Jeff Woods "Radio, Records & Rockstars" Book Launch- The Horseshoe Tavern, Toronto, June 9th, 2016

I love music as much as I love books. When these two loves collide, I tend to get excited. This past Thursday night, at one of Toronto’s most iconic music venues, The Horseshoe Tavern, I had the great pleasure of attending the book launch for Radio, Records, and Rockstars. The book, released almost a month ago, is a mixture of autobiography and rock star recollections, telling the personal stories of legendary musicians as well as Jeff Woods’ own story.

The welcome sign at the Horseshoe Tavern

Blessed with a deep voice so destined for radio, a love and appreciation of music and rock history, Jeff Woods is to me one of the legends amidst The Legends of Classic Rock, the nationally-syndicated weekly show he hosted and that I faithfully listened to for years before it ended last summer. He captured me immediately as a listener because he managed time after time to present his musical subjects in a way that was so personal and meaningful. He got to the heart of each musician’s story, and his guests always seemed to trust him to converse with them in a respectful, intelligent manner. I learned so much about some of my favourite artists through these broadcasts, and was always informed and entertained.

Two radio legends: John Derringer interviewing Jeff Woods

I ordered a hardcover copy in later March, and it arrived signed and dedicated a few weeks ago. As I told Jeff on Thursday night, professional responsibilities have not allowed me the pleasure of opening it yet, to which he replied that all things come in their own time. It will certainly make a delicious and satisfying summer read. I attended the book launch for a variety of reasons: I wanted to purchase a surprise signed copy for a mutual friend, I wanted to hear the “fireside chat” interview between Jeff and fellow radio legend John Derringer, I was delighted at the idea of a rock ladies’ night out with three good friends, and I also wanted to finally meet Jeff, and to thank him for his kind support of my rock fiction book release a few years back and reciprocate in kind. I had sent him a copy of my book, and he was lovely enough to post a copy of the cover on his Facebook wall, which I appreciated very much. I meant to thank him while we chatted, but the conversation was short and I forgot, so if you are reading this, Jeff, thank you for doing that a few years back.

Two authors and music lovers: yours truly with the legendary Jeff Woods

The interview with Derringer was insightful, and my favourite moments were Jeff’s David Bowie recollections, and a great little sidebar about “forbidden topics” and how to navigate interviews politely. He is a testament to the fact that hard work and respect go a long way in building and maintaining a reputation, and I hope this project brings him tremendous success.

For those of you who love music and a good tale, I sensed from the launch and radio interviews I’ve heard all week that this book will be full of great stories about music. At the centre of all, despite his phenomenal professional achievements, Jeff remains humble, honest, and passionate about music. In his own words, he is first and foremost a fan, and for that above all else, I know this is going to be a captivating read. I’ll come back in a few weeks to review it.

You can purchase your own copy of Jeff Woods’ book at: http://jeffwoodsradio.bigcartel.com/product/jeff-woods-book

Ian Rankin at the Bluma Appel Salon- November 18th, 2015

I have an extensive list of favourite authors whose work I admire and wait for eagerly after I reserve their new release on the public library’s online system. I do not buy many books anymore; despite a wrap-around, built-in shelving unit in our large basement, we have exhausted almost every available corner for our collection of literary treasures. Wednesday night, Ian Rankin’s recent release, “Even Dogs in the Wild”, was squeezed in between some other special books after I came home from his Q and A with fellow crime writer Linwood Barclay at the Toronto Reference Library’s Bluma Appel Salon with a signed copy.

The home library. Always room for one more special book…

My favourite corner of the home library: Klein, Rice, Rankin, and Townshend…

There are many musical groups who are both my contemporaries and artists I have followed from the very beginning of their careers, but Ian Rankin is the only author I can add to that category. I picked up “Knots and Crosses” when it was first published because I was (and still am) always looking for new detective fiction: I have had a lifelong love affair with the genre, from my first Nancy Drew as a child to discovering Poirot as a teenager, but it was the references to music and Rebus’ cranky character that grabbed me as a young adult in university and has yet to let me go almost thirty years later. I picked up every new book as soon at it came out, and remember thinking that it was possible for authors of our generation to become successful because he had done it. It inspired me to dust off an old manuscript I’d written in my late teens and eventually led me to publish my rock fiction novels four years ago.

The book that reeled me into Rebus’ world back in 1987.

The interview with Linwood Barclay was enjoyable on many levels: the humour flowed with ease between them as it does when friends are chatting, and I found Ian to be as natural a storyteller in person as he is on the page. Linwood was exceptional as an interviewer: he let Ian offer personal anecdotes effortlessly, rarely stopping except to add his own details or a personal connection to the story being shared with the capacity crowd. The format worked really well, and people were treated to a highly informative and entertaining dialogue between the two men. I laughed uproariously when they discussed Ian’s reticence for sex scenes and gruesome descriptions of violence in the Rebus novels: they referred to author Lawrence Block’s recent work for including so many anal sex scenes that it could read as a manual. Ian Rankin later tweeted that we had been a raucous crowd, but I would argue we were led there by the conversation, which was, like all good banter, peppered here and there with mild cursing that Rankin successfully curbed with a self-bleeping gesture except for one or two slip-ups. I was glad to see that I did not imagine my recently-made Scottish friends having a disproportionate tendency towards potty mouth language, but that this is true of literate, PhD students with a wide vocabulary as well. My cursing Scottish pals, I hasten to add, are likewise well-educated, highly intelligent, and in possession of a vast bank of words.

A capacity crowd at the Bluma Appel Salon on Wednesday night. Fifth row and second to the right is where I am hiding in black next to my friend Carol all decked in white.

As a fan of his work and someone who adores both the city of Edinburgh and music, I appreciated his insights into his characters and locales, chuckling at his references to Scotland’s annoying motorway “average speed cameras”, which we experienced during our recent trips there. I laughed and felt the collective but distant groan of Scottish police CIDs when he shared the story about their retirement ages being upped by a government official and fan of his work so that his fictional John Rebus could stay on at his imaginary post a few years longer. I really hope that was a spun yarn and not something that really happened…

The twentieth Rebus novel. What an incredible run that continues to this day.

As a writer, I was fascinated by the way he completes his initial draft, which in some way mirrored my own process of getting the story down first and then researching particular facts to make everything within the narrative accurate. His retelling of imitating Rebus’ drive to Ullapool and back from the far north down to Edinburgh in one day is not unlike some of the recreations I experienced to ensure that my book details were exact, and it was a relief to hear that I am not alone in being so meticulous.

There were also poignant moments, and the one that struck me in particular was when Linwood asked Ian about his recent sabbatical. Ian spoke of mortality and the recent loss of some dear friends, including fellow Scots writer Iain Banks. When asked if he’d read his posthumously published last novel, “The Quarry”, he replied that it still sat on his nightstand because, “as long as it remains there unread, there is still another book of his to read, and he is still not dead to me.” What a powerful, touching moment that was.

One of my favourite exchanges came when we were invited to ask questions and a Scottish gentleman asked him if a certain Edinburgh club owner (no last name, only a last initial mentioned) was the real life inspiration for Big Ger Cafferty’s character. Rankin laughed and qualified his answer by stating it depended on whether not the man was still alive. I asked whether or not Rankin could see himself crossing into new genres, something I genuinely have been wondering about since so many others are doing it very successfully. I was particularly thinking of J.K. Rowling, whose current series is one of my favourites. Ian’s answer, after joking about a slim volume called “The Rebus Cookbook”: a firm no. That’s my rock fiction writing career safe from a more talented invasion then.

At the end of the evening, Ian signed personalized copies for the long line of fans. He was attentive and patient with everyone who waited to speak to him, and I was delighted to finally meet him and tell him how much I have enjoyed reading his work for almost three decades now. I meant to tell him how he had inspired me to find the motivation to write again, but our brief conversation went elsewhere instead. He was gracious enough to let my friend take a photograph of us together, and I must say, my generation is pretty photogenic for a group now middle-aged.

Yours truly with the man of the hour.

I now need to go buy another copy of the new Rebus novel, and had I been thinking clearly, should have done so at the venue itself. My habitual reading sanctuary is the bathtub, where bubbles and essential oils have ruined many a copy of the library loans. There is no chance I am doing this to the treasure placed in my hands on Wednesday night.

Too precious for the water.

Ghost Rider: Travels On The Healing Road

Sometimes a book comes along just when you need it to. You turn the first few pages and it grips you, refusing to let go.

More than eight weeks ago, Neil Peart’s “Ghost Rider: Travels On the Healing Road” finally arrived from the library’s city-wide hold shelf. I’d been meaning to pick it up for many years, but for whatever reason, never followed through. It was mid-June, a crazy time at school like no other in the calendar, and I already sensed there would be at least one renewal before I got through the thick memoir. I was optimistic as it turned out, and it has taken me up until this morning to finish my reading.

None of the sluggish pace is any fault of the book, in fact, quite the opposite is true: I didn’t want my journey with Neil to end, and I know I deliberately slowed my pace to savour it, to carefully read every word, going over some of the descriptions of landscapes more than once because they were so evocative and vividly portrayed. Sometimes I stayed away to absorb the ideas and reflections he put across, and at other times I got too involved in my own work-in-progress to give it the proper attention it deserved. Even so, it stayed with me these last two months in a way a book hasn’t managed to do in a long time.

I’ve not suffered the loss this man has endured, although like everyone else, I have lost family dear to me in years gone by and I could thoroughly identify with his feelings of helplessness and intense grief. It took me a long time to “get over” my father’s death, and reading this account reminded me of that emotional journey in many ways. I have always found that each death in one’s circle brings back all the previous ones, making one relive what we think of as long-settled grief back to the surface in unsettling ways. As I read the book, it brought me back to 2001, and my own healing road, which was a two-week holiday in Scotland after my father had passed away. Much like Neil, I found peace and acceptance in the midst of stunning landscapes and the company of someone I cared for deeply. His advice to “keep moving” is certainly sound, and I also nodded at his other four directives for coping with grief: kicking one’s own ass gently, avoiding replay syndrome, making peace with others where you could, and allowing others the pleasure of helping you. All of these tips are remarkably simple as statements, much harder to implement in actuality, but likely instrumental in getting whole again.

These last few months, my loss has been one of a friendship I valued, a big nothing when compared to the death of two family members, but difficult in its own way. It is perhaps with this on my mind that reading this book was so personal to me, but time and place are often what attaches you to a song, a piece of art, or some writing. And so it has been with me, and I am a better person for having turned the last page, as I suspected I would be midway through. His words leapt off the page, so raw and brutally honest, so eloquently written and framed with dry humour and hilarious anecdotes, especially those in the letters he wrote to a dear friend who was in prison for a good part of his riding days. He helped me to put things in perspective, which has allowed me to put the ghost to bed and genuinely accept that life, though often unfair, is what it is and there’s no sense in fighting against what has already happened. Again, though he phrased it very differently, I am reminded that ‘things will be some way’, and that this may not be ideal, but it’s certainly okay. So thank you, Neil, for reaffirming that notion, which I hope to carry with me through any other difficult days that may lie ahead.

One thing that freaked me out a little, as these things often do, is that the journey he undertook was eerily similar to that of one of my novel series’ characters, who was actually modelled after Neil as a band lyricist (though I made him a bass player and not a drummer). What made the connection give me goosebumps was that I wrote the parallel scenes in 1979, long before they happened in Neil’s actual life. As I told a friend yesterday, meeting my first husband after I’d written my first book gave me the first goosebumps because his young life mirrored my main character’s difficult childhood right down to the same timeline of horrific trauma, and my recent trips to Scotland have rekindled those bizarre feelings because Edinburgh was long established in pivotal scenes of my current work-in-progress long before I fell in love with the city last summer and last spring. Life is indeed stranger than fiction sometimes.

As I get ready to return this library copy back, I am overwhelmed with a strange sense of gratitude for having read it at the right time. I’ve got a personal copy that will follow me to Scotland in a few weeks’ time, not because I want to reread it, but because I know just the person who will appreciate it and maybe get out of it as much as I did and because, to quote my favourite lyric from the book,

We are islands to each other building hopeful bridges on the troubled sea.