Our Brash Heroine is Also Insecure

I’m telling the story of Selena M, the heroine of my sci fi series.

Sketch by Shane Colclough

Selena sings and plays guitar, befriends a very non-human alien called Breadbox, and has frightening adventures in outer space. She’s a popular singer, yet she’s ambivalent about her singing, and underrates her impact on her audiences. Here she is, performing at an open-air concert in Northern California — a private woman performing for a large crowd.

(FYI, Clay, Doc, and Joel are friends, and Breadbox is the nickname for the alien. Berzerkly is a club. This is from Book 1 of the series, Aliens Crashed in My Back Yard. Selena tells it in first person.)

— — — — — —

When my turn came to perform, I climbed up onto the stage, held my guitar, looked out at the audience. I looked above them, at the surrounding hills, at the crescent moon in the darkening sky, just after the sun had set. What an absolutely gorgeous evening it was!

This had a strange effect on me. For a moment, standing in front of all these people waiting expectantly for me to sing, I had this weird reaction. I couldn’t remember — what was I here for? What am I supposed to do for these people? What were they paying for? Of course I knew that a lot of them hadn’t paid anything — they just snuck in from the woods. But even then, if they go to the effort to sneak in, there’s something they want. What do they want?

They wanted communion. They wanted to connect. Not just with each other right then, but with their own selves over their lifetimes. They were there to reconnect with their younger, passionate, all-things-are-possible selves. The passion of the twenty-something rekindled in the fifty-something spirit. Music can do that.

I was the secular priestess.

I was leading the ceremony of reconnection. Singing the words that allow them to connect with me and with each other — and with themselves.

And up in a truck that was parked looking down over this congregation was this alien being who had travelled who knows how far, and was here in Point Arena, California, to hear me sing on this beautiful summer evening.

Breadbox. Sketch by Shane Colclough

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am honored to be here with you tonight. I am going to sing a couple of my pieces that you all know. You might know them better than me. I want you to sing along, because, who knows, I might forget some of the words, and you can help me out.”

When I perform, I look out over the audience, focusing on people toward the back. I avoid looking at people sitting right in front, because the eye connection can throw me off. What are they thinking about me, I wonder.

Their eyes can be so open, like they’re drinking in the music. Their souls are exposed. And it’s due to my music. It’s hard for me to share that connection with them, especially when I’m feeling just ho-hum about what I’m singing.

But that night, under the spell of what I’d just experienced, I dared to look them in the eyes, including folks right in the front row. It did throw me off, and I dropped a line, but the audience kept singing and clapping, and carried the tune. I got through it, and I loved it.

By the time I finished three songs, tears were streaming down my face. “Thank you, thank you. My heartfelt thanks to you. You’re a wonderful audience.”

Then I did it — I don’t know why. Despite what I’d said about not doing any new stuff, I heard my inner crazy woman saying, “I’ll finish with a new piece I’ve been working on, to see how you like it. I wouldn’t dare play this most places, but here on the coast among my own people, on a beautiful evening, where the whole broad cosmos may be watching and listening — I might just dare it.

“You may not like it. Doesn’t matter. I’m singing it for myself.”

I played the melody I had first performed at Berzerkly. I had worked on it some, and played it for Breadbox, and for Clay and Doc. And Joel. It was originally her melody. Tonight it was just Gibb and my wordless vocalizing as counterpoint to the guitar.

That’s when I heard Breadbox singing along, clear as an organ chord, up on the hill where Clay was parked. Ay yi yi! Could people hear her over the amplified music?

When I was finished, the audience went wild. I got a standing ovation. People shouted “Encore, encore!”

The emcee came on stage to thank me, and said, “Sorry, we can’t do an encore just now. We have to honor the remaining groups. Right now, we’ll take a short break. Back in twenty with Flasher and their new hit, Grrrr!” I took a bow, jumped off the stage, and sprinted up the hill toward the truck.

— — — — — -

These stories have two levels: One, Selena is dealing with this strange-looking alien, then later, risking death visiting alien worlds. Two, she’s also bored with her singing career. So with the alien who’s also a singer, she’s trying to rekindle the passion for her singing. Inner growth and outer adventure. Told with a sense of humor.

I’ll share here more of Selena’s story, plus other sci fi adventures. Follow me or sign up to get them.