Please Don’t Listen To Me

"I'm not sure I can recommend this article" - James Pew

Photo by Alireza Attari on Unsplash

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By

James Pew

No, I don’t really want to do a podcast or a youtube channel. No thanks. I am deeply committed to writing. I love words. I love ideas. I love how ideas are embedded in words, and how ideas spring from combinations of words. And sentences! Don’t even get me started. My favorites are of the ginormous paragraph length compound type. Crafting one of those mini epics, while retaining a clear and continuous line of thought is an art form unto itself. Great writers are gold, they are everything that makes life less boring. I don’t want to see them or hear them. I want to read them. And, arrogantly, I want to do everything I can to join them, even if I’m relegated to forever pecking at the dust found at the foot of the mountains on which they dwell, like the Olympian gods these masters of prose resemble in every writerly way. If pecking at the foot of their vast ranges is the extent of the heights I reach, than so be it, the greatness of the greatest writers is boundlessly great, so far beyond great, that it is not out of place whatsoever for run-of-the-mill great to from time-to-time emerge on ground level or close to it, always of course within shadow and sight of our beloved poets legendary cordilleras.

So, writing is what I have to offer. I do not recommend listening to any of my pieces on one of those apps that turns them into audio. They do not read my pieces right. They totally suck at it. It is never even close to how I would read them, or what my internal voice sounds like as I write them. Please don’t listen to my pieces. It is beyond terrible the way that they are spoken by these AI robot losers with the absolute worst delivery and elocution. My articles sound like they were written by someone else who meant something other than what is actually said. The tone does not match. The timing is way off. The meter is ridiculous. The sarcasm is invisible. The drama is downplayed. It is just so awful and off. I am tortured by the knowledge that these dreadful abominations and desecration of my beloved artform exist at all. Ugh…the agony.

Not really. I don’t care that much. But I do care a little and I’m dead serious when I say AI robot reader device things just don’t get me and totally suck at reading my stuff. Either way, I love to write and absolutely anything can be used as an excuse to do so, and that is what this is really about. Everything is material. Everything that can be done, can be written. Everything that can be thought of, bounces to life once written out by an articulate wordsmith. I am not afraid to admit that I am way too deep in it, way too far gone. I am in this writing thing all the damn way. If I could spend all my time with words I probably would. It seems I would rather write than do, and whatever I do is made better once it is written down. Everything comes at me in phrases, a kaleidoscope of ideas and expositions and poetry. Not formal poetry crafted in that memorable sort of classic way, but the subtle poetry found in all art when those magical instances are conjured by the hand of a creator in a way that causes elements to align in an unexpected but precise pattern, a novel discovery, a new texture or aesthetic, the analysis that puts forth a proposition that spins a premise and shatters a paradigm, when those moments arise they are felt deeply and perceived clearly. It is when stars align, as they say. These instances, in whatever medium they may find themselves, move us and matter for reasons hard to write about. It’s hard to put one’s fingers on it, when artists reach that consensus, when everyone in the room simultaneously knows that the thing just works. Like really works. As in, the performance works, or the phrase works.

But why does some other phrase or performance that conveys the same meaning not work? Why does only this specific one work? I have no idea. But I think it is wild that there is this thing that can happen which is unexplainable, or at least beyond the possibility of adequate explanation, that can be immediately and movingly felt and perceived by all who are plugged in and receptive to what is being demonstrated, displayed, or explained. What a beautiful mystery and a gift that humanity is capable of, wielding these high level forms of expression. That we even seek to craft objects of beauty and profundity is of the highest human order, tapping into our most complex and subtle capacities.

But is it even possible to approach this kind of artistry when writing political and cultural analysis? Yes it is. And I have irrefutable undeniable proof. Three names: Rex Murphy, Barbara Kay, Conrad Black. BOOM!!!!!!! These are the Canadian writers trapped in the stature of Olympians, those who reside atop those aforementioned mountains of literary greatness. They are a gift to us all. How they write just works. Every word is carefully considered and every sentence carefully crafted. So often they have sent this writer scurrying for the dictionary and how deeply I appreciate them for that. The triumvirate of the unmatched, the absolute best of the best. How can one possibly know Canada at all without reading them, I challenge belligerently the good sense of anyone who neglects to.

Ok, I’m about to move into the closing paragraph, but I thought breaking the fourth wall on a piece that kind of already by nature somewhat breaks it, or maybe just cracks it a little, by actually including exposition about the technical bits would be a fun side trip. In this instance announcing that I’m about to write the final paragraph, making this the penultimate paragraph – to use a fancy word that I’ve long loved the sound of (don’t ask why, I don’t know!) – is like taking a sledgehammer to the spot on the fourth wall that was previously cracked, winding up with a full range of motion…and…KAPWOW. Fourth wall broken, put your masks on it’s dusty in here with all this freshly crumbled wall all around the damn place. That’s it for this one, proceed now to the final paragraph.

You made it. The patience you must have dear reader. You are truly the best. I dedicate this final paragraph to you. I think it should be a grand paragraph full of all kinds of fine and fancy words. But also an eloquent paragraph to reflect the general disposition that you are so well loved for. In fact let us write this paragraph in honour of your grand eloquence that wins you all the affections and kind glances. Let us forever think of this paragraph, less so as a desperate attempt to win cheap favour with cherished readers, but more so as a desperate but failed attempt to match the unmatchable elegance of all my readers through the conjuring of words. In spite of my abysmal failure, the pursuit was pursued as if my sarcasm could bite like Rex Murphy’s, or as if I had the clarity of message of Barbara Kay, or the utter disregard for punctuation almost to the point of reckless abandon of Conrad Black. We will pretend, or at least I hope you will pretend with me, that the stars aligned and that I made it work. We will pretend that your eloquence was matched and your readership was properly honoured. We will know that this was not the case, that I fell short of my aim. But this will not be my last paragraph ever or the last time I dedicate words to the readers I write them for. Let us celebrate the connection we have, all sarcasm aside, it means the world to me. I am going to keep writing and I want more than anything for you to keep reading (I am going to put that on my personal writer logo, if I ever make one). What would any of these words be if they were not read? Awful. I think I would write them anyway, but…awful. I don’t want to think about it. It’s inconceivable! And It’s far too sad. It evokes a feeling too much like Bruce Cockburn singing “If a tree falls in the forest,” I can’t take it. Some things are better left unimagined and left alone. I appreciate the readers I have, and I pray for all of you. God bless your beautiful souls. But please don’t listen to me.

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Thanks for reading. For more this author read Canadian History Through Heraldry

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