Ghost Story

Tori Amos: “Playboy Mommy.” I want to write this story. I wish I could ask her about this song, where it came from, how it grew. After all, it might be a cover, but I doubt it. Tori has always been a goddess to me. I mean, Goddess. She can do no wrong, personality or her job… She got me through puberty with relatively few scars. I was that one melodramatic, depressed, angsty girl, and she appealed to the goddess in me. She put, and still does place, me in touch with my femininity. It doesn’t hurt that she’s Neil Gaiman’s bestie, either. I’ve not seen her live yet. I know when I finally do, I will need kleenex. I will probably sob. Like a Beatles fangirl. That’s how much she means to me and sooooo many other women across the world.

Anyway, this song doesn’t make me cry like so many of her others. I think it’s beautiful, a bit tragic, and I want to know more, even though I’ll have to make it up. I imagine a woman in a black trench coat and dark, dark glasses, standing alone at a grave with her back turned. When she leaves one rose and walks away, the image disappears… The only other thing I think is that maybe it will be best told in first person, posthumously. Her daughter’s diary. I love posthumous pov. You don’t find many that are good, but I’m an Alice Sebold believer. Anyway, why or how she’s at the grave of her daughter, I don’t know yet, but that’s just the start of it. I hope it comes to me eventually. The intrigue of the story has been rolling around in my heart since I bought this album so very, very long ago. I want to understand it and I want people to hear it and see it, but mostly feel it. And just maybe it will be a ghost story. Maybe it already is. 

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