lives like a macabre spell. As they share their stories with one another, they each approach the source of their misery and risk losing themselves, even their lives, in a darkness that seems destined for them.

    Everything Jill senses tells an intense story, so she numbs herself with alcohol to keep her head clear, hoping she’ll meet someone who can tell her how she came to be the way she is. Kris struggles to maintain his grip on reality as he pulls apart the threads that make up his identity. Working through fallen mentors, splintered identities, and substance dependency, the two of them try to help each other make sense of their lives, though it may ultimately reveal one of them as a serial murderer.

Radioland explores the absurdity of fame, the toxicity of trauma, and the morbid dangers unearthed as we seek a greater understanding of ourselves.

Radioland is Matt Cahill’s second novel, and steps further into the metaphysical social realism he has employed in his short fiction as well as in his debut novel, The Society of Experience, which Harper’s Bazaar magazine picked as one of the best of fall 2015.

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December

There’s no way to summarize this year, so I won’t start.

Stripping things down to studs, I’m thankful for my health, no matter that I still sometimes push myself too hard because of stubborn habits; that said, 2020 was largely injury free, which I mostly attribute to taking core exercises seriously. My running times have markedly improved, as well as my ability to be patient with myself (e.g. anxiety about my ability to finish whatever running circuit I’ve chosen, no matter that I almost always finish them). I blame/thank guitar lessons, which have forced me to find patience with myself, that is if I was ever going to continue with them (with thanks to my instructor, Michael, who recognized this and talked me down from getting frustrated with myself on a couple of occasions). I wish the process of being patient was as simple as allowing myself to expect long-term as opposed to short-term results — easy, right? But, with me at least, it can also be a frustration with myself on a deeper level. So, with guitar, to find a way to come to terms with that in an intentional way that incorporates regular practice (which means good days, bad days, ugly days — all of which are ok and inevitable, right?) is a gift and a privilege as much as it is also, in every sense of the word, work. I don’t do gratitude posts, but I am grateful to have had, in this year of years, the ability to pay my bills and still have the time (and ability) to write and, less successfully (at least with fiction) read.

It can be weird to acknowledge one’s growth in a year during which there has been so much death and ignorance, and so much terrible news, while so many of our elected leaders are more focused on the next election rather than the human cost of the pandemic in front of them. I wrote earlier in the year about paying attention to the precedents that the pandemic ushers in, and I feel it’s still important, though increasingly the precedents seem retrograde rather than progressive or humanitarian. All I can do is stay informed and continue to support those who put the the general good before the economy.

2020 made me think closely about volunteering time and money, both of which I did widely, whereas in the past my efforts were typically cause-specific. It made me think about why in the past it’s been easier for me to donate to large, recognized charities which issue me a tax receipt at the end of the year than, say, the GoFundMe drive for something smaller yet no less important (like 1492 Landback Lane) which, because the latter is community driven, stays off the radar of those who would otherwise donate if the same tax relief applied. I understand there are many reasons for this, but 2020 made me want to support local initiatives (involved with food scarcity, shelter, etc), and the advantages of larger/mega charities who can hire PR teams to write altruistic ad copy suddenly seems a baked-in advantage, as the WE scandal showed. In other words, it’s not fair, morally speaking equitable.

I wrote a lot this year, and I managed to land at least two publication deals for short stories. My next novel, Radioland, looks to be finding a home shortly — look for an announcement in January. And yet nearly all of my writing this year has been related to my 3rd novel, which, owing to the pandemic and how it affected as much where as how I wrote, allowed me to get out of my areas of comfort. As a result I ended up writing more, substantially more, in each of my writing sessions (though I still give myself a break if I’m at an impasse and just need to freeform/sketch some stuff). I would love to have a complete(ish) first draft of novel #3 done before I go into heavy revisions on Radioland, but I’m thinking that’s a bit of a pipe dream. We’ll see.

My work as a psychotherapist was exhausting, and yet I probably did some of my best work with clients this year. This as my practice was indirectly affected by the economic effects of the initial lockdown and ensuing health measures. I lost (at least temporarily) a decent chunk of my business. That said, I’m grateful to be able to cover my expenses. Working virtually with clients became more necessary, and while my ability to engage virtually with clients for prolonged hours of the day improved as the weeks proceeded after lockdown, I still feel that in-person talk therapy is the gold standard, albeit one that many aren’t able to partake in at the moment, due to health concerns or financial disruption. And if I read one more Is The Future of Therapy Online? thinkpiece I will put my fist through a wall. In 2020 I increased my involvement in raising awareness of how white psychotherapy in Toronto is, and how it needs to (literally) make room for financially disadvantaged and racialized individuals, so that the BIPOC community may see themselves better reflected when they are seeking help. I wish to push that one harder in 2021.

Oh, and I turned 50. It’s the new 40, apparently. Yes, I would’ve preferred a 50th blow out party at a favourite bar with friends. I still had a grand, if isolated, time in PEC with my partner, Ingrid.

I don’t know who comes to this blog. What I write is diverse, sometimes niche, often somewhat politicized, so I imagine my readership reflects this. Though it may sound odd when applied to any other, I hope you had a steady year, and I hope 2021 gives us the opportunity to be with those we love once we’re all vaccinated.

Be well.

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ANOTHER New Short Story Alert

When it rains it pours, the cliché goes. I found out over the weekend that I will have another short story published, this time in Fusion Fragment, a speculative fiction publisher based in Ottawa.

Two things about this announcement that are significant:

  • It’s going to be for their all-Canadian edition, to be released on July 1st 2021.
  • This will be the first of four interrelated short stories that I’ve been polishing for the last few years, so I’m quite happy that one will finally be released into the wild.

Once again, as we get closer, I’ll spill more about the story and the pub date.

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Radioland and Book #3 Update

I’ve written about Radioland (aka Book #2) before. It’s being submitted to publishers now that the industry has adjusted to the lockdown. Fingers are crossed. As tempting as it is to divert myself with this, I’m trying not to think about it. And yet…it’s The Second Book, the sophomore effort, etc etc. It’s a giant unnecessary burden — as well as a cliché! — to feel that somehow, of all things, this is the book that determines my future and not the last one (or the next). And so, yes, I’ve been a little concerned sometimes about this being some sort of reckoning of me as a writer, which is kind of silly. Whereas my mind is like Is the book good? Yes? Then that’s all you should really care about. And yet…

In other news, prior to the lockdown I started a third book, which I wrote about here. I didn’t expect to start another novel so soon — in fact, it’s the last thing I wanted — but something had been building up within me during the latter part of working on Radioland. It’s very different (and yet, the more I work on it, I can see how it falls into place with both The Society of Experience and Radioland’s themes). Don’t worry it has a name…buuut I’m not sharing it with anyone until it’s done. Let’s call it Book #3. What makes it different? Unlike the first two, it’s mostly a satire. Now, I can do humour, no problem. It comes second nature to me. And yet, devoting an entire book to it is something altogether different and a major challenge. I also have to say that I’ve not written anything so quickly before (I don’t share my word/page counts publicly, sorry, just like I don’t share my 10K race times). It’s the sort of book that wants everything out of me, and now. The good news is that I think it rocks. I don’t know where the hell it’s necessarily going (which perhaps also answers anyone’s question about how strictly I outline things), but I’m enjoying the trip.

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Reading Fiction

One casualty of the COVID-19 lockdown has been the fact that I can’t read fiction. The good news is that this doesn’t affect my ability to read/revise my own writing, however any plans I’d had to finish or start something transportive I’ve had to set aside.

My assumption is that this is a product of low-level fight/flight/freeze instinct at play. Once again, there’s a very real danger out there, after all. A lot of very real deaths out there, too, which has in turn halted the world’s economies. Mass layoffs, and entire industries staring into the mirror, wondering what awaits them around the corner. Fast-forward two endless months, and each province, state, and country is playing a game of How Much Do We Open, some more cagily than others. And still the thrills and chills — commercial real estate as we know it may be undergoing a paradigm change — continue.

Whatever the reason, I just don’t have the space for fiction at the moment. I have enough room in my head to be able to navigate the world (as well as the fictional ones I’ve created) and that’s about it. And, believe me reader, I would love nothing more than to finish Ludmila Ulitskaya’s The Big Green Tent, which is a lovingly told novel about the lives of a trio of young men (and by extension their loved ones and colleagues) in post-Stalinist USSR. I suppose the good news is that I get to savour it?

As for non-fiction? I’m mainlining that shit. And I’m so thankful for my subscriptions to the Literary Review of Canada, and (a Christmas 2019 gift) the London Review of Books. Yes, make of this what you will, but though I don’t have room in my head for fiction, I have more than enough for reading essays about books (some of which are fiction).

I’m also thankful that I’d started learning a musical instrument last year — being able to practice guitar (and, more importantly, relearn a lot of music theory I’d abandoned decades ago) allows me to appreciate music in a fuller way than I have previously as just a listener/devotee.

So, perhaps it bears repeating: there are no awards being handed out when this is all over, because the “all over” will neither be soon, nor easily measurable because it stands to happen very gradually (and I’m not placing any bets on the “all” part). A lot of us who have had our self-development routines halted — going to the gym, dance class, recreational team sports, for instance — are looking for ways to perform (on a basic level at least) so that we feel some sense of personal progress. And the truth is that I think we will all be left on our own to make sense of this, in our own ways — which is perhaps the equivalent of a participation badge rather than an award.

Just make the best of it. Don’t expect a lot, because this is a crisis. Take whatever you can find in terms of growth and accept that for what it is. Routines will come, but later. Relaxation will come, but later. Reading fiction (for me, at least) will come, but later.

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Comedy

The next book is going to different.

I’ve given up on “the next book isn’t going to be an ambitious book” because inevitably I churn out something that ends up doing so, or at least attempting. That said, I would like to write something funny, which is hard — at least if you’re aiming for something that is consistently funny. Then there’s the type of funny. Not all funny is funny to all, and that’s the main problem with writing something comedic: it has to have a consistency that you wouldn’t necessarily expect from other genres (as long as a thriller contains a handful of thrills then it earns the merit badge of its title), and not just in terms of how populated it is with humour; there’s consistency in terms of the volume of material but there’s also consistency in terms of texture — is this a satire that a smaller number of people with more rarefied knowledge will appreciate (think of the film The Square, a wry satire of the upper echelons of the art world), or a broader, more bombastic, plot-driven variety (see Hitchhiker’s Guide)?

It’s intimidating and I may abandon the whole thing, but Radioland, my second book (hello, publishers at this year’s London and Frankfurt Book Fairs — my agent will be looking for you!), took a lot out of me and I’m looking to try something stylistically different.

Wish me luck!

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The One I Feed

If I’ve learned anything this year it’s the command, perhaps even the primacy, that music holds over my creative life, which is strange(ish) for someone who isn’t a full- or even part-time musician. Let me qualify “someone who isn’t a full- or even part-time musician”: I can play drums decently well, I’m barely adequate on keyboards, and I’m beginning to develop confidence on electric guitar. But there are no stakes for me: I’m not in a band, I’m not hoping to become a recording artist. So, as an established/emerging writer, what’s the deal?

The deal is that music presents as part of a triumvirate of full-blooded influences on me: music, film, and writing. I am incomplete as an artist without one of these. Don’t get me wrong, I love other forms of art — dance, painting, sculpture, etc (to infinity) — it’s just that my DNA is activated by music, film, and writing.

But the predominancy of music in my life sometimes has me worried.

Let’s start with writing. Music twists around my work almost symbiotically. The Society of Experience involves a character whose day job is a music supervisor for film and TV productions, and thus the narrative is punctuated with songs from the very beginning; the main character is sometimes haunted by the sound of a jukebox in the bar beneath his apartment. And yes, of course I created a soundtrack for the book’s launch (which features music mentioned within as well as inspired by the themes and subject matter). My next novel, Radioland, involves a “successful” musician having a nervous breakdown. The novel I’m working on right now, [untitled matt cahill project], involves the power of a DJ on a young boy in the country. If I could afford the rights I would quote song lyrics to introduce book sections.

Even when it comes to film, music has been immensely influential. From the quirky soundtrack of Brazil to the Wagnerian flourishes of Excalibur, I have not only fed deeply on music scores and soundtracks but have followed a countless number of rabbit holes. If it hadn’t been for watching Underground, I wouldn’t have spent a year chasing down recordings of Serbian brass band music. In film school, one of the best things I ever did was a one-take b&w short I shot on a wind-up Bolex that I played back w/ The Jesus and Mary Chain’s Reverence blasting in the background.

I care deeply about music to the extent that, on a social occasion where we were taking turns playing songs on a nearby jukebox based on a chosen theme, I was asked to choose 3 songs I hated. I said I wouldn’t. And I wouldn’t because a) it meant sitting through 3 songs I hated, and b) life is too short to listen to songs you don’t like. It made for an awkward moment and I felt somewhat precious, but that’s how it goes when you take a principled stand about most things.

So, my worries, however ephemeral, are whether I’m suffering from a blindspot in how I prioritize music. Is it a blinder? Is my appreciation for it distorting my perspective insofar as my writing (in particular) might suffer? I don’t know. I don’t have a lot of artist friends, and the ones I do have probably wouldn’t deem this to be something worth much concern. That said, sometimes I wonder: am I using one art form to inform and/or expand another, or am I misusing either/both? Should I be concerned when things become sacrosanct? 

These are not really questions that require answers, but as an artist who wishes to be reasonably self-aware, they are good to ask nonetheless.

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