'Peter Pan' from Tinker Bell's Point of View

Tinker Bell’s Story

(Josie Sayz: This is J. M. Barrie’s ‘Peter Pan’ from Tinker Bell’s point of view. Disclaimer: This is a work of fan-fiction using characters from Sir J. M. Barrie's 'Peter Pan'; I do not own the characters or location references.)

I love Peter. I really do, but sometimes he can be so… so clumsy and thoughtless he makes me mad! We used to have so much fun together. Just me and him. In Neverland. But then he brought with him the Wendy.
          It all began about year ago. Peter and I were flying high in the night sky of a city on the Mainland, in England, called London. We had been playing fairy-tag and I was winning, of course, when Peter heard someone telling stories. It was coming from a nearby house. Not wanting to miss out on any of the fun, he raced over to the window. Inside were three of them. Three humans. They were dancing around, like I had seen the Lost Boys do many a time before. Knowing that we could be spotted, I told Peter that we must be going, but for some reason he was fascinated, fixated by the room.
          After the humans had gone to sleep, Peter insisted on getting a closer look at them – especially the Wendy. I warned him not to. I told him that if he did that something bad would happen, but he didn’t listen to me. In fact Peter hardly ever listened to me the entire time that… that… that Wendy was around. Anyway, Peter carefully opened the window and crept inside, but before he even got close to the humans a raging beast flew out of nowhere and began attacking him. Although I had not wanted to be near the humans, I still raced to Peter’s aid. We tried and tried with all our might, we did, but the beast won. He had not harmed Peter, but the creature had stolen poor Peter’s shadow.
          Scared of what to do next, we fled. We raced all the way back to Neverland, second to the right and straight on ‘til morning. I had begged and pleaded with Peter that we were never to go back there, to that house… with the humans, but Peter insisted; he needed his shadow back. So the next night we set off, back to the Mainland, to the city of London, to retrieve what was rightfully Peter’s.
          Not wanting to arouse suspicion, Peter sent me inside the house to look for his shadow. “Being so tiny,” he said, “there is no way that the beast’ll see you.” I had not wanted to return to the house, especially not all by myself, but Peter gazed at me with his sparking, hypnotising eyes that I can’t say, “No,” to. Before I knew it, I was inside the human’s house rummaging through wardrobes and pockets and cupboards and drawers, desperately trying to find Peter’s shadow before the humans woke or that fierce beast returned. I later discovered that the beast who stole Peter’s shadow was actually the Wendy’s dog, but Peter always referred to it as a ‘beast,’ so I am too.
          Either I had been searching a long time or Peter had become inpatient, because he soon arrived at the window in quite a worried manner. I had just located the thing where the humans had stored Peter’s shadow. Despite being of a petite size and being able to squeeze through small spaces, I lack the strength that Peter has to open the drawers of the big box – which I later discovered, from the Wendy, to be called a chest-of-drawers. At first, it seemed quite a peculiar name, ‘a chest-of-drawers,’ especially the way the Wendy said it, but now looking back, it seems to be somewhat logical. Immediately Peter jumped towards the drawers and began scattering clothing everywhere in search for his shadow. Once he found his shadow, the silly boy closed the draw and left me inside.
          Oh, that boy makes me so mad sometimes I want to scream! Especially when he woke the Wendy – oh what a great, ugly creature she was. And she wanted me to be her fairy, not a chance. I am Peter’s fairy, and only Peter’s. I have since discovered that while I was trapped in the chest-of-drawers the Wendy sewed Peter’s shadow back on for him. Well I could have done that. In fact, if I hadn’t been trapped in the stupid drawer I would have done it and I would have done it far better than the Wendy. If sewing on Peter’s shadow wasn’t enough of an intrusion, she kissed him. How dare she? How dare the Wendy kiss Peter? My Peter! He then gazed at her with his sparkling, hypnotising eyes that he usually stares at me with.
          Once free, I tried pulling her back, but her huge head was far too heavy for me to move. As I tried to drag her away from Peter, the stupid Wendy started screaming that I had pulled her hair. Well it serves her right for what she did to me. The nerve of that ugly thing!
          Thankfully, it seemed that Peter did not care much for the Wendy, just for her stories. As soon as she had told the end of the tale that we had overheard on the previous night, Peter was ready to return home. But the stupid Wendy stopped him, insisting that we take her with us so that she could tell stories to Peter and the Lost Boys (who knew none).
          This was the second mistake Peter made, for within seconds he sprinkled my magic fairy dust (without my permission) over the Wendy and her two brothers making them fly. That was the final straw. I already had a strong hatred for the Wendy. Her perfect, curly hair and beautiful smile was enough to make me feel ill, but now she could fly too. It wasn’t fair! Peter and I had always been best of friends and gone on adventures together. But now he had a new friend, the Wendy. Not only could she now fly and had stories to tell, but she was more like Peter than I am. She was a human. The one thing that I can never be.

*

After Peter taught them all to fly, we flew home to Neverland. It seemed to take us hours to get there with how slow the humans were flying. I raced and raced around them hundreds, maybe even thousands of times, but still they flew slower than a blind bird. To make things worse, by flying so slowly they had spotted us. Down below on the grounds of Neverland, Captain Hook and his crew had been spying towards the stars in hope of spotting my sparkle, which they did because we had to fly so stupidly slow. On my own I could easily have zoomed ahead, but I could not leave Peter and he would not leave the Wendy.
          We had little time to think, for Hook and his crew were ready to fire Long Tom at us. If only the humans hadn’t come then we would not have found ourselves in this predicament! Peter had a perfect idea: for me to travel inside a hat, therefore the pirates would not see me. Pleased to know that we would soon be safe, I went along with Peter’s plan only to find out that I was to ride in John’s hat and not Peter’s (and the reason for doing so I am still unaware). Then the bossy Wendy snatched me from John to carry herself as if I was some sort of toy.
          Bang! The pirates fired. We darted into separation. Peter and the Wendy’s brothers were nowhere to be seen. I was left stuck with her. But I had a plan. It was simple… kill the Wendy.

*

Hearing a cry down below, I spotted the Lost Boys messing around, as usual. Nibs pointed towards us and at once my plan came into action. I called out to the boys to shoot the Wendy, said it was Peter’s orders. The Lost Boys were too stupid to know any better. By thinking it was Peter’s orders to shoot the Wendy down, they did so immediately. With a cheer of excitement, it was Tootles who fired his arrow, sinking it into the heart of the Wendy. The boys crowded around her as Peter returned.
          I almost cried on my discovery that the Wendy had not died. The arrow that Tootles had fired hit an acorn thimble that hung around the Wendy’s neck (Peter must have given to her earlier, whilst I was stuck inside the drawer). Although, what was worse than finding that the Wendy was not dead, was what Peter did after he found out it was me who told the Lost Boys to shoot her. It was stupid Curly’s fault! He told Peter everything. Then Peter said how he was no longer my friend and banished me forever. Forever! Well until the ugly Wendy butted in, then Peter decreased the time of my banishment to a week.
          Oh, how I wanted to pinch the Wendy! Me, banished for a week? Me? I am Peter’s oldest and bestest friend. If anyone was going to be banished it should have been the Wendy.
          Without saying another word, I zoomed off as fast as I could. Being so angry with the Wendy for everything she had done, I wished so hard to go and tell Captain Hook about her, that she was an intruder to Neverland. He’d soon have her captured. But I didn’t tell. If I had, I would have put Peter and the Lost Boys’ lives in danger too. Instead I sat on a tree branch, watching them build a house for her.

*

The week of my banishment passed quickly. However, when I returned, with the Wendy there, it was as though they had forgotten all about me. Whilst the Wendy raced around after them, feeding them, washing them, telling them stories, I stayed high up out of the way in my private apartment. If they didn’t need me, I didn’t need them. I caused as much disruption for the Wendy as possible, whatever she did. But most of all, I sat and waited for the day when Peter would realise that it was not the Wendy that he wanted as his friend, but me.

*

For weeks and months the Wendy and her two brothers lived in Neverland. And not once did they ever speak of going home. So one night, with the help of some of the other Neverland fairies, while the Wendy was sleeping I managed to get her onto a great floating leaf and sail her off in the direction of the Mainland. However the leaf gave way, because the Wendy was too fat and heavy. It was funny though, when she awoke in a pool of water.
          Not only the Wendy, but also her brothers were starting to call Neverland their home. They couldn’t stay here – they were humans, but so where Peter and the Lost Boys… although they had come to Neverland to escape growing up, whereas the Wendy and her brothers had just followed Peter here for the fun of it.

*

One scary adventure, which was entirely the Wendy’s fault, was that at Mermaids’ Lagoon. Starkey and Smee had Tiger Lily tied up and were going to leave her on the lagoon, when Peter cleverly threw his voice to imitate Hook. He was marvellous, he sounded just like the captain himself. Captain Hook appeared. The stupid Wendy kept warning Peter to be careful, but he always is. Peter has never had his hand cut off, unlike Hook. But still the Wendy kept bothering him. That is why it was her entire fault that Peter got hurt.
          During the battle, the Lost Boys and I lost contact with poor Peter and the Wendy. Only after their ordeal did I discover that Wendy had distracted Peter, which made him get hurt. Being hurt, Peter could not fly, nor swim away from the rising waters of the lagoon. To try and save the Wendy, Peter tied her to Michael’s kite in hopes that she would blow away from the lagoon and back to Hangman’s tree. How I wish I had known. I could have dragged her in the direction of the Mainland, so we would never see her again. Fortunately for Peter, the Neverbird saved him, bringing him back safely.
          Not long after this adventure did the Lost Boys and the Wendy’s brothers, John and Michael, start to call the Wendy and Peter their mother and father. Peter did not even care! Before the Wendy came, Peter had refused to have anything to do with mothers and fathers and now because of her, they were mother and father. The stupid, ugly Wendy… if anyone is to be a mother with Peter, it is me.

*

The one delight that I did receive from the Wendy, however, came the night that she told the story of her parents and how much she missed them. This made all of the Lost Boys want to go home too – all except Peter, that is. It made my heart flutter knowing that he opposed the idea of returning to the Mainland. Despite my excitement, I made myself clear that I was not to be the one to lead the Wendy home. I was determined to stay, alone, with Peter, but he insisted that I go with them. Not wanting to upset him, I quickly agreed.
          Yet again, it was because of the Wendy that we were in danger. Leaving the house, I scooted up the tree to find that we were surrounded by pirates. Up until this point we had been successful in not allowing Captain Hook to find our hide out, but now, because she wanted to go home we were all nearly killed.
          While the Wendy had been sobbing about home, the pirates won a fearsome battle against the redskins, who protect our hideout (since Peter rescued their princess, Tigerlily, from the pirates). With Hook high on his victory, he kidnapped all of the Lost Boys and the Wendy. It was lucky Peter had stayed behind. The Wendy, I could not care less for, but the Lost Boys, they were Peter’s friends – our friends. To add to our troubles, I overheard Hook boasting that he had poisoned Peter’s medicine (which the Wendy had left for him). Why Hook was saying his plans out loud for me to hear I’ll never know, but I had to stop Peter from drinking it. The poison was a one-of-a-kind-Captain-Hook-poison and if Peter drank it, I was sure that he would die.
          Racing back down Hangman’s tree, I warned Peter of his poisoned medicine, but he did not believe me. To prove a point, he went to drink it. Not being able to bear the thought of life without Peter, I zoomed in the way of his mouth and the medicine and drank it all myself.
          The next few minutes that passed I do not remember. All I do know is that it was Peter who saved me. After all the incidents that had occurred with the Wendy, Peter still liked me. He got all of the children dreaming of Neverland to clap who believed in fairies and by doing so, I was healed.
          I wished for one second that I could lay a kiss upon Peter’s cheek, so he would know and understand how I felt, but upon his orders we flew in search of Hook and his crew. It was only the Lost Boys I was interested in saving. The pirates could do what they wanted with the Wendy.

*

Reaching the Jolly Roger, Peter had a plan. The crocodile that had eaten Hook’s right hand was known around Neverland for its ticking. Before it had chomped on the captain, the crocodile had swallowed Hook’s ticking clock. This ticking was the one thing that Captain Hook feared most; for the crocodile liked the taste of the captain’s hand so much that, ever since, it has been licking its chops, ready to taste the rest of him. Sneaking up to the boat, Peter began to imitate the crocodile perfectly. Hook darted to the back of the ship, cowering like a frightened child.
          With the captain distracted, Peter and I snuck up onto the ship and tossed a member of Hook’s dastardly crew into the sea. The splash startled everybody aboard. Peter took his opportunity to sneak into the cabin and began making scratching noises, like a cat. With a gasp, the crew turned to the cabin. Irritated by the feline intruder, Hook sent one of his crew to fish it out. Bang! The man was dead. Hook sent another. Dead. Another. Dead. With Hook running out of crew, Peter scurried out of the cabin and freed the Lost Boys and the Wendy. With Hoko still distracted, it would have been easy for us all to fly away to safety, but that is not the way of Peter.
          Peter wanted to get even with Hook for causing him injury and for kidnapping his friends. I admit that it was clever of Peter to free the Lost Boys (and unfortunately the Wendy) but he was so stupid to face Hook again. I begged and pleaded with him to leave the Jolly Roger and fly off, but there was something in his eyes… something that I had not seen for a very, very long time. Anger.
          This was the most fearsome battle and the most scared for Peter that I have ever been. With Peter being an amazing swordsman I should not have worried, but Hook had been known to have a few evil tricks up his sleeve. This time, Peter was the tricky one! He made Hook pierce his own skin, before bravely ending the fight feeding Hook to the crocodile. The crocodile was so pleased with Peter’s deed that he promised not to cause mayhem to any of us fairies again.
          Once it was official that Captain Hook was no more and all of his crew were gone, Peter took control of the Jolly Roger and we crowned him our Captain. The ugly Wendy praised her hero. To make sure that she did not try and kiss him again I hovered in her face until she was, like the others, sound asleep – it had been a very long day.
          Whilst everyone slept, Peter stirred me and insisted that I join him on a little quest. He asked me to go with him back to the Mainland, while the Lost Boys and the Wendy were asleep. We crept into the Wendy’s house and barred up the window of the room for which she was to return. I did not want to prevent the Wendy from going home. I wanted her to go. I wanted her out of Neverland and for Peter to forget about her once and for all! But Peter had wanted her to stay and he had looked at me with those hypnotising eyes of his and I could not disappoint him.
          Once we barred the window, we heard the Wendy’s mother crying. I know that Peter would never admit it, but I think he actually felt sorry for her. He felt the pain of wanting the Wendy. Upon seeing her cry, Peter made us unblock the window and at once we flew back to Neverland, second to the right and straight on ‘til morning.
          It was then the next night that the Wendy, John and Michael returned to their home on the Mainland. The Lost Boys waved them off and as I promised Peter, I led them back. Although Peter will never admit it, I know he was sad to let the Wendy go, but as the days went by he and the other Lost Boys soon forgot about the ugly creature.
          It is now almost a year later. Spring has sprung, and all seems to be forgotten about the Wendy and her brothers. Not long after their departure, I discovered the handkerchief belonging to the Wendy lying alone in the forest; I quickly removed it throwing it into the stream that leads to the Mainland.
          And as for Peter, he doesn’t even remember her anymore. Now that she’s gone I have him all to myself… apart from the Lost Boys, who have most of his attention all of the time. Hmm… maybe I could arrange a game of hide and seek with them all and make the Lost Boys mysteriously disappear, that way I’ll have Peter all to myself – he has such a short memory span that he’ll soon forget we were playing with them. Yes, I quite like that idea, in fact I think I’ll go and put my plan into action right now.

- Josie -

My Disney-Pixar Theory: Is Sulley Dyslexic?

(Josie Sayz: I know it may not be true and these aren’t facts. This was just a little bit of fun. It is one of the reasons which makes me love Sulley so more though, because he’s more relatable to me.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with 'Disney', 'Pixar' or the films mentioned in this blog post ('Monsters University' and 'Monsters Inc.') nor do I own any characters, events or any of the film references mentioned in my blog.)

Is Sulley Dyslexic? Sulley is one of my favourite ‘Pixar’ characters (right after Woody), but more so since the release of ‘Monsters University’. I never picked up on it originally in ‘Monsters Inc.’, but when I was watching ‘Monsters University’ for the first time (and countless times since) it hit me: Sulley was demonstrating signs of dyslexia. After I realised this, I discovered that this is also apparent in ‘Monsters Inc.’ too, it’s just not as noticeable.

So starting with the prequel ‘Monsters University’, the very first appearance of Sulley’s character shows Sulley turning up late to class, acting the class clown and enjoying the attention that he gains from his peers by acting up in class.

When Sulley first arrives to his class, he is already late. His entrance interrupts the lesson, as he demonstrates his signature roar. He is aware of his interruption to class as he states, “Oops. Sorry. I heard someone say roar so, I just kinda went for it.” Following on from this, Sulley then disrupts the students in the class as he makes his way to his seat, acknowledging all of his peers along the way to the only empty chair (“Ooh, 'scuse me. Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you there. Hey, how you doing?”).

Theses attention-seeking signs are all prime examples of a dyslexic student. Why? Because they suffer academically (often with their peers not knowing or not understanding their situation), so they make up for it by goofing around to hide their fear. I know that not all dyslexic students are like that (I wasn’t), but ADD can be a common condition linked with dyslexia – a trait which Sulley strongly demonstrates.

My next piece of evidence follows on from the previous example of Sulley’s entrance to the film. Having made his way through all of the students to take his seat, Sulley then asks another student to borrow a pencil (“Hey, bub, can I borrow a pencil? Forgot all my stuff.”).

Not bringing any school related equipment to class with him (no pen, pencil, notebook, textbook) demonstrates Sulley’s fear of reading and of having his peers discover his struggles. It can also be linked to a trait of ADD, as it also demonstrates attention-seeking qualities, which can be seen where Sulley uses the tip of a pencil as a toothpick.

During the duration of the film, it becomes apartment to the audience that Sulley is not doing well in his classes. His poor concentration during lectures, irritation when classmates (Mike) continually get answers correct and failing his tests all show that Sulley is struggling academically.

As Sulley struggles to read and write, he probably puts off studying. It would take Sulley a lot longer to read the same textbook as Mike. This would be something that probably frustrates Sulley. Instead of working harder to try and help himself, Sulley chooses to just not bother. Studying for a lot longer than everyone else would also ruin his cool-guy image, something which could be another reason behind why Sulley chooses not to.

Throughout the film Sulley is never seen reading. All of the ‘Scare Games’ invitations/clues that team ‘Oozma Kappa’ receive are read by Mike.

With the rivalry between Sulley and Mike over how to lead the team, it seems odd that Sulley would let Mike read the invitations/clues every time. He does not bicker with Mike over them or ask to read one. He just lets Mike read them every time.

Another scene demonstrating Sulley’s struggles with reading is when rival sorority ‘Roar Omega Roar’ post an embarrassing photograph of ‘Oozma Kappa’ in the university’s newspaper.

Sulley is silent for the duration of the scene. Having had an embarrassing photograph of himself displayed all over the university, you would imagine that Sulley would have something to say about it – especially when his cool-guy image was so important to him earlier on.

There is one scene where Sulley does appear to read. During the last event of the ‘Scare Games’ before entering the ‘Scare Simulator’ each monster has to read the profile of the simulation-child that they are scaring in order to know which scaring technique to use to scare the child the most.

Although the profile of the child that Sulley is scaring says they fear, “Thunder and Lions,” which is Sulley’s signature, most scary roar, Sulley could just be lucky. Throughout the film Sulley is noted for always using the same roar for every situation.

This roar he uses throughout all of his tests in class, regardless of what fear he has been assigned to scare. Sulley thinks that he only needs one scare to frighten a child, as he believes that he is so scary, yet it could also be that this is just the only scare that he knows well as he has not studied the other techniques. Sulley may have just given his best shot with his signature roar in the ‘Scare Simulator’ in hopes that it was scary enough; the fact that the child was guaranteed to be scared of this type of roar may just be coincidence.

Dyslexia does not just affect one’s ability to read or write. It can also make someone confuse their left and right. This could be the reason as to how Sulley finds himself in Mike’s room instead of his own room when he is hiding from ‘Fear Tech’ students after stealing their mascot, Archie the pig.

Upon first entering Mike’s room it is apparent that Sulley did not just choose a random window to climb through. He did, in fact, think that he was in his own room. It is not until Mike questions him, “Why are you in my room?” that Sulley realises that he has made a mistake, “Your room? This is my… This is not my room.” It is possible that Sulley had confused the location of his room by getting his directions mixed up.

Now moving on to ‘Monsters Inc.’ Although it was not obvious had ‘Monsters Inc.’ been a stand-alone film, after watching ‘Monsters University’ there is a scene that not only adds to my theory of Sulley being dyslexic, but it also makes more sense (to me) with my theory in place. When Mike is going to be late to his dinner date with his girlfriend, Celia, because he forgot to file his paperwork, I was always confused as to why Mike had to tell Sulley which coloured papers went to which department. Why not just tell him that the accountancy ones go to one monster, purchasing to another and the others (possibly the profiles of the children) to Roz? Or why tell him at all? Surely Sulley can just read the paperwork and will know which is accountancy, purchasing etc. Why did Mike need to tell Sulley different colours?

Mike tells Sulley, “On my desk, Sulley. The pink copies go to Accounting, the fuchsia ones go to Purchasing and goldenrod ones go to Roz… leave the puce.” However, Mike’s plan to help Sulley out with the paperwork-sorting backfires when Sulley gets the colours and destinations mixed up. Whilst looking through Mike’s paperwork Sulley mutters to himself, “Pink copies go to Accounting, the fuchsia ones go to Roz. No, the fuchsia ones go to Purchasing. The goldenrod ones go to Roz. Man, I have no idea what puce is.” Now this could just be a funny little scene or it could be Sulley dyslexically mixing his words up. Similarly with mixing left and right up, it could be dyslexia that is causing Sulley's confusion.

Okay, so that’s my theory. I know that it isn’t fact and I know that not all dyslexic people have ADD, do bad academically or mix their left and right up. Dyslexia can affect each individual differently. It was just a little fun to come up with and it has made Sulley all the more special to me.

- Josie -

Gonzo

(Josie Sayz: Okay, so I know that my last post wasn’t exactly in the gonzo style, like I had hoped (Last post: JL Mystery Interview: https://josiesayz.blogspot.co.uk/2016/04/jl-mystery-interview.html ). I also realised that gonzo might need explaining, but in the way of Eliza Doolittle, rather than tell you, I decided to show you… well, it’s not perfect, but it was a rather rushed, random attempt.)

Having been let inside my Journalism classroom late, I took my seat on the far side of the classroom and powered up the computer. “Did you notice what just happened?” my lecturer, Jackie, asked.

Staring ahead I, like many, awaited the question’s explanation. “Did you not notice what just happened?” she asked again, more enthusiastically than before. Confused, faces glanced around the room.

Did I miss something?
Did we all miss something?
What did we miss?

“You mean you missed it?!” Jackie exclaimed.
“The man had shoes with curled up toes and probably had a horse and carriage waiting outside for him,” said Candi.
Honestly, what had I missed?
Had the world gone mad?
“Candi tried pushing the two men out the room,” Jackie told us.
“They looked at me like I was a fly they wanted to swat out of the way.”
I wanted to laugh. Why was any of this relevant? What did any of this have to do with our journalism lecture? So what, someone was in the room before us – they always were.

Looking around the room, I noticed various people mumbling away their confusion. “It’s gonzo,” Jackie exclaims.
Gonzo? What’s gonzo? Who’s Gonzo? ‘Is that Gonzo?’ I wondered as Jackie stood whispering to some guy sat on a stool at the front of the room, wearing a weird t-shirt with a huge face of someone asking us to vote for ‘miles.’ Miles? How many miles are we expected to walk? I did twelve on Tuesday – is that enough?

“Here’s Tom Perry,” Jackie announced, pointing at the guy sat before us. He was running for Vice-President of Activities for the Student Union. We had to interview him. He made his speech about why we should vote for him:
He was working to boost societies;
Publicise ‘Cry-Wolf’,
And trying to create a greater link between academic work and societies.

“What’s your view on handbags?” Candi shouted out.
Handbags? What, seriously, has that got to do with his campaign speech?
“What’s your favourite colour?” Jackie asked him.

After many outrageous questions, it turns out that Tom Perry, candidate for Vice-President of Activities for the Student Union’s, favourite colour is green – dark green that is; if he was a girl, he would own a small, simple handbag (that can fit his laptop in) which is black (“because black goes with anything,”) would be happy to hold weddings in the Student Union Bar, is a member of the fetish society and in his spare time finds himself eating cake, whilst watching magic tricks.

Next, Jackie introduced us Daniel Batchelor, who was running for President of the Student Union. We had to interview him too. Like Tom, Daniel introduced us to his campaign of involving students more with the university newspaper and radio station, as well as informing students about other students’ achievements.

“Where do you come from?” Candi asked abruptly.
“Wolverhampton.”
Apparently his accent didn’t show it.
“Favourite colour?” – Sea blue.
“Who should be the next England manager?” – Harry Redknapp.
“What type of handbag would you have?” Someone shouted out, wanting a comparison for their article, which we would no doubt have to write up afterwards. To this, Dan’s answer was surprisingly detailed:
“A small brown leather handbag, with tassels and sequins and it would have my name engraved on the front.” I have a strange feeling that Dan had thought about this before.

Just as the interviewing appeared to be over, Jonathan (my classmate) added an interesting point. The night before, we had all received an email regarding Dan’s campaign. It revealed that Dan wasn’t backing Tom for Vice-President of Activities.
“What aren’t you backing Tom?”
“What?”
Jonathan relayed the information in the email. “Your email says you want Joanna as Vice-President of Activities.”
“Well…” Dan stuttered. “I do back Tom…”
Again he stutters…
Again he contradicts himself…
“But you said in the email that you don’t,” Jonathan pointed out. It was all there in black and white.
“I don’t mind… if Tom wins, I’d still back him…” Dan informed us, placing his hand firmly on Tom’s shoulder. He gave out a nervous laugh. “I’m digging myself into a hole.”

Stepping in to save the day, Jackie thanked both of them for assisting us with our interviewing. Making a dive for the door, Dan was first to exit, without even turning back. “Thanks boys!” Jackie called out as Tom caught the door, before it swung too in his face. Lifting his hat in reply, Tom nodded, before leaving.

“So…gonzo…”
There was that word again… gonzo… gonzo… gonzo… I thought he was one of the Muppets – no, I’m certain he is.
The PowerPoint then appeared on the wall and the day’s lecture began.
So it turns out that gonzo is a type of journalism, which came from the movement of American New Journalism. I’m sure they named it after the Muppets’ Gonzo really…

After reading, ‘The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved’, it all started making sense… well at least I thought it did, until Jackie returned our attention to the PowerPoint.
“Gonzo has no rules,” she said explaining the main functions of a gonzo article. “But,” she added, “Gonzo has two rules.”
What? Like, that makes no sense! Contradictory? – I think so!
How can something have no rules, yet two rules at the same time? I don’t think Maths was ever Jackie’s strongest subject – oh well, I’d better not embarrass her.

“Now it’s your turn,” Jackie told us, “using your interviews with Tom and Daniel from earlier.”
“If only you’d asked them more unusual questions,” Candi sighed.
If only we’d known what we were supposed to be doing.

Immediately, everyone began typing away. I hate spontaneous typing. I have the tendency to delete what I wrote and start again. And delete what I wrote and start again. And delete what I wrote and start again. So I began hand writing mine – you can’t delete it then. You have to stick with it.

After staring down at my page for a few minutes it hit me – I’ll start my article from the very beginning – from entering the classroom, like what Hunter S. Thompson did in ‘The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved’. Satisfied that my idea resembles the gonzo example, and isn’t just about interviewing Tom and Dan, I began writing as fast my hand would let me.

Jackie began circling the classroom, having noticed some confused faces. “Why don’t you start your article from the moment you walked into the classroom,” she suggested.
Dagger eyes.
How dare she? – that was my idea. I thought of it first!
“How dare you?” I objected. “That was my idea.”
“You’ll put a different angle on it,” she told me. “You’re a girl.”

But now I think I have a problem. Because I’m currently reading Dave Eggers’ ‘A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius’ I have a strange feeling that I’m starting to write like him. No I’m not! Yes I am! No I’m not! Yes I am! No I’m not! – great now I’m even arguing with myself. I’m sure all great writers argue with themselves every now and again, don’t they? Don’t they? Possibly… maybe… who knows…?

After class, I left the room and thought nothing more of gonzo for the rest of the afternoon. I was too busy worrying over my doctor’s appointment. It turns out I have Laryngitis. Five hours later I finally arrived home, tossed my coat onto my bed and slumped into my chair at my desk. Pulling my netbook out of my desk I powered it up, ready to type up and finish my gonzo article. I got out my notebook and pen and began rummaging around in my bag.
It’s not there!
It’s not there!
It has to be there!
Clambering out of my chair, I cleared the floor of my bedroom and sprawled the contents of my bag over the floor.

Scrambling through everything, I realised it wasn’t there. My USB stick.
I’d left it in the computer at uni. I must have done. I was so worried about my doctor’s appointment that I’d forgotten to take it out of the computer after class. Frustrated with my idiocy, I hit my head off the wall. How could I have been so stupid? I never lose things! I never lose anything!

Running down the stairs I announced dramatically that my life was over. I was officially the stupidest person who had ever lived.
“Why don’t you phone up the university?” my mom suggested. “Someone might have handed it in.”
My stomach spiralled.
The one thing worse than losing my USB stick (that currently contained my life), was using the telephone. I have Telephonophobia (amongst many other phobias).

Knowing that I would probably have to kill myself if I could not find my USB stick (I was never going to be able to re-write my 6,000 words of my writer’s-logs for my Life-Writing portfolio), I had to overcome one of my worst fears.

My stomach became lava as I dialled the number for the Harrison Learning Centre.
“Harrison Learning Centre, how can I help you?”
“Erm… I had a lecture in MD212b at twelve o’clock today, and I think I left my USB stick in the computer. Do you know if it’s been handed in?” I read out my rehearsed speech.
“I’ll see… what does it look like?”
Oh no! I haven’t written anymore script down. I expected a simple yes or no answer. I began to sweat; the bubbles of lava inside of me began to burst at regular intervals.
“It’s black,” I blurted out. “It’s a Mikomi.”
“Okay… sorry can’t help you.”
Phone goes dead.
“I’ll drive you there,” offered my dad.
“What?” I laughed hysterically. “You wouldn’t drive to Wolverhampton, it’s miles away. You don’t know the way. You’ll get lost. You’ll get angry. I don’t have the money to pay you. But it’s bed time! What if it’s not there? The room won’t even be open!”
“Don’t say that. You won’t know unless you try.”

On the way to Wolverhampton we stopped at all, but one, set of traffic lights. Seriously, how do the traffic lights know when you’re in a hurry?
After taking forever to actually find the university (how many wrong turns onto one-way streets can one person make in one night?), I ran to the MD building, swiped into the library and raced to the stairs. I didn’t bother asking at the help desk – the dopey man on duty was probably the same guy who answered the telephone an hour earlier.

Reaching the second floor, I swept through the door leading onto library’s rows of books and made my way to my Journalism classroom.
My heart drummed louder and louder.
I could feel the pressure on my chest.
Invisible hands clasped themselves around my throat.
I couldn’t breathe – my inhaler in the car.

Gripping my throat I stopped dead at the door. I gave a look around. There were too many people in the library for nine o’clock on a Friday night. Were they looking at me? They knew what I was doing, didn’t they? They were laughing at me. The door was locked, I’d come all this way for nothing and they knew it. What if they had my USB stick? What if they had it and were laughing at me? Turning back to face the door, I looked at the lock. There was still a gap between the door and the wooden panel. Was the lock still open?

With my finger I prodded the door.
It opened. I felt the lava in my stomach swirl around. A whirlpool had arrived and the lava was not going to be able to resist being flung around inside me.

I had one more door to go.
I race to it. Peered inside.
It was empty. The lights were still on.
The drum inside me beat louder. I was so close. Checking behind me, I gave the door a shove.
It opened.

I crept across the classroom, praying. Praying for my USB stick to be there, but fearing for the worst.
Was it there?
Was it gone?
It would be gone. Surely, someone would have found it, wiped it and taken it for themselves. It wasn’t going to be there and my life would be over.
I would have to kill myself.
There was no possible way to re-write my 6,000 word writer’s log for Life-Writing, or my Enlightenment assignment or what about my stories – my future.
My life was over!

Everything wouldn’t be totally lost. I always back my USB stick up on the first Sunday of every month, but that was this weekend. I had a whole months’ worth of work on that USB stick that hadn’t been backed up. And I had all of my stories on there.
What if someone read them?
What if they read them and laughed at my rubbish creativity?

The desk was within inches of sight. I peered around it.
It was there! My USB stick was still sitting inside the computer where I had left it!
Swiping it from the computer, I ran out of the classroom and back into the library.
I breathed out deeply as I returned to the library. I headed back up between the rows of books and began walking back to the staircase. As I did, something caught my eye.

Passing one of the bookcase’s isles, I spotted a man in jeans and lumberjack jacket strolling at a pace in the direction that I had just come from. Checking that no one could see me, I crept back down the corridor and followed the man.
Peeping around the door I gasped. I was just in time. He was locking the door.

On the car ride home, I closed my eyes and sighed in disbelief. After today, gonzo was not something that I was going to forget in a hurry.

- Josie -

JL Mystery Interview

(Josie Sayz: Okay, so for those of you who don’t know JL Mystery is one of my favourite authors/singers/upcoming actresses. If this doesn’t make her a triple threat then I don’t know what does. Getting to interview her was a dream come true! Winning a competition to interview my most favourite person ever was the best thing ever! I didn’t want to go for the usual interview questions. You could read all her answers to them online anyway. I had to come up with something original. Something that she would remember me for as being The-Best-Question-Asker, something more... gonzo (although I don’t think I’ve quite pulled that off) and not just the usual, boring, “You write fantasy, so you’re into ‘Harry Potter’, right?” or, “I bet your dream’s to become next JK Rowling,” and, “What do your friends think of your work?” She’s in her early twenties people, not thirteen! And she hates that question. Jeez!)

(Josie Sayz: Update: Okay, so this was me having a go at a prank that I saw online, done in the middle of New York City. Basically someone created a fake-celebrity and had a small group of people begin a hype, added in a fake camera crew and before you know it, the entire city had gone gar-gar over someone they believed was a big celebrity, yet, no one actually knew the celebrity, because they weren’t real. People just believed and swallowed the hype. This was my April Fool’s prank at attempting to create a fake-celebrity. I know it was very dorky, but I had fun and no one got hurt… so that’s what counts, right? Oh and Russia didn’t stork me this year because of my April Fool’s prank, so yey.)

My interview with the JL Mystery

My heart hammered in my ribcage as a cascade of copper hair emerged in the doorway and slid into the seat opposite me. Poking her purple specs up her nose she let out a nervous laugh as she gazed down at the selection of biscuits, chocolates and sweets on the plate between us. “Is everything okay?” I blurted out. I wanted to slam my head into the table. That was it? That was my big opening line? What was the matter with me? I guess thinking that something was the matter with her was what was the matter with me. Did she think I was just another stupid reporter? Of course she did; that’s what all celebrities think when someone interviews them, isn’t it? I found myself clearing my throat of nerves as Mystery shuffled in her seat and looked over at me.
     “Yeah,” she insisted, as her cheeks reddened. Brushing a hand to her face, she nudged up her glasses once more. “Sorry, I guess I’m just a little nervous,” she admitted, reaching out for the glass in front of her. She didn’t take a sip, just hugged both palms around it, lacing her fingers together.
     “Nervous?” I laughed, gazing at the rose-gold butterfly ring sat on her ring-finger. I didn’t know she was engaged. Maybe she’s married. Why hadn’t I read about this? I couldn’t ask her now, could I? I’d be just like all the other boring, gossipy journalist and I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to spread gossip. I just wanted to know the real Mystery: the girl behind the story. The girl behind the voice. The girl behind the camera.

Staring as the light shimmered off her ring, my eyes blurred. I shuddered. “But I’m the nervous one.”
     “Don’t be,” she said lowering her chin. “I’m just your typical, boring, fantasy-nerd. Nothing special.” Okay, so this girl clearly doesn’t realise just how much of a big deal she actually is. I’ve been obsessing over her books for the past three years. I’ve probably watched every single video there is of hers on ‘YouTube’ (not in a stalker way. In a supportive, admirational way. She only has a small handful of videos). I’ve watched the trailer for her first film over and over – I can’t wait for it to be released next month. How could she go on like she was nothing special, sat there opposite me in her probably expensive, designer jacket, hundreds-of-pounds billion-carat rose-gold ring and fancy sparkling water that probably costs more than my train fare here? My palms grew sweaty. I gripped my notecards tight. My heart raced in my ribcage. I still had a chance to redeem myself. As Mystery ran a hand through her hair, I forced myself to swallow a lump in my throat and shifted my eyes down to my notecards. The ink where my thumbs had been pressed down on had smudged. I knew my questions off by heart, but the pounding in my chest and the thumping through my body made the words spiral in my brain.

“But you are a big deal,” I blurted out. “You’re an author, a singer, an actress.” Why was I reminding her of these things? She already knew them. “You’re like… one of them,” I said pointing at the director’s name on the movie poster (from her upcoming film) behind her.
     “Goodness no,” she gasped, curling a piece of hair behind her ear.
     “But I bet things have changed for you since getting your book published, becoming an actress in a big-budget production, getting recognised as an actress and singer…”
     “No,” she smiled, loosening her hands from her glass. Leaning towards me she smiled, “I’m nothing like that at all,” wafting a hand towards me. “I’m like the complete opposite. The media are forever glamming up their new interest, but I can assure you, I’m nothing like those glamourised young actors or teen-pop sensations. For a start,” she gave a laugh, before tugging at her black jacket. “I’m wearing a blazer I found in a charity shop, a hand-me-down pair of trousers and my shoes aren’t even real ‘Converse’, they’re just some cheap imitation pair I picked up at some bargain-sales store. I’m wearing a home-made bracelet and a broken pair of glasses. I even cut my own hair, so I don’t have to go to the hairdressers. How Hollywood is that?” Holding my breath, I was scared I offended her, but the smile on her face reassured me that I hadn’t. She finds the whole stardom thing just as ludacris as I do.

Mystery may have been trying to give me reasons not picture her as a perfect idol to well… idolise, but it was only making me think she was more amazing. Making cheap, second-hand, hand-me-down clothes cool… and making her own jewellery and being able to cut her own hair – she looks amazing! I wish I could do all that!

“And I bet you thought this was some fancy, French bottled water, didn’t you?” Shifting my vision to the glass in front of her I shrugged. Well at first I thought it might be some posh French carbonated beverage, but now… I don’t know. Maybe it was tap water… or just plain lemonade – there were bubbles. “It’s cream soda!” she confessed pointing at the glass in her hands. My eyes widened.
     “Wow,” I smiled. “Cream soda is my absolute favourite.”
    “Mine too! I know, it’s super sweet, but it’s so good,” she said with an actual genuine smile. She was relaxed. JL Mystery was comfortable in my company!

To me just finding out this teeny-tiny little fact was something interesting. It adds more to Mystery’s personality than her age, what she studied at university and what she plans to do with her book – I mean any basic ‘Google’ search will tell you that. This was deeper. This was much deeper. This was an actual insight to a real person.

Through a soft giggle, Mystery leant across the table, picking up a custard cream. Glancing up at me, she gave a weak smile, before muttering, “Another favourite, sorry.” Coiling her hand back, she crossed her right leg over her left knee and prodded he elbows in, towards her hips; almost scrunching herself up away from me.

Sorry? What was this girl sorry for? For liking biscuits? For eating? I was hardly about to judge her for eating one biscuit. After all, isn’t that what the magazine company put the treats there for: to eat. Why do girls feel the need to have to apologise for eating? Or feel bad for eating? Or feel the need to not eat at all and let the guys take whatever food is available. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not blaming Mystery. Not at all. I mean society does this all the time to women. I, of all people, know what that feels like it, having suffered from an eating disorder since I was fifteen, from society and peer-pressure to be like that skinny girl on the front cover of the magazine. But why? Why does everyone have to be like this? It’s just something I’ll never understand. Gazing down at the other biscuits, coloured jellybeans, milk and white chocolate buttons covered in rainbow sprinkles and various old-school colourful sweets and lollypops, I wish I’d have said something. Told her not to worry or care about that stuff. Okay, I’d be being hypocritical; I cared about how people preserved me. I just didn’t want to see my idol go through what I did.

The silence had spoken. It was now or never. I needed to get on to some of my intended questions, before Mystery became too uncomfortable and decided to end the interview. Would she do that? Could she do that? Of course she could; she’s a human being just like everybody else. She has a right to free will, the same as we all do. She could just come up with some excuse to leave and all my chances would be over.

“So,” I said straightening my back and giving my biggest smile. “You’ve mentioned in various interviews that the first book in your series is based on true events. Would you say that if these events hadn’t occurred in your life then maybe, you would have taken a different approach in life altogether? Maybe not even become an author at all?”
     “Wow, I guess I’ve never thought of it like that.” Pushing herself up on the chair, a smile curled into the right corner of Mystery’s mouth as she gazed at the blank space over my shoulder. “Maybe… I guess I’m just trying to get across a variety of everyday issues that go on in teenage life, like bullying, peer-pressure and family struggles, but adding the sense of fantasy, for me, is what made all of the school struggles easier to cope with. Like a sort of escapism. That’s why Kimi gets so involved in the strangeness, because, yes, it’s scary. I mean without giving anything away, situations like what she goes through in the book, and movie, would terrify me; but she happily goes along with it, because she wants to break away from the bullying, peer-pressure and struggles she faces at home. Getting herself entwined in all that mischief is almost like something that she purposely brought on herself, yet it’s something she feels like she can control, unlike all of her other typical-teenage problems.” Breaking her gaze with the wall, Mystery shuddered, before gazing down at the table and muttered, “Sorry, you weren’t after that, were you?”
     “What do you mean?” I gasped. “That was amazing!” She tugged at the cuffs of her jacket, pulling them around her wrists as her cheeks turned a deep pink.

I’d been looking at Mystery all the while she was talking. Not in a creepy way. I was admiring her. She looked so cool, so pretty and she wasn’t even trying. Her feathered hair fell against her flawless face. The purple steak in her hair matched the exact shade of her glasses. Her black, blazer jacket suited her perfectly. I loved her purple leopard-print jumper, her silver and lilac butterfly necklace. Her trousers even had a black and purple polka dot bow on them. Everything about her was unique. She wasn’t afraid to show off her personality and be exactly who she wanted to be. I admire that. I love that. She even wore several sparkling broaches and pins on the collar of her blazer. “Hey, is that ‘Eyeshine’?” I asked, wide-eyed, pointing at one of her pins.
     “Yeah,” she laughed with a frown. “You’ve heard of them?
     “Heard of them? They’re amazing! I thought I was the only person this side of the globe who knew of their existence.”
     “Me too,” she giggled, picking out a lemon jellybean. “Help yourself,” she muttered, jerking her head towards the plate of sweet treats.

I couldn’t believe it. We had the same favourite band in common – I swear, I had no idea that she liked them. I still can’t believe that she had even heard of them. Our talk of bands led us onto her musical career. I didn’t bother asking her of signings and record labels. Everyone’s been nagging her about that. Yes, she’s finally signed with one, but to me, that’s not interesting. That’s just random pop-culture gossip. “Were there any bands or albums in particular that inspired your movement from writing into music?”
     “I’ve always loved music; it’s inspired me in my stories in so many ways. And there are so many bands that have inspired me over the years. I’ve always loved classic rock, mixed with a little bit of the ‘Beach Boys’ and ‘The Monkees’, but it was punk-pop that influenced me most. Artists like ‘FutureBoy’ and bands like ‘The Dollyrots’, ‘Eyeshine’ and even the fictional band ‘Josie and the Pussycats’ [from the film] helped me to figure out who I was at the time of Kimi being at school.” Her eyes widened and the smile across her face grew. “I guess I kind of used a mixture of all that as inspiration in the stories. My music kind of just spiralled from that. I could be just walking along the street or sat waiting for an interview or I could just see an inspiring image or feel a particularly strong emotion and a melody or a rhyme will just pop into my head. It’s not like the cookie-cutter pop-star stuff and it doesn’t have to have a clear message or a particular meaning to me. I could see a person sat in the park and picking up from their emotions or what they were doing I could just sit and write a song about it.” Our eyes met and she let out the sweetest little giggle. Biting her bottom lip, her eyes shot down at the table. “You probably think I’m crazy now, don’t you?”
     “Not at all,” I gasped. Pressing my elbows into the table, I leant towards her. “You’re amazing. I can’t believe how much we have in common… except for the part that you actually have talent.” Letting out a nervous laugh, Mystery grabbed her glass and took a sip.

Half of the questions that I went on to ask JL Mystery almost don’t seem as interesting or as meaningful as the teeny tiny little things that I noticed about her. Her little giggles. The way she seemed so shy and unaware of her populating image. I love her quirky style, her hair, her pins. Her taste in music surprised me tremendously, yet it shapes her personality perfectly – if you’ve read her book, then you’d totally understand how all of the references that she made fit in and so perfectly. Even the selection of favourite treats that were provided by the magazine/her management show so much of her personality. Hopefully she won’t be too afraid to let the public see, know and embrace all that is JL Mystery.

JL Mystery even signed a picture for me and my books, as well as giving me a signed copy of her new EP. She has to be one of the sweetest, most down-to-earth people out there. I just want to take the time to thank ‘NTK’ for giving me this amazing opportunity to interview the JL Mystery. I will never, ever forget this. I also apologise for my overuse of the word ‘amazing’ – I was just so over excited, sorry.

- Josie -