Miles to Go (12 page)

Catching a Big Fish

S
oon after the Banquet Foods commercial, we went back from Tennessee to Toronto, where we spent all our time trying desperately to stay warm. We lived on a lake. The lake was frozen solid almost all of that year. It was so windy that every time we took a walk I thought Baby Noah was about to blow away. We were freezing. But the idea of
Big Fish
definitely warmed me up.

Big Fish
was big budget. It was a movie directed by Tim Burton starring Ewan McGregor, Jessica Lange, Albert Finney, Danny DeVito, and a ton of other well-known actors. The movie was being shot in Alabama. When we got the call that I’d gotten the part, they informed us I had to be there in two days.
(YIKES!!)

Mom didn’t bat an eyelash. She said, “Alabama, here we come!” (Mom must have been pretty desperate to get someplace warm, because the minute she hung up she started throwing all of our clothes into the car.) Dad said, “You can’t drive to Alabama! You’re in Toronto!” But Mom was too busy fantasizing about sunny Alabama. Without pausing, she said, “Oh yes we can. We’re crossing the border tonight.”

Mom, Braison, Noah, me, and our nanny, A.J., left that night and drove fourteen hours straight to Nashville. How do you keep three kids under the age of twelve entertained on a more-than-twenty-hour trip? One answer: a DVD player. Mom was against DVD players until we started making those long trips up north and back. Even so, she should be given a Mother-of-the-Year Award for not ditching us on the side of the road.

As soon as we got into Nashville, Mom and I dropped A.J. and the other kids at home, dumped our Canada cold-weather clothes, grabbed some shorts and T-shirts, and kept on—straight down to Alabama.

The movie was being filmed in a teeny tiny town in the middle of nowhere. And coming from me, that’s saying a lot. We got to our hotel late at night and— wow. It was the worst fleabag of a hotel in history. There were cops roaming around outside—something had just gone down—and inside, it was filthy. Mom called Dad in a panic. He said, “Just get through tonight. We’ll work on it tomorrow.”

The next morning we discovered the only upside to the hotel from hell: it was connected to a Waffle House. Mom and I like waffles. But not enough to stay. We moved to a better hotel. Right after breakfast.

In the movie, I was playing a girl named Ruthie. She was with a group of boys sneaking up to a witch’s house to look at the witch’s eyeball. Ruthie was a Goody Two-shoes Southern girl dressed in little Mary Janes, telling the boys not to curse. Sounds pretty straightforward, right? What Mom and I hadn’t taken into account was that the witch’s house was in a swamp. A cold swamp. A cold, wet swamp. A cold, wet,
buggy
swamp. And it had been raining for weeks. In our mad rush from Canada, we hadn’t ever stopped to check the weather. Let’s just say we had not packed for cold, or wet, or buggy. And definitely not for swamp.

My call time was late because my scene was supposed to be taking place on a dark and spooky night. The first thing we saw when we got to our trailer were poster-sized pictures of snakes, spiders, and other critters that lived in the swamp. There was a sign that said WATCH OUT FOR THESE CREATURES! THEY’RE ALL VERY DANGEROUS AND THEY’RE ALL RIGHT HERE IN THE SWAMP, WAITING TO ATTACK ANYONE WHO CAME HERE FROM TORONTO AND ONLY BROUGHT SHORTS AND T-SHIRTS—WHAT WERE YOU FOOLS THINKING?! That’s how I remember it, anyway. I was freaking out. Are you kidding me? Bugs? So sketchy! So scary! Bugs are
not
my thing.

Like I said, the swamp was wet and cold. There were weeds up to our waists. I was convinced the brown recluse spider on the poster was going to hunt us down and attack. Mom said, “Miley, are you sure you want to do this?” After driving all the way from Toronto? Heck, yeah, I was going to do it. Poor Mom. Our farm is one thing, but Mom isn’t very outdoorsy. She was not having fun.

I wasn’t exactly having the time of my life either, but I already knew that show business wasn’t always a cakewalk. I remember watching my dad on the set of
Doc
on a day when it was really cold out. People were getting frostbite. My dad’s a big old guy, but it was so cold that he was tearing up. They had to get the shot. Not only that, my dad had to sit by a fountain looking like he was actually enjoying himself. I remember thinking, Dang, I don’t know if I could do it.

Now here I was, on the set of a big movie. A little cold. A little wet. A lot nervous, with plenty of time to sit around and wait.
They told us when we could eat, and they told us when we could go to the bathroom. It wasn’t remotely glamorous. And that’s the truth about show business. You see lots of glamorous moments in magazines, but most of it is plain hard work and little glamour. But you know what? I wouldn’t trade it for anything! I had definitely gotten a bite—from the acting bug.
(Sorry! I couldn't resist that one!)

Bugs or no bugs, I wanted to be really good in my scene. It was Tim Burton. If he liked me, he could put me in another movie. I was praying to do well, and concentrating really hard. In the beginning. But the later it got, the more unfocused I got. I just could not be quiet. When I start talking, there’s no stopping me. I was even annoying myself. But luckily a movie set isn’t the same as school. Me and my big mouth made it through without getting detention. As for that call from Tim Burton? I’m still waiting.

Back in Nashville, we went to see the movie when it came out. My whole family stood up and cheered when I came on the screen. I loved it. My mom got me the
Big Fish
poster, and I hung it in my room.

After that I got called back but rejected for the movie
The Adventures of Sharkboy and Lavagirl
(but at least I met Taylor Lautner at that audition—we’ve been friends ever since). Then I got called back but again rejected for the TV show
The Closer
. There was one audition—it was so painful I must have blocked what movie it was for. All I remember is that while I was auditioning for some movie starring Shirley MacLaine, one of my favorite actresses, the casting directors were making phone calls and completely ignoring me. I came out bawling.
When something like that happened my sister Brandi always told me, “Positive minds do positive things.”
So I embraced that attitude and moved on.

My mom would see what I went through and say, “Honey, this is so hard. How can you take that rejection?” But they had raised me to be strong. I just came home and went back to cheerleading. I didn’t think of it as failure. I thought of it as part of the route to success.

So you see I’m really not exaggerating when I say that when I started
Hannah Montana
, I’d done
Doc
, a commercial, and
Big Fish
. Period. Oh, and don’t forget those old-woman parts with the wigs. No wonder Disney had their doubts about me. But I didn’t. All those moments, from the farm to the swamp, had led me to now. I had dipped my toe in the water and knew I wanted to swim.
(“Big Fish” . . .swim. Get it?)

Prince Charming

H
annah Montana
had only been on the air a few months when I went to a benefit for the Elizabeth Glaser Pediatric AIDS Foundation. I remember the exact date: June 11, 2006. It was the day I met my first love. Let’s call him Prince Charming. I don’t want to use his name because this isn’t about who he is or what I meant to him. It’s about how I felt and what our relationship meant to me. Know what I mean?

So we were at this benefit, and I didn’t know anything about the prince except I knew from a friend that he thought I was pretty. He came up to me with a bunch of guy friends and introduced himself. Instantly, I wanted them all to go away and just to be with him. He started to shake my hand and I said, “I don’t do handshakes. I do hugs.” When he hugged me, I noticed his scratchy shirt and blurted out, “I hate your shirt.” So that was just about the first thing I said to him: “I hate your shirt.”

I had an insta-crush, so what did I do? Did I act smooth? Nope! I asked him to karaoke with me and put our names down for “I Want to Be Like You” from
The Jungle Book
. It would have been a funny, silly song to do together. But when the song came on I couldn’t find him, so I had to karaoke all by myself. Let’s just say people were laughing
at
me, not
with
me.

Later that night, he and his friends were going out, and he invited me along. My mom said she didn’t want me to go out late—I guess I had a busy day the next day—so I asked her if I could just go for a little while. She said fine. So Brandi and I ended up going out to dinner with Prince Charming and his friends. I remember it took me forever to get dressed, but when I finally ran downstairs, I was wearing sweats. I didn’t want look like I was trying too hard.
(I liked him! I wanted to look cute!)
Believe me, they were just the right sweats.

After dinner we talked on the phone. He asked me what my beliefs were. I said, “I’m a hard-core Christian.” He said, “That’s what we call ourselves in my family.” I thought it was a sign.

We were on the phone that night until four in the morning. And, just like that, I was smitten.
It felt like the whole world stopped. Nothing else mattered.
I know it sounds silly, but my family doesn’t set rules around love. My mammie met her husband on a Monday and they got married on Friday. They were together for twenty-seven years. My mom doesn’t believe there’s such thing as being too young or too naïve to be in love. In my family, when you fall in love, that’s it. No one called it puppy love or made fun of me. He really was my Prince Charming, and I knew it right away. You should have seen the sappy smile on my face when I hung up the phone that first night. I was mush. I slept holding the phone next to my cheek as if that would keep him close.

From the very beginning, we were best friends. We talked all the time. He lived on the East Coast but would fly to Los Angeles, and I’d see him when I was in New York. Then he moved to L. A., to a house—get this—a few blocks from mine, and everything got more intense and more fun. Suddenly we were neighbors. It felt natural and just so easy. He’d ask me to come over at five in the morning to say hi before I went to work, and I’d just walk down the street. In the beginning, when we were thirteen, we’d play basketball in my backyard or play Nintendo at his place. His family always made yummy Italian food for dinner. I love to ride my bike, and he’d walk along next to me as I rode, singing “My Girl.”
(by The Temptations)
But instead of “my girl,” he’d say “Miley, talkin’ ’bout Miley.”

Wow! I was so in love. Do you know what I’m talking about? The kind of love where the sun could shine or not shine all day long and you wouldn’t care. The kind of love that makes you want to jump in the pool in December. The kind of love that makes you want to dance in the rain. (Who am I kidding?—this is L.A. It never rains.) This was the most magical journey of my life—it was a total rush.

My Turn

Y
ou would think Prince Charming would distract me from my work, but it was actually kind of the opposite. I was in love, I had a lot to say about it—and good thing, because I needed to write a whole album of songs, pronto. The first
Hannah Montana
album came out right after The Cheetah Girls tour, and we immediately started planning the second. But this album was different. It wasn’t just a sound track for the TV show. This album would have two discs—one with me performing songs from the show as Hannah Montana, and one called
Meet Miley Cyrus
, which would introduce me as a singer/songwriter in my own right. It was something totally new.

Wanting to sing wasn’t new. I can’t pinpoint a specific moment when I discovered or decided that music was one of my callings, but the desire was always there. Sometimes it burned brighter. Winds and storms of emotion came and made it hot, scary. At times it felt dangerous to want something so much, and at times it was the easiest, most natural feeling in the world.

Dad always says that I could sing before I could talk.
I’m a middle child, with kids older than me and kids younger than me. The older ones are responsible. The younger ones are adorable. Me, I’m in the middle, singing and dancing and generally making a big show of one kind or another in an endless effort to get attention. I’d put on my cowboy boots, Braison would put on his Reeboks, and we’d dance. Pretty much any time an adult came into our house, I’d drag them into a room to sing and dance and put on my show. If Mom and Dad had a guest disappear on them, they always knew to follow the sound of my voice. Wonder why I make YouTube videos with my friend Mandy? Boredom, salvation, laughs, and a middle child’s endless craving for center stage. No matter how famous or successful I am, I’ll always be an attention-craving middle child at heart.

My singing and acting isn’t all about performance and getting attention, though. I’ve always had a strong response to art. When I hear a sad song, I don’t feel sorry for the singer. I don’t feel sympathy. Instead it’s more like I take on the singer’s sorrow. It becomes mine, part of who I am. If a sad song touches me right, I can be sad for weeks.
(Sometimes being sad for weeks isn’t ideal.)
I hear Bette Midler’s “The Rose,” and it’s a song full of such sadness and hope that it fills me. Or some weird funk song says “I know lately you’ve been melancholy,” and the word “melancholy” strikes a chord, hits my heart, speaks to me, and I can’t help but respond. My little sister is the same way—she’ll be affected forever if she listens to a sad song or sees a sad movie. We were born with that. Certain songs just change your life.

What that’s grown into is the urge to do work that affects people. I’m not just talking about making sad music. It’s not like I say to myself,
Hmm. I’m gonna write a song that makes everyone sad. That’s just what the whole world needs right now—a little more darkness.
I mean something deeper. Creating art is all about connecting. You look at a photo from the fifties, and suddenly you’re connected to that time and place and spirit. You see a photo of a beach and summer memories flood back. Or you see a painting of Paris, and you’re transported to the fantasy of a life you’ve never experienced. The reason I never want a book to end is that I start to feel like the characters are my friends. I’ll miss them when they’re gone.

Music (and other forms of art) does the same thing. It can inspire, lift you up to the future, rein in your pride, knock you off your feet, embrace your soul, change your life. I want to make that kind of music. Art is a gift to others. The purpose of art is to drown people in emotion.

Needless to say, I wanted
Meet Miley Cyrus
to be real—to achieve that connection with the people who were listening. We were starting to shoot the second season of
Hannah Montana
. It’s always hard to find the right kind of time to write songs, but add filming a TV show to that. . . . An hour is a decent amount of time to work on a song I’ve already started, but for the most part I can only begin a new song when nothing’s going on. So after dinner, on plane trips, whenever I could grab some time that felt unlimited, I took advantage of it to work on new songs. Then I went into the studio with some songs written and some that I was still trying to finish.

Prince Charming and I had been together for almost a year at this point, and things were mostly good. So lots of the songs on
Meet Miley Cyrus
were songs for and about him. I’d call him every night and say, “I wrote you another song!” People might wonder how I could write so many songs about one boy, but I knew I could write him a bajillion songs. Actually, now that I think about it, most of the songs on that album were about Prince Charming.

Don’t get me wrong. The relationship wasn’t perfect. But I think about it a lot like the farm, and how everything is so tranquil there. Yes, there are storms, but even the storms feel natural, like part of what is meant to be. I would always want to let the storms carry me away. On the other hand, sometimes you would rather have endless days of blue skies.

At some point we decided that we needed to take a break. I thought we were going to break up for good. I was so brokenhearted that I wrote “Girls’ Night Out” to make myself smile. But immediately afterward I wrote “Right Here” to play for him as a way of telling him how much I loved him. To tell him:
No matter what, I’ll be there for you. No matter where we are in life.
And then some of the songs on the album, like “Clear,” are what I think of as “pre-breakup” songs, where I’m imagining what it would be like to break up and how much that would suck, and kind of taking on that emotion.

I went into the recording studio on weekends, squeezing time in whenever I could. I’d work on a song at home, then sit with it a little while to see how it felt, making changes here and there. Before I’d worn it out, I’d take it in and record. Sometimes for art to be really the best it can be, no matter how personal it is, you have to bring in other people to help. If I can trust one person in the world with my music, it’s my producer, Antonina. She is my dream girl, my role model. When I come in with a story and pieces of a song, the two of us can work it into a real song, and I know she’ll never tell anyone where it started, what it meant, and how it evolved. After I recorded my part, the rest of my producers worked on the songs, layering sound effects and instruments. I got versions along the way, hearing each song again and again until they were all how we wanted them.

After three or four months of visits to the studio, there it was—my first album as myself. Well, half of a double CD anyway. Hannah was still carrying me. It was Hannah who made so many copies of the album sell. But whenever I worried that all my success was due to Hannah I was like, wait a minute! I
am
Hannah! I worked hard to be that character and to make her my own. So Hannah wasn’t carrying me. I was carrying both of us.
(If that makes any sense at all!)