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 -