September Theme: The Stories We Carry
Big Question: Why do certain stories stay with us?
Week 5: Stories That Last
What I wrote below is based on the following creative writing prompt included in Saturday’s Writing Prompts for Stories That Last post.
Prompt: The Legend’s Blueprint
Write a monologue of an aging folk hero admitting to a protégé exactly which parts of their legendary status were entirely manufactured for political survival.
Why did I choose it?
I chose this prompt because it made me think of all the recent headlines and posts about a particular pop star’s decision to fire a friend and fellow performer from his tour when a billionaire stadium owner pressured him to after his friend used their shared stage to denounce genocide and all the violence being committed against various groups of people across the globe. Though the phrase the friend and fellow performer said on stage, which the social media ecosystem latched onto and magnified was, ‘Free Palestine’.
Now, I would in no way deem the pop star in question a ‘folk hero’, but he clearly has a massive platform, following, and influence, so I decided to use his media-worthy situation as inspiration for completing this writing prompt, mainly because I can’t stop thinking about how it’s all unfolding. I can’t stop wondering how this pop star might see or justify his actions in the future, especially to those who look up to him now, as well as how he might justify it all to his future self.
What follows is, of course, entirely fictionalized and dramatized and is in no way a real representation or accurate depiction of anything or anyone in the real world, especially because it takes place in some unknown future that hasn’t happened yet. All the same, let me know if it prompts anything in your own writing this week. Or if you end up completing any of the prompts in yesterday’s post. I’d love to see what you come up with!
My Response: Uncanceled
So, you want me to tell you everything I know, eh?
…
Okay, but you’re probably not going to like it.
He pauses, rubs the back of his neck, takes a large drink, then leans back on the leather sofa, resting his right ankle on his left knee.
The truth is that there’s only one thing you need to know, which is this: Being successful in this business— selling out stadiums and going on tour every two to three years and selling platinum albums and winning awards— and everything that comes with it —the interviews, the spotlight, the supportive and weird and sometimes downright terrifying fans— has nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, to do with musical appreciation or talent.
There are a lot of outrageously talented people out there who will never be what the world thinks of as successful. You know, the rich and famous and powerful. Why? Well, because —here’s what you need to really know, so listen up— they aren’t politically savvy enough.
I know I’m the last person you’d probably think would say something like that because for decades, most of my career, I’ve banked my reputation on only caring about the music and not the fame, which is… mostly true.
Everyone knew I didn’t have a smartphone or cellphone for decades to stay out of whatever was trending and stealing people’s time and attention and money on social media. And that I loved music more than being a part of all that. Of course I did, and do! But so do a lot of other people. Especially us artistic and creative types.
What I had that most of them didn’t have wasn’t musical talent though. It was a team of assistants and friends managing anything that a smartphone was needed for then, for me, so that I could focus on my music or whatever the hell else I wanted to focus on, which wasn’t always music but mostly was.
And there’s no way people out there didn’t know that on some level. Or maybe they just didn’t want to acknowledge it, I guess?
I mean, come on! How could I have sold out stadiums and gotten all that recognition without some people working for me and managing my public reputation online, my ‘brand’, I think they say now, without someone taking care of all the public-facing stuff that I didn’t want to?
God, I hated social media! And emails and talking on the phone. But don’t most people? Especially those influencer types that have to use all those things to make a living?
Anyway, I didn’t have to worry about most things other people worried about or cared about back then because I had a team of people working for me, making me look good to the world online and off, as a musician. Which, looking back now, I realize was one of the most political decisions I ever made in my life— to essentially opt out of living how most people were living, and excuse myself from participating in the conversations most people in the world couldn’t avoid participating in, even when they tried.
There I was, for decades, thinking that I was just doing my job, the job I wanted, playing my music and minding my own business, letting other people handle the real business decisions and communications and whatever else needed to be handled. But then…
He leans forward and takes another sip of his drink, then stares at the door for a few more seconds before continuing.
Then I was put in a messed-up situation I never saw coming. A situation I never asked to be a part of, or put myself in the middle of, or wanted anything to do with. And honestly, I’m still a little pissed about it.
You know the situation I’m talking about, too. I know you do. Of course you do. Everyone does. It upended my entire life!
He stares at the door again.
Okay, well maybe it didn’t upend my entire life. I mean, I am here at the Gardens, getting ready to go on stage.
But it did cause quite a bit of damage to my reputation… for a little while at least.
He takes a deep sigh, picks up the acoustic guitar beside the leather sofa, then begins lazily strumming its strings.
When I had to fire one of my friends from my tour because of shit he was saying on stage, about oppression and freeing people, I genuinely thought it was just business as usual, that I was the real peacemaker, thinking about the fans who came to hear us sing and entertain them, not give them political speeches or get them all angry and riled up about things they couldn’t do anything about… not then anyway. I thought I was the one keeping everything from going off the rails.
He stops strumming, starts strumming, then looks up with a serious expression on his face.
I was trying to save his fucking career by the way. Not mine!
I knew I’d be okay because, well…
He pulls the guitar closer to his chest as his eyes dart around the room. Then he falls silent and still for several seconds before casually starting to strum the guitar again.
It was just business. Of course it was just business. You don’t get to that level by going off script and pissing everyone off. Especially those people literally giving you the stage you’re standing on.
And you can’t just breach contracts or assume fans care about your politics, especially when they’re in a confined space being forced to hear them. Most of them don’t care and never will. They’re just there to hear you sing about love and heartache and that kind of shit. They’re not there to hear you ramble about what’s wrong with the world, like they don’t already know anyway. No, they’re probably trying to escape all that for a couple hours. I know I would.
But he did what he did. And at first, I didn’t care. I really didn’t. Until he started making the wrong people notice and get upset.
You have to understand that back then there was this part of me that believed all those people who ‘got political’ or ‘woke’ or were trying to go viral or whatever were just asking for whatever public consequences came their way.
I mean, if they’re going out on stage, blasting their opinions about things all over the internet, stirring people up, when they’re just supposed to be singing their songs… then didn’t they deserve to get some kind of… I don’t know… pushback?
So, I did what I had to do. To keep the peace and the music intact. And no, I didn’t regret kicking him off that tour. Honestly, I still don’t. He did it to himself. I know it’s messy to talk about and people don’t want to accept it. But that’s the truth.
Which comes to the whole point of what I’m trying to tell you now. And amplifies the fucking irony of that whole situation.
A petite blonde woman with a headset on comes into the room, raises her hand and says, “On in five,” then walks back out, shutting the door behind her.
Everyone thought he was the one being political, not me, even though I’m the one who knew how to navigate the situation in the end, or my team did anyway, and eventually capitalize on it for everyone’s benefit and profit, including all those people he thought he was saving. Like he was some kind of lone hero.
He sniggers to himself and sets the guitar down on the sofa next to him.
I rode out the rage wave, as my manager likes to call it, which was easy because I was never on social media. I never had to hear all that negative garbage people were saying about me, which wasn’t even true. I’m not a bad person and don’t like seeing dead children. Like, come on! That’s such an insane thing to say.
But then, after a bit of time, I introduced that album about world peace and caring for the children of the world and working together and all that sappy shit after being canceled or whatever for a few media cycles. And people ate it up. Even started calling me Ginger Jackson. Which was kind of weird, because of his weird relationships with kids and everything…
He looks lost in thought for a moment, then speaks softly.
But by then, when that next album came out, after my cancelation—
He uses air quotes and chuckles.
—the world was finally ready to hear songs about those things, those things he was shouting about on stage, when before, they just weren’t. Not yet. And I can’t explain it or how it all came together that way. But I just listened to the people around me, took the time I was out of the spotlight to go back into the studio, and just gave them the music they wanted once they were actually ready for it. Then it took off, we all raised some money to end some of that awful shit happening around the world. And now, here we are. I am officially uncanceled, I guess.
But my friend, the one who got kicked off the tour, well he didn’t do all that. All this.
He gestures around the dressing room.
He was loud for a short time, then completely disappeared to… I don’t actually know where he is now.
He considers this for a moment.
So, people can love me or hate me for what I did whenever it randomly comes up. But in the end, I did what I had to do to survive the game of this business, which is the only way to keep both myself and the music alive…
My Reflection and an Invitation
Honestly, I am conflicted by what I wrote. I didn’t want to be overly cynical in what I wrote, but I didn’t want to condone what the person sharing their monologue did either. So, I suppose that conflicted feelings are appropriate in the end, and perhaps more indicative of the situation being addressed and explored in the piece. I suppose I also felt conflicted writing this piece because I do think that it is objectively abhorrent to murder children and unarmed civilians, especially if that murder is being state-sanctioned and funded by our tax dollars. And I do believe that we need to not turn a blind eye to those atrocities, especially when our tax dollars are funding them.
What resonated with me the most while writing this piece is how clueless some people are, especially celebrities or wealthy people who can buy their way out of true responsibility or public scrutiny that lasts more than a few media cycles. And that they just don’t see or understand (and probably never will) how that cluelessness leads to real-world callousness, especially when they are convinced they’re just doing ‘business as usual’.
Writing this piece also had me thinking about the intentions behind art in all its forms, and how such intentions matter. And whether one can still be seen as a heroic figure or positive figure or creator if they are only creating what turns a profit in the end.
Essentially, this piece brought up more feelings and questions than it resolved, so I think I’ll revisit it at some point in the future …
Did you complete one of the prompts in Saturday’s Writing Prompts for Stories That Last post?
Whether you’ve written a single paragraph or filled pages, we’d love to see what these prompts inspired in you and your writing, or any other writing you’re working on this week.
We’ll be working on these prompts all weekend and throughout the week ahead. And we can’t wait to read what you come up with!
Continue Exploring September’s Theme, The Stories We Carry
This Week: Stories That Last
Writing Prompts for Stories That Last
Week 4: The Stories We Tell Others
Writing Prompts About The Stories We Tell Others
Is it possible for a writer’s public work to remain separate from their private life?
Reading Notes: The Blind Assassin
The ‘Death of the Author’ in the Age of AI
13 Books on AI, Identity, and the Stories We Tell Others
Week 3 Popular Posts: The Stories We Tell Ourselves
Can you write great work without challenging your own beliefs?
The Story of My Flaws Sounds Like Death Metal
Historical Fiction that Challenges the Stories We Tell Ourselves
Week 2 Popular Posts: Memory and Storytelling
Writing Prompts About Memory and Storytelling
The Art of Autofiction: Memory, Markets, and the Modern Confessional
Week 1 Popular Posts: The Books That Changed Us
Writing Prompts About Books That Changed Us
What My Favorite Books Say About Me
20 Banned Books That Have Changed Us
Go Deeper with Daily Drafters Exclusives
This month: The Stories We Carry Writing Collection
This collection offers a month of guided writing exercises, mini workshops, and creative writing experiments designed to take you beyond a single prompt and into a deeper creative practice. It gives you the creative spark and space you need to explore memory, identity, inheritance, perspective, voice, and the stories we tell ourselves and others. It will also encourage you to consider how those stories shape the work we create and the creative lives we lead.
Inside this collection, you’ll find 30 original writing prompts (designed as mini writing workshops) across five sections with focused themes, craft-focused exercises, curated reading suggestions, reflective questions, and three optional month-long writing challenges designed to help you develop your ideas, explore your personal material and stories, and build a consistent writing practice.
You can follow the prompts in order, choose the exercises that speak to you, or return to a section whenever you need a new way to explore your writing craft. As a paid subscriber, you will also be able to come back to the collection throughout the month or any other time you feel like exploring The Stories We Carry in the future.