Fanfic project: Diary of a Rock Star, Part 1
Had this idea for a writing exercise a few weeks ago, inspired by Adam Lambert. I thought it might be an interesting idea to explore the world through the heart of someone very much in the public eye, so I started watching videos and interviews with Adam and trying to put myself in his boots. Then I added some conjecture, opinions and a dab of philosophy, spiced it up with some fiction and -- voila!
Enjoy.
Diary of a Rock Star, Part 1
I love this life, but it’s not perfect. It’s everything I ever wanted growing up, bigger and better than my dreams. Every night when I stand in the wings and listen to the music start, the butterflies in my stomach are the size of seagulls, and flying in a sky filled with fireworks.
The energy is incredible. I can feel it rising, beating at my skin as the fans start filling the venue while I’m backstage getting ready. My senses sharpen, like I can hear every voice and heartbeat around me for miles. Every noise is incredibly loud, edged with faint pain. The coffee I sip is richer, darker than usual, the heat of it bathing my tongue and swirling down my throat. Colors are shockingly vivid.The stage costumes the band is wearing sparkle with studs and the sheen of black leather. The people surrounding me remind me of a flock of birds - ravens and peacocks and birds of paradise.
A stage hand walks by me, leaving a trail of familiar cologne that I can almost see. I sniff as he strides past, and close my eyes in a moment of hedonistic pleasure.
It’s the adrenaline. I can feel it all through my body, making it hard to be still. My hands are quivering, just the slightest little tremor. Sweat beads my upper lip. I want to be out there already.
Then all too soon, it’s over. I’m drenched and exhausted, my whole body vibrating like a freshly plucked guitar string. Backstage I get to come down a little, but it’ll be a while before that hits. I meet a handful of fans with VIP passes, smile and have my picture taken with them.
I can tell how much they love me. They’re radiant with it, and it feels like validation. This is what I’ve lived for, dreamed about, worked to earn my whole life. It’s more than just the result of endless hours of voice lessons and practicing scales so I can put my talent on display. These people really care about me. I’m sure of that because of the words they use, the stories they tell me about how my music changed their lives. There are little old ladies and young hotties and moms with their kids. There are stylin’ guys from the ‘hood and couples of all persuasions, and they all say the same thing with shiny eyes and flushed faces and this incredible energy that just blasts me, envelops me, lifts me up.
Maybe it won’t last. Nothing’s written in stone and Fame is often a fickle lady, but this is my moment in time, and I’m grateful for it.
My people are watching, keeping their eyes on the clock and the schedule, timing everything perfectly. They look out for me to make sure people don’t get too friendly or pick my pockets for souvenirs. I feel safe here. That’s incredible, especially since there have been so many times in the past when I didn’t.
It’s nice to know being ‘different’ has finally paid off.
My handlers can see I’m wiped out and move the fans out with practiced ease. I wish them farewell and follow another handler back to the dressing rooms, where I strip down and give the costumes back to Wardrobe. After a shower that washes out the hair spray and scrubs off the makeup, I begin to feel more like me again.
The band and I talk about the show. Everyone takes credit for missed notes and celebrates that no one seemed to notice or care. We were loved, and there’s no better high than that. My brain is swirling with endorphins and the adrenaline starts to fade. Now I’m starting to really come down and I waffle between wanting to go out and dance the night away or just crash and burn in the nearest bed.
As we leave the building and head for the bus, I’m wrapped up in the screams of adoring fans. I smile and wave, make eye contact here and there and recognize a few faces that I’ve seen at other shows. It’s hard to grasp that people are following me from show to show, spending thousands of dollars in travel and lodging and tickets just to watch me perform. Some of the people here tonight will only cross my path once, just at tonight’s show, but they’re no less valuable to me.
Every one of them counts, and I remind myself of that daily.
I flop down in my seat with a sigh, blinded by the flashing cameras outside the bus. It seems the whole world is celebrating with me, and it’s beautiful. Part of me finds it hard to believe that this is happening to me, that it’s real… that it could be my life for the next forty years or so, or that it might be over in a month.
My heart breaks a little, because it’s so full.
The bus pulls away and delivers us to our hotel, where more fans are waiting. Getting to my room is an event, coordinated by people with radios and head-sets and a few with guns strapped to their hips. That’s a little scary, but I understand the necessity. For all its beauty and wonder, the world is not always a kind place.
When the door finally closes and locks behind me, the magical feeling that so warmed me a few moments ago suddenly falls away like shards of shattered glass. The silence rings in my ears and presses against my skin like a huge wad of cotton. Even the colors are muted and all I can smell is the soap and shampoo from my recent shower.
I survey my hotel room to get my bearings and end up at the window, looking out on a strange city glittering with tiny lights. Sometimes I’m not even sure where I am, but I know I’m not alone.
It takes a moment, but I reach out through the glass and can still feel it - that supportive cushion of love holding me up off the ground, buffering the dull pains of past wounds. There are people who love me out there, people who welcome my ‘differences’ and care about me, not just because of what I can do, but also because of who I am. They know that goes both ways.
It’s a good feeling; one that’ll keep me warm and happy for a long time.
Tonight may be a little lonely as I look over at my empty bed, but that will pass. I have work to do, and I’m patient.
A reporter asked me today, “If you had to choose between fame and love, which one would you want most?”
I laughed and asked her, “Who says I can’t I have both?”
After all, I got this dream. I got this life, and I know part of it was luck, part of it was talent and a whole lot was the effort I put into getting here. Somewhere out there is a man who will love me for who I am and accept the sacrifices he’ll have to make to fit into my life, and I’ll love him for doing that for me, and because he’ll be an incredible person. He’ll have to be, because this will be a hard life for a lover.
I look at the empty bed and smile. I’m tired and tonight I’m going to sleep, but one day - soon, I hope - I’ll be staying up till dawn exchanging a different kind of energy. He’s out there, somewhere, and I’m going to find him.
Good night, Lover. I’m on my way. Sweet dreams.
Enjoy.
Diary of a Rock Star, Part 1
I love this life, but it’s not perfect. It’s everything I ever wanted growing up, bigger and better than my dreams. Every night when I stand in the wings and listen to the music start, the butterflies in my stomach are the size of seagulls, and flying in a sky filled with fireworks.
The energy is incredible. I can feel it rising, beating at my skin as the fans start filling the venue while I’m backstage getting ready. My senses sharpen, like I can hear every voice and heartbeat around me for miles. Every noise is incredibly loud, edged with faint pain. The coffee I sip is richer, darker than usual, the heat of it bathing my tongue and swirling down my throat. Colors are shockingly vivid.The stage costumes the band is wearing sparkle with studs and the sheen of black leather. The people surrounding me remind me of a flock of birds - ravens and peacocks and birds of paradise.
A stage hand walks by me, leaving a trail of familiar cologne that I can almost see. I sniff as he strides past, and close my eyes in a moment of hedonistic pleasure.
It’s the adrenaline. I can feel it all through my body, making it hard to be still. My hands are quivering, just the slightest little tremor. Sweat beads my upper lip. I want to be out there already.
Then all too soon, it’s over. I’m drenched and exhausted, my whole body vibrating like a freshly plucked guitar string. Backstage I get to come down a little, but it’ll be a while before that hits. I meet a handful of fans with VIP passes, smile and have my picture taken with them.
I can tell how much they love me. They’re radiant with it, and it feels like validation. This is what I’ve lived for, dreamed about, worked to earn my whole life. It’s more than just the result of endless hours of voice lessons and practicing scales so I can put my talent on display. These people really care about me. I’m sure of that because of the words they use, the stories they tell me about how my music changed their lives. There are little old ladies and young hotties and moms with their kids. There are stylin’ guys from the ‘hood and couples of all persuasions, and they all say the same thing with shiny eyes and flushed faces and this incredible energy that just blasts me, envelops me, lifts me up.
Maybe it won’t last. Nothing’s written in stone and Fame is often a fickle lady, but this is my moment in time, and I’m grateful for it.
My people are watching, keeping their eyes on the clock and the schedule, timing everything perfectly. They look out for me to make sure people don’t get too friendly or pick my pockets for souvenirs. I feel safe here. That’s incredible, especially since there have been so many times in the past when I didn’t.
It’s nice to know being ‘different’ has finally paid off.
My handlers can see I’m wiped out and move the fans out with practiced ease. I wish them farewell and follow another handler back to the dressing rooms, where I strip down and give the costumes back to Wardrobe. After a shower that washes out the hair spray and scrubs off the makeup, I begin to feel more like me again.
The band and I talk about the show. Everyone takes credit for missed notes and celebrates that no one seemed to notice or care. We were loved, and there’s no better high than that. My brain is swirling with endorphins and the adrenaline starts to fade. Now I’m starting to really come down and I waffle between wanting to go out and dance the night away or just crash and burn in the nearest bed.
As we leave the building and head for the bus, I’m wrapped up in the screams of adoring fans. I smile and wave, make eye contact here and there and recognize a few faces that I’ve seen at other shows. It’s hard to grasp that people are following me from show to show, spending thousands of dollars in travel and lodging and tickets just to watch me perform. Some of the people here tonight will only cross my path once, just at tonight’s show, but they’re no less valuable to me.
Every one of them counts, and I remind myself of that daily.
I flop down in my seat with a sigh, blinded by the flashing cameras outside the bus. It seems the whole world is celebrating with me, and it’s beautiful. Part of me finds it hard to believe that this is happening to me, that it’s real… that it could be my life for the next forty years or so, or that it might be over in a month.
My heart breaks a little, because it’s so full.
The bus pulls away and delivers us to our hotel, where more fans are waiting. Getting to my room is an event, coordinated by people with radios and head-sets and a few with guns strapped to their hips. That’s a little scary, but I understand the necessity. For all its beauty and wonder, the world is not always a kind place.
When the door finally closes and locks behind me, the magical feeling that so warmed me a few moments ago suddenly falls away like shards of shattered glass. The silence rings in my ears and presses against my skin like a huge wad of cotton. Even the colors are muted and all I can smell is the soap and shampoo from my recent shower.
I survey my hotel room to get my bearings and end up at the window, looking out on a strange city glittering with tiny lights. Sometimes I’m not even sure where I am, but I know I’m not alone.
It takes a moment, but I reach out through the glass and can still feel it - that supportive cushion of love holding me up off the ground, buffering the dull pains of past wounds. There are people who love me out there, people who welcome my ‘differences’ and care about me, not just because of what I can do, but also because of who I am. They know that goes both ways.
It’s a good feeling; one that’ll keep me warm and happy for a long time.
Tonight may be a little lonely as I look over at my empty bed, but that will pass. I have work to do, and I’m patient.
A reporter asked me today, “If you had to choose between fame and love, which one would you want most?”
I laughed and asked her, “Who says I can’t I have both?”
After all, I got this dream. I got this life, and I know part of it was luck, part of it was talent and a whole lot was the effort I put into getting here. Somewhere out there is a man who will love me for who I am and accept the sacrifices he’ll have to make to fit into my life, and I’ll love him for doing that for me, and because he’ll be an incredible person. He’ll have to be, because this will be a hard life for a lover.
I look at the empty bed and smile. I’m tired and tonight I’m going to sleep, but one day - soon, I hope - I’ll be staying up till dawn exchanging a different kind of energy. He’s out there, somewhere, and I’m going to find him.
Good night, Lover. I’m on my way. Sweet dreams.