The Death of the Author

The band is working hard on our test piece for the Area finals at the moment. The process is a tried and tested one, you pull it apart, and put it back together, piece by piece. With every reading you familiarise yourself with the notes, the spaces in between, the phrasing and dynamics. The aim is to find the music within, our own interpretation, guided by the expert hand of our Musical Director. Music may look the same on paper, but each reading can sound very different. One of our strengths in the past couple of years is being able to find the music and play as a unit creating a strong, blended sound. It’s been the cornerstone of our success.

Last year one of our rehearsals was led by the composer of the Area test piece, Alan Fernie. Alan is a wonderful character, and a talented and inspiring musician. His input at a time when the band had lost its confidence was invaluable. He was an important catalyst and we owe him a great deal. Andy picked up where he left off and has grown into the brilliant conductor he was always destined to be. These are exciting times and we are looking forward to the future.

Alan’s rehearsal was a great session, but at several points he said, 'Don't ask me why I wrote it or what it's about. I’ve no idea. It's just how it came out.' As a writer I was fascinated by this revelation. It reminded me of my own writing process. I often get asked why I wrote certain passages, or what particular sections are about. The truth is I don't always know. The words and ideas just come out that way. If I am working on a novel the story is always floating around in my head. When I'm out running or walking often ideas are being tossed around. I try different scenarios and plot twists. It’s important to try to think like a writer and always be on the lookout for inspiration and ideas. There’s a scene in ‘Becoming’ with some crows that murder another bird. This was inspired by a similar scene when I was walking the boys to school. It was a beautiful morning, but the silence was broken by the desperate shrieks of a sparrow looking on as two crows slaughtered its newly hatched young. I was struck by the brutality of these intelligent creatures. They were clinical in their attack and merciless. Perhaps with intelligence comes both creativity and cruelty. It reminded me of humanity. As soon as I got home I wrote the scene into the book. It was just a fragment, a short scene within the overall arc of the story, but it was symbolic of something more important I wanted to say. This is an example of where I had a very clear idea of what I wanted to say, of my purpose for writing the scene. This isn’t always true. Not everything in life makes sense or has meaning and purpose. Things just happen. Writing is the same.

I discussed this with my eldest son recently. He asked me about a passage in ‘The Storm.’ He had read it in a very different way from my original intention, if I ever had one. I couldn’t recall the scene itself, let alone why I’d written it! We seemed to be drawn towards finding the ‘right’ interpretation, but realised it didn’t matter. There was no right or wrong. Once you've written a story it's the reader that matters not the writer. As in music, every individual reading may be different, each with a unique perspective, and emotional response. Art is more mirror than picture, reflecting not the artist but their audience. Through that mirror the artist lives on, their own vision of the world remaining as a gift for others to breathe new life into. I find that thought exhilarating. Perhaps it’s why we do what we do, our quest to survive. The author dies, but with each reading your work lives on, again and again. Forever.