Yesterday I woke up thinking about a movie I saw in Perth several years ago. A documentary about a family who moves to the Canadian wilderness, the story is a beautiful portrayal of isolation, hardship, and unconditional love. But what was it called? As my tea brewed, I pulled my robe tighter and took a swig from my water bottle. I closed my eyes and envisioned the poster for the movie. A mother pushing her kids through the snow in a wooden sled. But what on earth was the title?
On the walk to my office, I listened to “Against All Odds.” I wish I could just make you turn around. Turn around and see me cry. This was not the state I needed to be in. I put my phone away and started thinking about that movie again. Was it called All The Love? Our World? No. There’s a bear, and someone gets sick. Was bear in the title?
Titles are either good, bad, or forgettable. I find it hard to assign titles to my writing. I understand artists who simply use Untitled #14 or whatever. How can we expect to sum up a piece of writing in a few words? Dave Eggers’ A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius might be the best title of all time. The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle isn’t bad either. Some titles are like bubbles – pretty for a moment, until they’re gone. Yesterday Never Came, for example, or Love on The Mind (I made these up).
For my debut novel coming out in March, I had a long list of titles. For a while it was called You Belong To Everyone, and then it was simply the name of the narrator, Edie Richter. I toyed with Species Checklist but couldn’t say it without spitting on myself. I liked Lost Satellite Reception but it didn’t have much to do with the story. I think I just liked the word satellite. I scrolled through lyrics to Sufjan Stevens songs, because he makes an appearance in one chapter. My editor also had a list of possible titles, but I didn’t love them. Finally, the name came to me. It was simple, paid tribute to the matter-of-fact protagonist, while expressing the theme of the book. Edie Richter is Not Alone. My editor approved, and within days I was reviewing potential covers.
Walking home from my office yesterday, I found myself behind three meandering young men discussing their favorite Thai restaurants. They took up the width of the sidewalk, so I slowed down, relishing the eavesdropping opportunity (something I miss during this pandemic). One of them noticed me however and pulled his friends towards the curb. “Let’s let this lady pass,” he said. I responded jokingly, “I’ve got big plans tonight. So many places to go.” The tall one with the bushy beard and black mask laughed and said, “Good point. I guess we have all the time in the world.”
As I passed them, I grinned under my blue Golden Gate Bridge mask. That was it. That was the name of the Canadian wilderness movie. All The Time in The World. It’s good. You should see it.
Lovely journey through your meandering mind:)
Seriously – perfect comment!
Ah – your lovely words – and I too miss the eavesdropping. I like to think it was because I was ‘reared’ in a pub (our family business) so there was constant chatter but I didnt need to be part of it. So looking forward to your book – I had this bright idea to pick up random books at the charity shop before christmas for the surprise element (so far no spark with any).
Must look up that movie!
I love that you were raised in a pub! Does your charity shop disguise the books in brown wrapping? There was a shop like that in Perth. The outside of the wrapping would say “Comedy” or “Sob Story” or something vague, and the books were sold at a deep discount. Never bought one but seemed like a fun idea.
I just read something you wrote regarding the passing of your father and singing “You Are My Sunshine” to him as he was dying. You didn’t know why you did that. As my father died, I let out a loud and crazy scream or groan from the pit of God only knows where, and I wonder, “Why on earth did I do that?” I feel like I could have controlled it, and I feel like it was a ridiculous howl that probably scared the bejeezus out of my dying father, and everyone else who was in the room with us. I look back and ask myself why I “chose” to do that, and feel embarrassed that I did. I too am grateful no one said anything about it to me. I feel like I did it because I had to do something, and I had to let something out, but I never spoke about it until now. I also attempted to close his eyes like your brother did, and wonder why I did this, too. Nine years later it’s both embarrassing and sad and comical to think about. I feel like I had thought about that moment for some time before it actually happened, and maybe I “performed” or something. I don’t know. But either way, thank you for whatever it was you wrote that is allowing me to get this off my chest. Therapy is what you make of it: ) I’m very sorry for the loss of your father, and I think singing that song was nice. If we were close girlfriends, we might laugh about all of this over drinks one night; ) Hard to share these thoughts with others sometimes. Though most can certainly imagine it, if you haven’t experienced it, you just don’t know. Thanks for sharing that experience. I’m going to be ordering your book, and look forward to reading it and sharing it with others. Good luck with your writing, and hope to see you on a best seller’s list in the near future!
Wow thank you. You have no idea what your words mean to me. I am very sorry to hear about your father’s passing, and also selfishly delighted to hear I am not alone in my spontaneous verbal explosions. I think it’s great you let out that scream. It sounds necessary. Death, like birth, is so primal and in a way, we are lucky to get to be in touch with that energy, don’t you think? Many thanks again for your kind words. I hope you enjoy the novel.