Please to Give your Opinion...
On the hottest night of the year (so far-knock on wood), my wife and I fell asleep by the drone of the TV. It was tuned to VH1 Classic, BBC Jewels and an old Siouxsie and the Banshees concert. You see we are wayward goths, set free of obsidian dyes by chemical intolerance (not really, I just liked the way that sounded). Anyway, Siouxsie sang Hong Kong Garden, and I didn't remember it being quite so catchy. It jostled me from slumber. I wanted to hum, but there was another reason for my interest. An idea had sparked.
...and then I went back to sleep, and forgot.
Today, I found the video, and the words started.
So here's the opening of my untitled, Siouxsie Sioux-heroined, urban fantasy, set in the early '80s.
Somewhere in the middle of our set at the Limelight—Hong Kong Garden, I think—I noticed a young man staring over his fist, a bump of ketamine balanced in a pile on his knuckle like an infected mosquito bite. His eyes were glazed and baggy, a look that wasn’t helped by the quarter inch of eyeliner he couldn’t resist applying. Beside him, a Victorian mortician's daughter, all aged lace and pained corsetry, let off a faint glow from skin so pale it could have been paper.
At the end of the first chorus, out of habit more than any sense of showmanship, I reached out and pushed over the mikestand. "Chicken Chow Mein and Chop Suey," I sang. "Hong Kong Garden takeaway."
My attention returned to the couple. Not that they were particularly odd in a crowd so tragically dark, both in clothing and demeanor. But there was something. The boy's eyes were fluttering. K-hole, I thought. But, the girl had slid in close to him, flattening against his hip, his torso, and in just the time it took to look at my feet. So fast.
Then, his body stiffened. Sharp. Pain driven stiffening, as though a shock coursed through him. And the girl? She gnashed her teeth...
There's more, but here's the video:
So two questions. I love the idea of using a real celebrity as my main character, fictionalizing them. I understand that I'd need to pay for any lyrics replicated, but as I know nothing of Ms. Sioux personally, would I be held to any legalities in creating an urban fantasy heroine? Is there any interest in an urban fantasy set in the '80s?
...and then I went back to sleep, and forgot.
Today, I found the video, and the words started.
So here's the opening of my untitled, Siouxsie Sioux-heroined, urban fantasy, set in the early '80s.
Somewhere in the middle of our set at the Limelight—Hong Kong Garden, I think—I noticed a young man staring over his fist, a bump of ketamine balanced in a pile on his knuckle like an infected mosquito bite. His eyes were glazed and baggy, a look that wasn’t helped by the quarter inch of eyeliner he couldn’t resist applying. Beside him, a Victorian mortician's daughter, all aged lace and pained corsetry, let off a faint glow from skin so pale it could have been paper.
At the end of the first chorus, out of habit more than any sense of showmanship, I reached out and pushed over the mikestand. "Chicken Chow Mein and Chop Suey," I sang. "Hong Kong Garden takeaway."
My attention returned to the couple. Not that they were particularly odd in a crowd so tragically dark, both in clothing and demeanor. But there was something. The boy's eyes were fluttering. K-hole, I thought. But, the girl had slid in close to him, flattening against his hip, his torso, and in just the time it took to look at my feet. So fast.
Then, his body stiffened. Sharp. Pain driven stiffening, as though a shock coursed through him. And the girl? She gnashed her teeth...
There's more, but here's the video:
So two questions. I love the idea of using a real celebrity as my main character, fictionalizing them. I understand that I'd need to pay for any lyrics replicated, but as I know nothing of Ms. Sioux personally, would I be held to any legalities in creating an urban fantasy heroine? Is there any interest in an urban fantasy set in the '80s?
Comments
I'd totally read an 80s-set UF.
And at first when you described the guy's fluttering eyelids and the girl getting close and the way he stiffened I thought...uh...that there was some hand action happening under the table.
As for the fluttering, there is hand action going on, it's just not between his legs. Imagine a puppet.
Thanks for the 2 cents.
Can certain songs/lyrics manipulate the behavior of the subcult? Even though she doesn't realize it right away? Was the scene itself responsible for the creation of these things that gather at her shows, growing there like mushrooms in the dark? Not the hallucinogenic kind, the deadly ones.
You're onto something.
She may never escape.
I'm off to contact her agent.
It said I look like Rosanna Arquette, Melissa Joan Hart, and a number of Asian ladies, which was a little confusing but hey, not unflattering. I'd rather look like them than Fish-Lips Arquette.
Oh, and a DUDE. Thanks, myheritage.
Let me know if that doesn't cover it.