High drama

I'm listening to a fairly shallow book, contemporary women't fiction of course. Susan Elizabeth Phillips, pretty standard fair. If it were rock music it would be, oh let's say Genesis at best. So anyway, the character is described as having an "equiline nose" (is equiline even a word?), a "knife-sharp jaw," his voice is like "whiskey-soaked gravel," and his cheeks are gaunt (always have to get gaunt into any facial description). So I think, if you write anything for publication, do you have to have descriptors like that? Or is it just fiction that requires these adjectives? Or is it bad fiction? Romances?

What's happening in the plot right now is that the mega-rock star has come to pick up his daughter, who has run away because he's never home and she has a nanny who neglects her. The rock star is the idol of the leading woman character, she's worshipped him since childhood. This leads me to wonder what rock star this could possibly be for me. I run through some.

In childhood I went absolutely wild for the Beach Boys. I wanted to be a surfer girl (unattainable for a girl in northern Illinois, but then I always wanted the unattainable). My favorite was Dennis Wilson, who turned out to be a raging, suicidal alcoholic who finally drowned in an alcoholic haze. I saw the Beach Boys in concert (would there be another way to see them? In the grocery store? Trying on shirts?) in Providence just before Brian Wilson parked himself in a sandbox in his living room. It was very exciting for me at 25.

OK, not the Beach Boys. Eric Clapton? I saw him at the Gatway airport once, started following him, which made him walk faster and duck into a Special People Only lounge. No, I didn't start worshipping him until I was in my 20's. Jackson Browne? No, it's really his hair I'm drawn to. I've seen him live about 4 times and he is cute, but he had all those really depressing songs when his first wife (of three) killed herself. Again, didn't find him until college. It finally came to me in a flash, and boy was I embarrassed it took so long. Paul McCartney of course! In his pre-Heather Mills state, of course.

I was introduced to the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan show when I must have been about 10. Though I thought they were pretty cute, and their music was neat, my sister was the one who thought they were really exciting. We bought all these Beatles magazines and poured over them. We went to see A Hard Day's Night, and later Help! We knew all the words to their songs, which we listened to on 45's, with the Capitol Records labels. We were consumed. And they were magnificent. Molly's favorite was George Harrison then. The deep and sensitive one. My favorite? Paul, the shallow, cute and fun one. John was the clown and Ringo was the no-talent, unattractive joke.

Paul was still wonderful when he released his first solo album, with the photo of him holding his infant enfolded in his jacket on the cover. John had nothing but contempt for this album and for Paul's solo efforts in general (a famous quote among Molly, Liza and me is "But who's he got to tell him if it's any good? Linda!"). I suppose we all have our Yokos, though, and Paul was so happy and Linda was pretty cool so to me all was forgiven. Their life together was blissful and they were beautiful, had horses and cute children.

After reviewing all this I felt much better, now I have my rock star and I can get to work.