Popstar PROLOGUE I had read the headline. POPSTAR. I was disgusted by it, myself, but no one around me seemed to mind. Everyone kept on doing their own thing, walking down the street as if the world was a perfect place. I had always wondered how people could do that. I wanted to shout at them. Don't you know there are bombs exploding in countries, killing innocent children? Don't you know people are being held against their will at this very moment, as you sip you cappucinos and ice lattés without a care in the world. DON'T YOU KNOW? But I did not shout. I simply sat there, reading the headline over and over again. It left a bitter taste in my mouth. POPSTAR. How I loathed that word... yet I was slowly making myself into the creature I viewed as pretentious and raucous. I was becoming a popstar. How on earth this journey began, I did not know. I had never wanted the spotlight. I had never wanted anything but someone to sing my songs. However, after knocking on every door and even knocking a few down, I knew I was left with only one option. I had to sing them myself. Now, my plan had been to simply sing them in a studio, once. Then, I'd work on getting them to other artists. Hopefully, none of my songs would land in the hands of a bubble-gum pop singer with perfectly styled hair and perfectly manicured nails, but, alas, it was beyond my control. So, I sang. I recorded a simple three track demo, and I distributed it. Within a month, I suddenly had people knocking on my door, and it was, litterally, knocked down once. (I did live in a cheap apartment at the time... do you know how costly it is to try and make it in this business?) Somehow, somewhere, I had gotten caught up in the fuss and I had dug myself into something I could not crawl out of. I had signed myself a record deal. Next...