I've neglected this blog, but not necessarily writing. My Idea magazine entry is getting special attention, three versions of the same story. It's an old story that's gotten a nice make over but also now has two twin sisters, one of which has an obsession with Stephen King and the other is the normal fare, awkward nerd faced with fate and cries while cracking under pressure.
But I doubt those will be done till closer the deadline because lately I've been playing my guitar.
And what a wonderfully horrid instrument it is, with all its alluring six strings and wooden body. I play it a lot and I'm decent. I want to get better so horribly.
Well maybe not better, but I just want more freedom to play it. I can't when my family's home, there's restrictions when they are. Which is why I'm looking forward to college life.
When I'm able to go out in the evenings, stars beginning to shine, with my guitar, I'll find a bench in a park or just a soft patch of grass. I'd just sit or lie there, respectively, staring up at the lights millions of miles away and begin playing. At first a slow melody, my fingers gliding over the strings, the waves of sound filling the air and slowly drifting away, and soon a steady progression.
The tempo increases, strums grow louder, the passion flows from my mind, from my heart, to my fingertips. I feel the vibrations of the wooden body flow through my body, from my body.
I realize I'm singing when I suddenly notice there is another sound aside from the strings. My soul pours itself out and I end exasperated, a bead of sweat trailing down my forehead.
Panting, I realize I've never felt so alive and so alone. But I look up and see the pale crescent smile of my one adoring fan.
Yeah, I like playing my guitar.
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