Alright – so today we’ve got the honor of introducing you to Sam Tweedle. We think you’ll enjoy our conversation, we’ve shared it below.

Sam, thanks for joining us, excited to have you contributing your stories and insights. Can you open up about a risk you’ve taken – what it was like taking that risk, why you took the risk and how it turned out?

In 2020 I was writing for a news source in a small Ontario town, and I had become known within the community for writing theatre reviews. In a community where a new stage production opened nearly every week, it kept me very busy, Although there was an opportunity to often work out of that box, the community primarily looked for me to come to write about their shows and I was told on many occasions that I could not tell stories I wanted to because they did not fit the confines of my position. I watched stories escape me due to people “keeping inside my own track.” I often found the confines of my position to be limiting, and I knew I could create far more important and socially potent work than what I was often creating. But, on the other hand, I did enjoy seeing all the theatre that was being created in my city, and I loved connecting with people on a weekly basis. I amassed a sizable readership and became well known as a local writer. I was well paid, and became very comfortable and felt secure in my position as a creative, as well as within my community.

So when I started to see the theatres closed not only in my city, but all over the world in March 2020, I felt like the bottom had just fallen out of my boat. The COVID pandemic hurt live theatre possibly more than any art form, and that included the people who wrote about theatre as well.

In the early days of the pandemic the outlet I was writing for was doing what it could to survive itself, and my publishers were busy addressing the pandemic and keeping the community updated. With no arts and culture stories available, and isolation putting an end to most human interactions, the position I was put in seemed redundant and, temporarily, I had no work to do. Within weeks I felt very alone, abandoned and, even worse, I suddenly had become a writer who didn’t write. To me, going long periods without writing is emotionally difficult as I begin to feel like I have lost an important part of how I communicate within the world. But, while I was aware that many creatives were able to use the time at home to work on their craft and be creative, for so long I had dedicated my life to reporting on other people’s projects that I forgot how do write for an audience beyond that of the news outlet I was employed by.

In order to maintain my emotional health, I spent a lot of time during the pandemic going on long walks outside. I was terrified of the meme that showed people coming out of isolation fifty pounds over weight by sitting on their couch for months, and although I’ve never been into fitness, I felt it was imperative to exercise and go outside, even if I had nowhere to go. These walks also gave me time to be quiet with my own thoughts. Without any deadlines or commitments bogging down my time, or outside voices and noise taking up space, my thoughts began to really go into some vastly different directions.

Having spent so much time telling other people stories, I began to wonder about how I personally fit into the collective human narrative, and the value of my own story and thoughts which I had seemed to have abandoned a long while ago. Truth be told, I’ve never liked writing about myself, and while I believe that everyone has an important story to share and we can all learn from one another, I was more comfortable telling other people’s stories instead of my own. But, by doing so I began to wonder if my own voice was being lost in the process. While I had a great run as an arts journalist, and while I enjoyed the pay, the status is brought me and the many perks, I began to rethink the validity of a lot of my work, and I began to question my direction.

But if I had a hard time being the center of my story, how did I fit into the big picture? It was on one of these walks one afternoon when I was feeling extremely lost that I had what I’d call an epiphany. It was as if the answer came from somewhere beyond my own thinking. The words were in my head, but they seemed to come from somewhere else.
Throughout time there have always been the people who chronicled the society that they were a part of. From the people who told tales around fire pits in ancient times, there have been the scribes, the poets, the playwrights, the troubadours, the historians and the journalists. There have always been people who have sat on the outside and observed the society around them and were able to put the words together to create society’s narrative. While all people are a part of that narrative, it takes a certain talent to be able to make sense of the different threads and stories and be able to weave that narrative together. Those were the talents that I was blessed with doing. There is always going to be a story to tell. I just need to find the threads, and if the words I write are only ever read by a few people then I’ve done my job. If my words can inspire or emotionally move only one person, then I’ve done my job well, This ia my story, and this is how I fit in.

I also came to the conclusion that perhaps it is possible to put more of my experience into the stories I am telling. Perhaps I can be an emotional narrative instead of just a journalistic observer. I decided if I was going to continue putting writing out into the world I no longer was going to hide behind my byline and I was going to let the audience see more of who I am, and stop being afraid to use my own authentic voice. The most important thing is that my words are my own and that no matter what I write that I allow my experiences, thoughts and moral values guide the words I write.
When things began to slightly lift in the summer of 2020, I was contacted by my publishers who brought me back to work, and I was easily able to find stories to tell. After months of isolation, creatives were ready to talk about the ways that had been staying busy during the pandemic and the stories I wrote upon returning to work were some of my best. But my relationship with my publishers had become strained, and I became very aware of how controlled I was from truly saying how I really felt and what I really thought.. A few weeks after coming back, I resigned from my position to set out on my own once again.

It was a terrifying thing for me to do at the time. I did not have a successful platform of my own to fall back on, I had no idea who or how people were going to read my work, and I was without editorial support for the first time in years. Although I had been writing professionally for nearly two decades, I felt that I was starting at the beginning again. I also learnt the hard fact that when you are no longer serving a community by reporting on their projects, they no longer have any use for you. I quickly knew who my allies were, and they were fewer than I had expected. But the freedom to do and write anything I wanted to, plus knowing that the narrative I was creating was truly my own and not owned by a news source or a publisher, was freeing and exciting. It’s scary to go out on your own, but it’s worth it.

It has been four years since I took the leap to quit the comfort of my journalism job, and I am still trying to find my place in the collective narrative. I still struggle with writing my own stories, and I’m not convinced I’ve created the written work which will become my great legacy. But creatively I am thriving, and my ability to connect with an audience and the greater world around me continues, but now on my terms and in my way. The sense of authenticity and honesty in my work brings me the greatest joy, and the anxiety I often felt due to strict deadlines has dissipated. Taking the risk to breaking the bonds of my journalism job set me back in some ways, but has given me emotional and creative freedom I couldn’t expect. While I am open to writing again for a publisher, I don’t think I can ever allow myself to be chained to the point where I lose my individual voice, and feel that I can not be honest or authentic in the material I write.

I continue to write on-line content on my own platform, and people continue to read and that brings me a great deal of joy and the connection that I aspire for. Although I get little financial gain for my daily output now, owning your own voice and work is priceless. Artistic integrity and the ownership of your own words is far better than money.

As always, we appreciate you sharing your insights and we’ve got a few more questions for you, but before we get to all of that can you take a minute to introduce yourself and give our readers some of your back background and context?

For over two decades I have been creating written content on the subject of entertainment, performance and pop culture. I call myself a “pop culture historian” as a big part of my work is researching and writing about media from the past, exploring its relevance on both the society it was created in as well as its historical importance, and trying to give stories and people that are in fear of slipping into obscurity a new mark on the internet where modern audiences can discover them and, if I’ve done my job effectively, become interested in them. For me it’s making sure that nobody and nothing is ever truly forgotten, and that the rich history of entertainment and culture is maintained in an interesting and readable format. Over the decades I have seen my profession as well as my focus change directions many times, especially as the industry, as well as the definition of “pop culture,” has changed.

My current writing project is called “Vinyl Stories.” It started as an exercise to battle crippling writers block after I was suffering from after I had an medical emergency in the summer of 2022. After months of using my energy to heal and focus on my health, all of my previous writing projects had come to a halt, and I found myself unable to find the words within me to begin where I left off. Dreading that I’d become a “writer that no longer writes,” I turned to my record collection for inspiration. An obsessive vinyl collector, I belonged to many record collector groups on social media where people take photos of the records they are playing. I found I liked looking at other people’s records, but rarely was anything actually written about them on the posts. No commentary on why the record was special, the story behind an album or a song or a band, or about the emotional connection between the listener and the album they posted. One of my favorite things to do was to sit with friends and listen to music, which always leads to story telling about the albums we love, so I began to photograph my record collection and write down the stories that I’d be telling if the reader was right in my listening room with me. I kept the stories conversational and fun, but also do extensive research on whatever I was covering. I also, whenever possible, tried to put a little bit of myself within the story to give it a personal element, and to be more of a narrative instead of just being a reworded Wikipedia entry. But the most important thing about Vinyl Stories, which is normally misunderstood, is the stories are not album reviews. After years of working as a “reviewer,” I find that line of work unappealing and instead of judging a piece of art for its merits and failures, I feel there are much more interesting stories to tell. Its searching out these stories, and bringing them to my audience, which is the current work I am doing.

I have always been aware and interested in the media around me. My earliest memories involve the characters and entertainment icons that surrounded my world as a small child. I think a big part of this was that I was born in the 1970’s, which was such a colorful time in American culture. Everyone looked like a cartoon character, and small children could recognize them and gravitate towards them with ease. Muppets, Fonzie, Star Wars, Evel Kneivel, Muhammad Ali, Osmonds, Farrah Fawcett, KISS and Village People fascinated me a an early age, and although I might not have always understood who they were, or what they were about, I was extremely aware of them, and fascinated that they were a part of my world. This started a lifetime of love and exploration of film, music, television, art and print media.

Somewhere along the way I began to understand that behind everything that is created, be it a song, a film, a character or a story, there was often an intricate back story about how it all came together. I had a fascination for these back stories, and I didn’t just consume media, but was always interested in learning the story behind whatever it was that I was watching or listening to.

After studying history and media studies in university, which I often combined together in my studies with great success, I began creating on-line content around 2000 about the history of pop culture. I’ve always wrote my articles in a very conversational style, as if the reader was in front of me and I was telling them about the subject I was writing about. Very quickly I began gaining attention with readers and publishers, which led to me selling some of my articles to national publications, and even gaining the attention of the performers I wrote about.

This led to an development as a writer that I would never have dreamt would happen. I began to actually conduct one and one interviews with celebrities. At first it was really a lot of luck mixed in with some courage, bravado and maybe a bit of imposters syndrome that brought these opportunities to me. My first interview was with 90’s pop star Jordan Knight from The New Kids on the Block in 2001 when he was doing a series of concerts in small venues across Canada. Later that year I fell into an opportunity to spend a morning visiting with Davy Jones from The Monkees, which led to a phone interview with classic film actress Tippi Hedren. After publishing these three interviews on my own platform, the opportunities started to snowball.

This led to my ten years writing for a website which was called Confessions of a Pop Culture Addict in which I did a long series of interviews with a wide range of celebrities. From some of entertainment’s biggest icons, to inspiring people that moved the pieces behind the scenes, to niche performers with cult status, I did nearly two hundred interviews with PCA, and discovered I had the ability to make fast connections with people and have them tell their stories. Some of the performers that I enjoyed interviewing the most included Henry Winkler, Ed Asner, Eric Braeden, Paul Williams, Buffy Sainte Marie, David Hasselhoff, Alison Arngrim, Barbara Eden, Melanie Sakfa, Paul Dini, Mamie Von Doren, Larry Hagman, George Lazenby and Alison Arngrim. What differed me from my contemporaries in entertainment journalism at the time was that I did my research on my subject’s entire career, and I approached them in a very genuine and conversational way. I also paid close consideration to talk to my subjects about whatever it was that they wanted to discuss, and discovered you got far more engagement from an interviewee by talking about their current interest or project instead of just rehashing that show or film they did decades ago that made them famous. I quickly gained a reputation for being an engaging conversationalist who created thoughtful interviews, which brought me more and more opportunities to talk with some of my favorite stars. It was a great gig, and I had a wonderful run.

Fortunately, I maintained the publishing rights to all of my interviews from that era and in 2025 we are planning to create an archive of these interviews on-line so they will be back in the public again as a cultural resource.

From 2013 to 2020 I gave up doing celebrity interviews and freelance work and took a steady job as an arts and culture journalist for a local news outlet in the small Canadian city I was living in. An artistic hub, the city was a flurry of creative activity with nightly live music and a new theatrical production opening nearly every week. I immersed myself in the local culture and enjoyed making the strong connections with people. What I loved about that gig was the sense of community, and the instant readership that came from an established audience and large reach. I also came to realize that you didn’t have to be famous to be interesting. Some of the most interesting and inspiring creatives can often be people in your own backyard. This was a job which grounded me, and gave me new perspective in the way that we all fit into the creative narrative.

However, I eventually became pigeonholed as a “theatre reviewer,” and I found reviewing shows to be limiting in scope and felt that my own work, and especially my own identity within the collective narrative, was suffering. I began very disinterested in reviewing as much as writing profiles on artists, performers and musicians. During 2020, when the world shut down, so did the theatres, and so did my journalism career. Concerned about the direction of my career, as well as who owned my writing and my personal voice, I left that position behind to find a direction that might bring me more emotional satisfaction. I wanted to be more honest and truthful about the content I put out into the world, to profile artists and performers I truly believed in, and try to find a way to firmly place my own experience into the narratives I was weaving. Instead of just telling other people’s stories, I wanted to explore how I fit into the collective world of media and culture.

I drifted through a few different scenarios trying to reinvent myself, which brought me to doing Vinyl Stories at the end of 2022. The process began so naturally and organically, and it has brought me a lot of joy. It started as a series of social media posts, but when I was approached by a couple I had never met before in a record shop who had recognized me from my profile photo, and they told me how much they enjoyed my “Vinyl Stories,” I knew that my little exercise was connecting with ways I didn’t expect. Our multimedia site, where visitors can read the story and watch videos and listen to the music, was created with the aid and expertise of my creative partner Clay Hill, and we currently are welcoming thousands of readers to our site each month. Sharing my love of music and connecting with readers all over the world who love music as much as I do has been a new way to make connections. In 2024 I began doing interviews again, talking to song writers and performers about their music and albums. Although I like to do them only once in a while and not allow that to be the focus of Vinyl Stories, the interviews have proved to be very popular and I hope to do more in the year to come.

My career as a writer continues to evolve, and I expect it’ll change again one day. I am still looking for that defining project that will help me make my mark, and I believe that as long as I can breathe, I can write. Creating never stops. But it has already brought me so much opportunity to talk to incredible people, make important connections and allow me to be a part of the human narrative that draws us all together.

Is there something you think non-creatives will struggle to understand about your journey as a creative?

One of the things that bothers me when non creatives talk to me about my work as a writer is when they try to monetize it. Thet ask me questions such as “Do you get paid for this,” or “How can you make money doing this” and even worse, “if you aren’t making money doing this, why are you doing it?” The answers are simple. “I rarely get paid for it,” “I don’t know how I can make money doing this and “I do it because if I’m not doing I feel like I’m empty and that I’ve lost the way that I connect to the universe around me.”

I have had many people offer me suggestions about how I can monetize my work, especially in regard to putting more advertising on my websites, looking for sponsorships or going into different directions far beyond the scope of what I have the energy or knowledge to execute. I am not opposed to these things, but I am also not an expert in marketing. I often have asked these people if they’d be interested in assisting with the marketing aspect, but thus far no one has ever wanted to do much more than offer unsolicited advice.

As someone who has primarily created on-line content, paid and freelance gigs have often been far in between, and during periods where I have gotten paid for my writing, I found that the work I produced was amongst the most unauthentic of my career. Unfortunately, I am not a salesman, and selling my work has not always been my strong suite. Times I’ve spent chasing freelance work prove to be the times that I create the least output, and I feel that actually writing content is far more important than selling it. I’d rather it reaches an audience whether I get monetary value for it or not, which I don’t feel a lot of non-creatives can understand.

For creative people, be it they an artist, writer, musician or otherwise, to get paid for their art is either a luxury or a fantasy. If it happens, it’s a small bonus. I don’t think artistic people primarily create or work because they are looking to make money. They do it because there is something deep inside trying to get out of them. There is an idea, or a thought, or a vision that needs to spring forward and connect with the universe. When that idea or vision connects with another person, it can make a poor artist feel like a billionaire. You can’t put a dollar amount on that. If artists only created work for profit, there would be a lot less art out in the world.

I love the idea of every artist being paid for the art they create, but if they haven’t figured out how to do that, it shouldn’t deter them from it.

But in contrast to this, I am always open to partnerships, collaborations, new projects and going into other areas of media. I also love the idea of working again for another media company as a columnist. I am not opposed to creating content for another publisher again, but the difference is that they have their own expert in place to think about the monetary aspects of the business, and allow me to just focus on the writing and content creation. It’s what I do best.

How can we best help foster a strong, supportive environment for artists and creatives?

The obvious answer to the question of how society can best support artists or creatives is to help them financially, and to pay them for their work. This is completely true because, in all honesty, it is so difficult for artists to make a living from their work. However, I honestly don’t think that is enough. While it might help an artist’s financial survival, it doesn’t necessarily help their emotional needs. A creative, first and foremost, creates because there is something bursting inside of them trying to get out and to make a connection with others. Far better than supporting artists’ financial needs is to actually engaging with their work in a meaningful way.

One of the most callous things I have ever seen during my career as an arts journalist was when I was working an event where an up and coming musician came in contact with a politician. The politician, in an act of generosity, told the musician they liked their performance and purchased five of her CDs. However, after giving her the money, he turned around and gave all five CD’s back to her and told her to give them to people who would “want them.” Although the politician thought he had done a good thing by supporting a local musician, the rejection and lack of interest in her work was insulting and dejecting to the musician. Thankfully she had a solid sense of self so that it didn’t make her stumble, but the lack of engagement or true interest in her music was hurtful.

Although we might have good intentions, how often do we do the same thing? How many times has a friend, or colleague released a book or an album, and we purchase it to support them, only to have it sit on a shelf or in a closet, unread or unlistened to? How many times have we promised someone we’d go to their performance or stage production or art show, but although we might buy an advance ticket, we don’t actually show up to see the show? How many times has a colleague had an art exhibit in a local business and despite showing interest we don’t take the time to go and see it? How often has someone sent us a poem, or a script, or a song which would only take a click on our computer to look at, but we don’t take the time to do it? Our collective apathy over the art that is being created by the people around us is something very few people talk about but is extremely noticeable to the people who create.

Now we obviously don’t have the time and energy to read every word and go to every event. We can’t buy ever book and CD. But what we can do is instead of simply encouraging to a creative, take a genuine effort to take the time to truly engage with their work, even for a few moments. Read the article or listen to the music. Look at the art and see the performance. Art is created for connection and engagement, and without that audience it not only hurts the art, but it hurts the artist as well. If we truly want to be supportive of the art community active engagement goes so much further than simply acknowledging someone’s work.

But after we engage, there is one additional step. Reach out to the performer or artist and let them know what you thought of the work they created. Let them know when you saw it, and what you thought, and how it made you feel. Ask questions, and pay attention to details. In my experience, the night of an event is rarely a good night to talk to a creative because they will probably be overwhelmed. Talking to an artist the night of an opening, or a musician the night of an album release party, or a filmmaker the night of a premier, is often much like talking to a bride at their wedding reception. A simple note with your thoughts the next day or so not only shows that you are still thinking of their work, but it also gives the creative more time to respond. That note will go a long way emotionally and could be the thing that allows the creative to keep creating.

I can personally attest to the fact that the readers who send me notes to let me know that they’ve read my work goes a great deal for me emotionally and is sometimes what keeps me motivated into creating content. Most of the people in my everyday existence are fairly passive about my life as a writer, and as a result it is being aware that there is an audience engaging with the material, I create that keeps me creating. That connection is so much more important to me than any financial gain. It’s priceless.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://vinylstories.ca
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/samtweedlevinylstories/
• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/groups/1017781155864416
• Other: Coming Soon in 2025 – samtweedle.ca

Image Credits

Photo of myself reading “Flip” magazine by Griz Morrison

Photo of myself dancing wth the inflatable tube man by Griz Morrison

Photo of myself in record shop (natural habitat) by Griz Morrison

Photo of myself with Casey and Finnegan puppets by Griz Morrison

Photo of myslf on Andy Warhol’s couch by Griz Morrison

Photo of myslef with group of theatre kids is a selfie – so photo credit Sam Tweedle

Photo of myself with Keir Dullea and Gary Lockwood before an event in Toronto by Carol Summers

Photo of myself interviewing Catherine Mary Stewart by Jerry Milani

Photo of myself interviewing Daniell Harris by Jerry Milani

Photo of myself with Paul Willimas is a selfite, so by Sam Tweedle

Photo of myself listening to vinyl by Griz Morrison