Main Character Energy

First of all I’m a romantic. Always have been, always will be… a fact and fiber of my being, for better or worse. I fell in love with the first boy that ever spoke to me and had recurring roleplay fantasies about the two of us in a Candyland universe, me as Queen Frostine and him in a tiny tuxedo just like, hanging out. In real life we were just playground friends, until 1st grade when he inexplicably stopped speaking to me. This solidified my role as the main character, dejected by the most desirable boy at school who- I bargained with myself- was merely afraid of his feelings for me… just like Andie in Pretty In Pink, and basically every other great teen movie from the 80’s.

This narrative continued to play itself out in 6th grade with John, an exotic Mormon Filipino boy who loved show tunes as much as I did, which was all it took. John would call me every day after school and wax poetic about Rachel, a tall blonde girl who was good at track and wrote in big bubble letters. This perfectly coincided with my Dawson’s Creek obsession. I was Joey- the devoted girl next door, reluctantly friend-zoned, and she was Jen- glamorous and unattainable. Neither of these descriptions were remotely accurate, as John actually lived significantly closer to Rachel and I was the only one in the whole damn town with aspirations of being glamorous. This was just neither here nor there for me. I found Joey’s plight so romantic. Way more interesting than Jen’s avoidance. I even recreated a scene from the show in which Joey sings “On My Own” from Les Miserablé at a talent show entirely for Dawson’s benefit. (John, if you’re reading this, that one was for you, but you already know that because I let you read my diary. Subtlety has just never been my thing.)

Then came high school, and this is when shit got dark. My fantasies about being a brat pack era ingénue got the best of me. The most popular boy in my grade took an interest in me, even though I was seen as naive (I was) and innocent (I was) and he was decidedly not. He took it as a personal challenge to “corrupt” me, which was not difficult because he was charming, a little mean, and just broken enough to illicit the female urge to fix- a powerful impulse I didn’t know enough to fear. I was the Sandy to his Danny, and if you’re a person who thinks that Grease is a feel-good coming of age story, let me remind you that Sandy literally changes everything about herself in the end, all for a sexy shit head.

Unlike Sandy, I abstained from the activities his particular brand of bad boy teen was known for- smoking, drinking, noise violations, petty theft… all the hallmarks of a rebel without a cause, which is basically just a total asshole. By the time my brain developed enough to end the relationship after having been dragged through the harsh realities of codependent teen love, I was out of high school and desperate to leave my hometown. 

In the summer after graduation, I fell in with a crowd of misfits and post-punks, Jesus freaks and straight edge kids who knew about the indie music scene of the early aughts. In this group of mainly dudes I became a fixture because of my car, my parents’ house, and a bare midriff that rivaled 2001 Britney. We’d pile in to my red mustang and drive all the way to Bakersfield to watch a band of slight, impish young men in the unfinished fire hazard of a basement beneath a mediocre pizza joint. I was their punk-pop princess and I LOVED that for me. I was finding my way into a new role... a more empowering one that turned the old one on its head. Still too romantic for my own good, but with an no-fux-given-take-no-prisoners-I’m-angsty-and-I-know-it attitude.

Newly 18 and without a curfew to speak of, we’d stay out all night burning CDs and driving around empty streets listening to them. Days that started at 2pm were spent baking on hot inflatable plastic in my parents’ pool. It was there that I realized my life could be bigger. Why was I living in a place where the bands I love won’t even come play? I suggested to the group that we put on a show at the town’s memorial building and contact the booking agents to get them to come play ourselves. To the others this was just another dreamy half-baked plan, fun to think about but wtf even is a booking agent? But to me it was the spark of a movement to involve myself in the very thing that was saving me- the music industry. Not just music. The business of music. The work of the agents and managers and promoters that brought the music close enough that I could see it. I was graduating from a John Hughesian self-image to Cameron Crowe’s Penny Lane, if she had William’s ambition. It isn’t lost on me that these characters were all productions of a male gaze, but I had my own take on them.

Penny and William would remain with me in spirit for the better part of my 20’s. As I worked my way through the music industry, starting as an unpaid intern at an infamous indie label, then moving in to the literal basement of a major label and ending in the depths of an arena in a flyover state as a band I managed played to a crowd of 30,000. When I left it all behind to become a writer, it was William who stayed with me as I wrote in fits and starts, screaming and crying at the walls of my tiny Hollywood apartment (originally built to house contracted writers for Paramount) to help me win the war of art. A lot of blood was shed in many a losing battle on that field. Eventually, William left the building, hands in the air.

An avid collector of experiences, Penny stepped in to take me on wild adventures spanning multiple states and countries… as well as every corner, hidden crevice and secret staircase in LA. Like her, I gave my love away for pennies on the dollar and laughed as my debts piled up. I drank champagne and whiskey, equal parts damsel and cowboy. Even now as I write this I can feel her tugging at the cheap nylon of the 70’s slip I’m wearing, perhaps a subconscious attempt to conjure her. She’s bored of writing. She wants to be taken out for something decadent and too expensive and find someone to fall in love with real quick. Or better yet, someone to fall in love with her. She wants to accidentally end up somewhere we’ve never been. In her world there are no consequences and no karma. Her vision is pure rose gold.

I really *liked* Penny, although of course the thing about Penny is that her recklessness and mild desperation are only as acceptable as she is charming, so she must always be charming. And fabulous to look at. If not then she would become someone else entirely… someone I didn’t have a name for yet. Maybe I still don’t. Maybe that’s where I find myself now… in the midst of a rewrite. I used to hate a rewrite. But now I’ve done it enough times that I know it only gets better.

I spent the last decade allowing myself to be stripped of all identities and character traits that I did not author, and others that were mine that I’ve decided to bring back. I read something recently that said we shouldn’t waste time trying to make sense of our lives, but like… there is so much sense to be made! All the world’s a stage and that. Why not lean in to it? We are all the main character and the audience for our own hero’s journey. Which, for someone like me whose true romance is with words and stories and character study- fiction and non- this is real pressure. Because if I’m writing my own story, it better be fucking good.

hey. thank you for reading this. seriously thank you thank you thank you. i so appreciate you spending some of your time with me. it means everything to me. <3