I want to be on TV / the fabulous fantasy life of Hesta, chapter 6
Stokell's expression changed from hurt to offended. I hadn't planned on joining a band and altering it to fit me, but this was all too easy. It was like he wanted me to walk on him.
"By the way if we're going to be playing you songs me and Harry need to have a say in them"
I knew there must be a catch,
"Like what exactly"
"We want to hear the lyrics first, we want to put out the right messages, don't get me wrong but I don't want too much typical female stuff like feminism, break-up songs and ballads. We're a punk band, we want to stay that way, and we don't need changing into Avril Lavigne's backing band"
I was hurt. He thought I was an Avril Lavigne? I could tell he'd been preparing this little speech while I was playing earlier. But he'd gotten me completely wrong. 'Sanguine's sister' was not feminist and 'It's only air' did not sound typical of a female. My songs were about real people and their traits, that might sound very feminine of me but my writing was far from avril-esque, I didn't always complain about guys and their faults.
I'm a secret optimist but Stokell had only seen my exterior, and that might not appear so jolly. Short, skinny and blonde but rarely seen smiling around Stokell. I'm chirpy around everybody but him because everybody but him brings me something to smile about. I decided however to let him think he was in control, for the moment.
"Don't worry, I realise it's your band so what you say goes right?"
"Right"
The hand that had been in his trouser pocket manoeuvred around my waist. He was such an idiot.
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I went to the rehearsal at lunch time, and pretended not to be a controlling power-crazed feminist. It worked. And I brought my own guitar this time. I also brought my songbook, bursting with meaningful melodies and songs about life. It would make my English teacher proud. But it made Stokell even more anxious,
"Oh, you have more material"
"Yes, and lots of it"
"Can me and Harry see?"
"Yeh fine, but a lot of them I haven't written music for yet"
"Me and Harry can help you there then"
I honestly would've liked their help, I'm sure they were both quite capable of thinking up spunky tunes and angry riffs to go with my poetry, but the idea of handing my work over to someone else, for them to tamper with and finish, and even get credit for, frightened me.
"I'll show you what needs finishing"
I picked out the scrappy rhymes that I couldn't be bothered to do much else with, maybe their musical input could make one woman's trash another man's treasure. I hoped so anyway.
"By the way if we're going to be playing you songs me and Harry need to have a say in them"
I knew there must be a catch,
"Like what exactly"
"We want to hear the lyrics first, we want to put out the right messages, don't get me wrong but I don't want too much typical female stuff like feminism, break-up songs and ballads. We're a punk band, we want to stay that way, and we don't need changing into Avril Lavigne's backing band"
I was hurt. He thought I was an Avril Lavigne? I could tell he'd been preparing this little speech while I was playing earlier. But he'd gotten me completely wrong. 'Sanguine's sister' was not feminist and 'It's only air' did not sound typical of a female. My songs were about real people and their traits, that might sound very feminine of me but my writing was far from avril-esque, I didn't always complain about guys and their faults.
I'm a secret optimist but Stokell had only seen my exterior, and that might not appear so jolly. Short, skinny and blonde but rarely seen smiling around Stokell. I'm chirpy around everybody but him because everybody but him brings me something to smile about. I decided however to let him think he was in control, for the moment.
"Don't worry, I realise it's your band so what you say goes right?"
"Right"
The hand that had been in his trouser pocket manoeuvred around my waist. He was such an idiot.
---------------------------------------------
I went to the rehearsal at lunch time, and pretended not to be a controlling power-crazed feminist. It worked. And I brought my own guitar this time. I also brought my songbook, bursting with meaningful melodies and songs about life. It would make my English teacher proud. But it made Stokell even more anxious,
"Oh, you have more material"
"Yes, and lots of it"
"Can me and Harry see?"
"Yeh fine, but a lot of them I haven't written music for yet"
"Me and Harry can help you there then"
I honestly would've liked their help, I'm sure they were both quite capable of thinking up spunky tunes and angry riffs to go with my poetry, but the idea of handing my work over to someone else, for them to tamper with and finish, and even get credit for, frightened me.
"I'll show you what needs finishing"
I picked out the scrappy rhymes that I couldn't be bothered to do much else with, maybe their musical input could make one woman's trash another man's treasure. I hoped so anyway.
