an exercise in output

Just an experiment to see how long it actually takes to pump out 1700 words in fiction form. 

Her hair twisted in what seemed like an infinite number of loops. She really hated this part the most, all the make up and hair and hours with the wardrobe manager seemed so pointless to her. For her, it was all about the craft and that’s what she loved. If it hadn’t been for her sudden viral video on Youtube she’d still be in the comfort of her house, singing into a microphone hanging in her washroom. Some days she dreamed of such times. But she quickly swept these ideas away because this wasn’t the time to daydream. She threw a smile at the hairdresser through the mirror. He really couldn’t be blamed and if anything, he did make her hair look nice even though it was really just full of pins and chemicals. He bid her some form of good luck to which she was too distracted to answer, only smiling slightly again. He left the room but she was too busy thinking of other things to hear.

Even with the air conditioning on she could feel the layers of make up slowly coalesce on her face, mixing with the sweat that was beginning to form. These weren’t from any source of heat unless nerves are considered palpable heat waves. This was her first performance since she started producing an album. The first in a long tour that would take her around the country in the span of 8 weeks. She’d heard the stories from other artists about how it was such a bitter sweet experience. She’d never left home for very long. Even for university it had only been a 2 hour drive home, one that she made often.

A knock at the door moved her from her chair. It was show time or at least 5 minutes to. Any minute now she expected her manager to burst through the door. Or her mom. Actually, they were the same person. That was the one thing she looked forward to on this tour. It’d been a long time since she spent time with her mom and even though the prospect of their relationship becoming very business-like looming over her, she believed they’d get past that. Ever since her brother got married, Madeline had worried about her mother, all alone in the house. She tended her garden and was always busy with church activities and grocery shopping. But she was afraid these were just outward signs and that really, nobody was really taking care of her any more. Too young and stubborn to enter a nursing home but too old to work. Come to think of it, she thought, her stubbornness had probably come from her mother.

Getting out of the high chair, she turned back to the mirror for one last look. The sequinned blue top was flowy and it matched well with the tight, black skinny jeans. She was fine with these. Even the leaf shaped earrings the wardrobe man had picked out were to her liking. The only thing she felt uncomfortable with with her boots. The label had spoken something about the demographic liking stars over 5 feet 4 inches. Her first reaction to the statistic was that it was bogus. How does one even go about asking that question, she had said. But nonetheless, she’d agreed to appeal to this subset of fans. Her hope of wearing platform shoes was sadly misplaced and now her 4 inch heels made her wobble as she walked slowly towards the door. There was no point waiting for her mother to come in. She estimated that 4 minutes had already passed. The faint sound of fans cheering could be heard if she was quiet.

She opened the door and peered tentatively into the hallway. There were only two people there. A man she could only guess was the backstage crew and her mom. “I made sure there wasn’t any commotion, I know you don’t like that sort of thing” she said with a tender smile. Madeline let out a sigh of relief. She could count on her mom for little things like that. Their hands were clasped for a moment before the cheer broke through their moment with another momentous roar. “Maddy, Maddy, Maddy” they seemed to scream. But they would have to wait just a moment longer. “You bring the tune and I’ll bring the words,” her mother began. It was the first song she’d written. Before all the fame.

They shared one last tender moment, hugging and then Madeline had to let go. She’d been preparing for this all week and now she started to feel the adrenaline kick in. Her biology degree told her all about what her body was doing with this burst of fuel. Her pupils were changing diameter, her stomach would produce less gastric acid, she wouldn’t feel the need to pee probably until after the concert was all over. The most noticeable thing was that she could feel her heart beating faster, the fluttering faintly visible through the motion of her shirt. She traversed the steps and then walked on stage.

The sheer number of people in the room shocked her. Looking back, she probably took a few steps back out of primal instinct. The biggest she’d ever played before was a mere 50 people in a quiet little pub. She hadn’t played publicly in the past 4 months, not while she was recording her album. It’d been like a beautiful retreat, a cocoon for a caterpillar before it bursts through its own prison to become a free butterfly. Except those feelings of freedom weren’t quite what she felt at the moment. She waved awkwardly out into the crowd doing so only because she felt like she’d seen it on TV before. The faces of the people were almost indiscernible in the bright lights of the room. She made a mental record to make sure she picked a darker venue next time. It’s not like she was a mega pop star who would be dancing.

Her feet carried her over to her guitar. One of her best friends in the world, as odd and depressing as that may sound. They’d had countless nights together. Sometimes she’d get frustrated because he just wasn’t doing what she wanted but most of the time he was a comfort and would listen to all her ramblings about her day. She felt the scratches along the guitar’s neck as she put it on, remembering how each of those got there. Sometimes it’d be a scratch, once a very angry fingernail and even still, the line left from the repairing of a broken neck. She felt comforted and as she sat down on the stool in the middle of the stage, she felt at ease. She reassured herself that she wasn’t here to please the crowd. She wanted to make honest music and her fans might as well know her honestly. She was here to play music. “Hello Chicago” she said. Unsure at first but she said it again, this time with a lopsided grin and a hearty response from the crowd.  After that, she began to strum and then something else just over took her.

It was only the sight of the clock in the back that reminded her that her time was almost up. She was at her last song anyway. “This is the last song of the night but we’d love to meet you over at the table afterwards”. There was no trepidation in her voice. All that had somehow melted away over the course of half an hour and 7 songs. Her last line flew off her tongue and without warning extinguished the music. In earnest she climbed off the chair, waded through the cloud of noise and back into the quiet hallway. It wasn’t as quiet this time, with a few more faces greeting her and speaking words of congratulations. A couple high fives were given and then she began to feel it. The adrenaline was wearing off. A scowl escaped through her lips. There would be a signing and then the bus ride back to the hotel and no doubt, her manager would probably have a few words to say. She’d just realized the bitter part.

Putting away her own pessimistic thoughts, Madeline uttered a quick “Thanks everyone” before retreating into her change room. Her feet began to feel sore in the heeled boots. “I won’t be needing these any more. I won’t even be standing up” she reasoned with herself. A pair of soft, black flats would have to do. A knock came on the door. “In a minute” she said, turning towards the door as she said it. The door opened anyway to uncover the face of her mother. “Here let me help you with those” she said as Madeline struggled to get out of her boots. “Who makes these awful contraptions anyway?” she half joked, sitting down so her mother could undo the zipper. “You were wonderful up there”. “Thanks” was all she could muster. Half an hour hadn’t seemed so long when she thought about it at first. Heck, even youtube performers could have 2 hour concerts. “I really have to build up my endurance for this sort of thing” she sighed. “Now, now. This is only your first show. It’ll get better from here. Here, just take a break. The concert doesn’t end for another half an hour.” Through the walls she could hear the next act, a rock band, fingering licks and singing lyrics from which she only recognized faint syllables. “Your’e right, can you wake me when they’re almost done” she said as she started to move towards the couch. “Of course dear. I’ll see you later then.” was the reply followed by the metallic snap of the door closing.

Her fingers ran back and forth across the coarse texture of the fabric and with each motion, she could feel her eyes grow heavier and heavier. Her eyes closed and then…darkness.

She awoke not to the same feeling of the couch underneath her fingers but this time to the hard, unforgiving feeling of a wooden bench. A silky voice split through the fog around her. A single word, spoken once, ricocheted against the walls. “Welcome”