"A tale of obsession through the eyes of a fanatic."
Every tomorrow is a bold question mark for the motherless child Ivy Valentine. But one constant in her life that always offered smiles and hope was purple music. So one day, she decides to write...
So this story isn't really about "me," though you're gonna learn a lot about her. "Me" died years ago when I sent my favorite musician a letter of admiration. Or you can just call it fan mail. I never expected him to reply. I say never expected it, but yeah, I took the chore of getting the mail that every summer afternoon. Sunday's were the gloomiest days.
But something from Paisley Park eventually showed up in the mailbox, and then that was the beginning of "us."
Let's talk about Prince. Hm, or let's talk about what led me to my "infatuation" with him. If you're reading this book, you're most likely a fan (or friend). Or you're just curious. Maybe you know what I mean when I say "infatuation"?
Good. Here's my little "Raspberry Tale."
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My intro to Prince was 1978. I was five in Walker, Minnesota, dancing obliviously to Soft and Wet. But not like all the other kids in the house. They were jumping up and down like Barney kids while I was doing pirouettes in the kitchen. I wasn't the best little ballerina, I know that now, but I thought I was. My caretaker Mabel Jenkins made me do ballet because she got tired of me flipping over her furniture. I would've preferred gymnastics but that would've been too enabling, and when my dancing became too wild, she sat me down in front of a piano.
Mrs. Jenkins, as I was enforced to call her, told me I could one day "be a big star" if I really wanted to, and encouraged me to sing as well. But she made me promise to finish school first. She was very strict. Only when I'd come home with straight A's did she become loving. I loved her hugs, so I went on to become an honors student.
Prince was one of her favorite artists. I remember her always saying something like, "That's my kinda tune," when something new of his would come out. So I adapted her (great) taste in music. He was putting out an album a year, and she was buying every one of them. His first album actually, For You, came with a poster in the sleeve that I had up on my wall.
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I liked looking at him because I had never seen anyone else with hair and skin like mine. Everyone around me looked like Mrs. Jenkins and her family. As a kid, I may have noticed but I can't say it bothered me. I was too busy living in my head. She'd always have a ton of her grandkids over and everyone would just bounce around the house, but little me always managed to make a Broadway show out of everything. I was forever in my own little world.
