Thought
6/30/08
I'd given it thought, the idea of quitting. I'd spent an entire hour of practice slouched backward, legs splayed, my head against the pegs and staring at the wall.
The wall. Now, that was an interesting thought. Wasn't that what I was experiencing? There’s something about slamming into a wall repeatedly that hurts...
This was normal, I assumed. It had to be. Dedicating myself this long had to mean more than this. In six years I'd never quit before, I'd never even wanted to. Did I really want to give up now?
My shoulders are bruised and the inside of my head is mangled--like someone’s been suffocating me too long...
I'd lost my direction, and with it I'd lost my drive. My sense of success had been battered, and I could hardly talk about it with anyone but myself. Myself! I was my own worst nightmare: my constant internal monologue threw insults at me, critiqued my every thought and motion.
I touched my forehead to the shoulder of my cello, wanted to whisper I'm sorry. The wood was cold, and as I sat enveloped in the scent of varnish and rosin, I wondered why it no longer comforted me like it used to. I knew this instrument as if it weren't just an instrument but a part of me, and it carried into so many other aspects of my life.
I’m slamming into this wall to get out, or maybe I’m trying to stay in?
Haven't I done this a thousand times before? How can today, this week, this month be any different? I glance to my left and take in the picture I'd taped up so long ago, maybe in just a freak moment of ambition. Pau Casals clings to the soft interior of my case, his hand pressed gently to his lips and his eyes closed, showing some unseen orchestra where to go.
I’ll do it infinitely, this slamming, forever plus some.
I toss my bow onto the carpet. It needs a re hair anyway. Standing up, I leave my cello by the chair on its side. I'm taking a break for a while.
Upstairs, my mother asks how it's going. She likes the new piece I ordered two weeks ago.
"Fine." I can't think of anything better to say. I don't want to talk about this right now. I wonder how long this break will last. Just long enough for a snack? Long enough to finish out high school?
Sometimes I can’t tell.
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This is very loosely based
This is very loosely based on a poem I wrote a while ago. Actually, a lot of people might recognize it.
Here's the link:
http://www.youngwritersproject.org/node/14569
I found the beginning of that poem and the premise of this piece fit well, so I decided to see what would happen if I actually did weave them together. Suggestions would be fabulous, as this is one of my rare attempts and prose and I'm trying to do more soon.
I enjoyed this. I think the
I enjoyed this. I think the intertwining of prose and poetry gave it a nice flair. The one little thing is I'm taking a break for a while . You put that on the same line as prose, and you separated out the other lines of poetry. If it's still part of the poem I would separated that out, if it's not part of the poem I would remove the italics. Also, maybe try rewording this sentence "Dedicating myself this long--six years--had to mean more than this". The wording feels a little awkward. it seems like your emphasizing the six years, which is important, but it's the structure around it that's rough.
Also, if you're getting bored of your instrument, might I suggest getting a book of Disney tunes or pep rally music or something easy, quick, and fun? You get the melody at first shot (usually) and if you leave like five minutes at the end of practicing to play one, it makes it more fun. It's like eating your peas so you can have dessert. Hope this helps! So, I guess with that comment your piece is relatable! Always good!
Sorry that this is so long.
YAY!! RELATABLE! that's one
YAY!! RELATABLE! that's one of my words :)
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Last night in my bed, I stared up at the stars in the sky and thought, "WHERE THE HELL IS THE CEILING?!"
hahaa i love that quote...
Offreadin
Thank you! I agree with you on the wording of "Dedicating myself this long--six years--had to mean more than this", so I think that will be edited momentarily.
This piece is actually from a few days ago, and I was extremely frustrated with... a lot. But I had a lesson yesterday with a new teacher (I'm planning on extending this into a series and probably including that in my next one.) who was the most talented and fun guy. Ever. He's given me a bunch of books to buy and, thankfully, direction.
So I had a major turnaround. But I do appreciate your comment and suggestions. It's funny you mentioned the Disney book because I actually do have one, and they really are fun...
Out of curiosity, do you play an instrument?
()_()
I like the rewording! I think it flows better.
Yep! Trombone!
Edited.
Edited.
If you quit you're dead.
If you quit you're dead.
I didn't, and I never would.
I didn't, and I never would. This was written on a bad day...
MM!!
Can you post for me right now if I send you poems on Gmail?
Sounds Familiar
This sounds similar to a moment I have had with the violin, I have played for ten years, btu I am no where near fantastic, It's just that I love listening to the sound and playing makes me feel better, let out my feelings and not care. However about two years ago, when I heard an absolutly amazing violinist not much older than me I didn't want to play again because I felt like what I did was worthless, but my wise teacher told me to go to a begginer's class she was teaching and help the kids learn how to hold the instrument and so on, that made want to continue.
Haha, sorry this is so long, oh yeah, I do the disney book thing too!