Before you ask, yes. I meant to spell it that way.
The year is 2007. I am a sprouting 12 year old girl, awkward in shape and sound. Anything I can ever talk about are the Jonas Brothers or Hannah Montana. When I learn that I can send them fan mail via my Dad’s new computer, I seize the day. This is my time, I tell myself as I gingerly put my small hands on a keyboard specifically designed for big hands.
I don’t remember exactly how it went, but I do remember the opening line going a little something like this:
“Dear Miley or Hannah or ???,
I’ve written a song for you.”
With a beautiful, blissful, childlike ignorance, I added:
“You don’t have to pay me, I just want to hear my song sung by someone else.”
I proceeded to write about frustrations, rocking on, and making life what you want it to be. Sound familiar? Maybe you’re thinking of this:
Boom. Taking it back to the present tense, in the past, in 2007.
A few months later, Hannah is singing my song…. I think. I’m unable to confirm anything because I don’t have a copy of the email OR the song— apparently 12 year old me thinks lyrics can be written on the fly and memorized forever— so I just sit and listen. One thing I know for certain: this has the same gist as my song did. Another thing that is certain: the musical arrangement gets preteen Lizzie boppin’. Confused over how to feel, I ultimately relish the moment because life’s what you make it.
Flash forward ten years later: Writing lyrics puts me in agony. Starting a blog fills me with anticipation. But here I am/ writing to you/ the sky’s more blue/ in Malibu than it is in Indianapolis. Seriously, this place has a Great Grey Dome Designed by The Gods covering it 99% of the time, giving us either rain, tornadoes, or a shit ton of snow. Currently, there’s a light fog outside of my apartment, and the thoughts in my head start to mimic its soft movements— swirling, swirling, swirling— until they resurface this random memory from my childhood. I am driven to compose another message. This time, it will be to the world. This time, everyone will know how I singlehandedly undermined The Disney Channel as a 12 year old girl: by sending bomb-ass fan mail to Hannah Montana.
A good portion of my teenage years were riddled with the question, Did I or didn’t I? Alas, as epic as it would be to claim rights over one of the most hoppin’ children’s jams of 2007, I simply can’t do it. The guy who is credited for writing it also wrote songs for Big Time Rush, Hilary Duff, and Kelly Clarkson. I guess that’s ample evidence that he’s kind of a big deal and definitely more songwriter-worthy than 12 year old me.
What a ride. ’Til next time, y’all.