Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 135517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135517 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
I was halfway through the sandwich I’d made myself when she headed out the door. I listened for the sound of the engine before bolting back up the stairs, my heart beating with excitement. A part of my mind was asking if this was really happening.
If, after all these years, my creative juices were finally making a comeback. After the hell that was my life, I seriously thought that it was over, that I’d never put pen to paper again, at least not to write music. But who knew that my dark despair would become something like this?
I guess what they say is true. Heartbreak makes artists more prolific than days of sunshine; what a depressing thought. I took my stuff from its hidey hole and headed upstairs on the top floor, which housed the studio that I hadn’t used in years.
I was almost afraid to open the door, not knowing what state the place was in. But on first inspection, it was obvious that the place had been kept up by the staff. There wasn’t a speck of dust in sight, and everything was pretty much just as I remembered it from the last time I was here.
Had it really been three long years since I’d been up here? After acting for a good ten years, starting at six, I found my love for singing. Not that I was ready to give up acting, never that, but I found another escape in writing and producing music that told a story.
These were my words and not a script that someone else had written for me to read off of. And so there was a different kind of pride attached. I’d even won an award my breakout year to go along with the many I’d received for my acting.
I’d been receiving a lot of accolades just before my world imploded, but it’s been some time since my name had been mentioned in the tabloids for anything other than the scandal that had derailed my existence. Why am I thinking about that now?
Too much time was spent on those thoughts, and I was sure to climb back into my shell. Somehow today, the thought of climbing into bed with the covers over my head wasn’t as appealing as it had been the day before and all the others before then.
The process of setting up the mic brought back beautiful memories, and by the time I locked myself in the booth, I was feeling more like my old self. With my eyes closed, I could almost believe I was back there once again. The young free-flying me that didn’t have a care in the world. The me who was so in love that beautiful music had been my expression.
It took some time for my voice to warm up, but once it did, the sound of my sultry tones, that rasp that had earned me so much praise, brought me halfway back to life. I cried and laughed through the first song as the music came naturally, the lyrics and the beat that had been playing in my head all night just flowing with perfection.
I wanted to call Sydney to commiserate once the first song was done, but I didn’t want to stop just yet, lest I throw myself off my stride. Besides, I already had the second song lined up in my head and wanted to get it out before I forgot it.
I was there for hours, stopping and restarting until I had the first three songs of what I was beginning to think just might be enough for an album down. Of course, there was a lot of work to be done, but I figured by the time I got the rest of my team involved, I’d have done half the work.
This was the first time I’d gone solo, with no collaboration, something I’d always been afraid to do, and it felt great. By the end of it, I felt a huge sense of achievement and was amazed that the whole day had gone by, and not once had I felt sorry for myself.
I hadn’t given my life much thought and instead had gotten lost in the music and the new feeling of rebirth I felt as I got back to doing something that I loved. I crept from the studio in the late evening to a house that had already gone to sleep, it seemed like and made myself a cup of tea with lemon and honey to help soothe my overworked throat.
There was a sound coming from Rachel’s room down the hall, and my aunt and uncle had already retired for the night. I felt a slight pang of guilt that I hadn’t seen them two nights in a row and promised to make up for it the next day.
They’d moved in with me when things had gone bad for me, and mom was too busy taking care of my little brother and her new husband to drop everything and rush to her adult daughter’s side. Not that she wasn’t of any help, she has been, of course, and I’m forever grateful for all that she’s done after everything I put her through. And I know that she’d asked my aunt, her older sister, and her husband to move in with me for a while to keep an eye on things.