With the Wind

welcome to the night

2009-04-15T12:43:00.000-07:00

Some say the earth is a symphony.

I hear everything.

Some say the earth is a beautiful canvas, always changing paints.

I see nothing.

An everlasting night, some would say.

I say they must not have touched. Smelt. Listened. My fingers can hold the wind. Morning air has a clean taste. Night has an orchestra.

I was born blind. I know no colors, only light and dark. My memories are based in what I was hearing or feeling at that time. I haven't the faintest idea what a tree looks like, only that it's supposedly tall and has rough bark. My imagination struggles to keep pace with my family's words, as I have no pictures to connect their descriptions with. Music, however, has not hid itself from me. Music I can grasp. I obviously can't play, but I can listen. Listen to the earth's symphony.

***

I lay on the ground and the sun tucked a warm blanket around me. Sleep hadn't taken me yet, but my eyes were closed.

Not that it mattered.

I had my ear pressed to the earth, like I was a small child with her head pressed to her mother's bosom. It was as if I could feel the earth's heartbeat underneath my outstretched palms.

let us go

2009-04-11T11:16:00.001-07:00

As I mentioned on my main blog, my new story idea (I seem to change pace a lot...) is about a blind girl, from her point of view. I will not be able to describe her surroundings with sight.

Major challenge for me.

But I will try! I'm thinking of blind folding myself, then sprawl on the grass, and let the other senses take over me.

Anyway, I don't know her name yet. It should start with with a vowel and be a light name... (If that makes sense?) Bethany wouldn't be bad. I'm not sure. I know she's fifteen. (Not too old, not too young; still subject of her elders and a child.) The reader will see how she has talent that is overlooked...

until...

starting over

2009-04-11T10:09:00.001-07:00

This used to be the Juilliard Project, and its old posts will still remain, but new stories and ideas will now weave through... Enjoy the randomness!

About this...

2009-03-11T15:16:00.000-07:00

A note from me...

When bored, I do create this story, but laziness and school have joined forces and have forced me NOT to write. As you can see, I am at their mercy, and I am hoping this dark time will come to an end.

I have bookmarked some ideas though:
Aradyn's little sister is going to run away.
Her manager will die.
She will obviously make it into Juilliard.
She will have a nightmarish amount of debt.
She will get a job at a restaurant once in NYC.
Her room mate is going to be a flute player. (Wonder where that came from...)
She is going to meet a handsome prodigy.
And she is going to preform in a concert.

So as you, dear reader, can see, I have an ample amount of ideas. I just need to write them.

I must go take a nap now.

a random part.

2009-02-24T15:50:00.000-08:00

Aradyn sat huddled at the edge of the hill, watching the lake sparkle below. God’s fingers brushed her midnight hair. A few tears continued to fall, each a solemn note. Where were the dreamers supposed to go? She felt as if the world had already checked her off as a failure. She couldn’t do anything with her music. She should slip her dream under a rock, forget about it, and move on to something else. Time would then corrode it, and when she dusted off the dream years later it would be a pitiful thing with no hope of rescuing.

She felt as if the practical world had swept her and others with extensive imaginations into a heap and had roped them off. Don’t dream, they taught, it takes someone extraordinary to fulfill a dream, and you aren’t. Dreams hover in the sky, but you can’t reach them; you’re glued to the ground. Dreams happen to selected people, and you aren’t one of them. Dreams don’t come true to people like you, you’re just a kid. Give up now while you can still change your mind. You can’t. Dreams aren’t meant for everyone.

But what if she opened her heart with a piano and the music ignited the dreamers’ hope? What if their visions formed a hurricane of passion and swept the practical world off its feet to prove that yes, they could dream. Yes, they could etch their fantasies into real life. Yes, they could reach for the sky and grasp it. Yes, dreams are for everyone.

A change in melody struck her, firing energy through her veins. She could. She would. Juilliard. She knew she would get in. She would lift her palm into the sky, and music notes would pour into her like a raging waterfall.

Chapter 1 - Part 1

2009-02-17T16:35:00.000-08:00

I typed this up last night; sorry if it's grammatically incorrect or doesn't make sense or has other faults.

Everything was music. It was always present in the atmosphere. It pulsed through the earth, changing constantly. And she heard it everywhere.

Sometimes she felt it in the wind, other times it throbbed in her veins. The music altered when her eyes drank in a new sight. Nothing was silent, as music was its heartthrob.

Her piano was her canvas and diary. For hours her fingers would dance across the keys, songs and stories gushing into the air. Her spirit would drift away, but her body would rock as if she were floating in the ocean. Her mind would loose control of her hands, and she was perfectly fine with that.

A buzzing cracked her dreams. Aradyn Dantella popped her eyes open and fumbled her hand along her bedside table until she smacked the alarm off. Immediately a rhythm jumped into her, stretching until it swallowed her thoughts. Faster, harder, agile steps between notes...

She scrunched her snapped her eyes shut. Mornings where not supposed to start with wild music. She took in the sunlight slipping through her blinds, striping the floor. Outside she knew spring had awakened the earth. Morning Mood by Grieg swelled in the air. Pleased, Aradyn curled back into her covers, thinking school could wait.

Until her mother glanced at the clock, which triggered a meltdown. She barged into Aradyn’s room, demanding if she knew what time it was, declaring that as a senior in high school she should be able to wake up on time, and rambled about not having time to go to Walgreen’s to pick up a prescription. The driving beat that had attacked her before was back in Aradyn’s mind, causing her to rise. Her clock read 7:40. She had five minutes.

Usually she had no problem rolling out of bed in mornings, especially on weekends when she could escape into the earth’s fresh dew and let new melodies touch her. School mornings, however, were a flat note that she could care less. Her family was always in a rush, and with rushing came senseless music, and with senseless music a scowl was dripped onto her face.

She quickly dressed and headed for the bathroom. Fortunately her younger sister, Amber, had already terrorized it, and now it was her turn. Aradyn brushed her teeth, wished her pale complexion could absorb sunlight, ran a brush through her long, dark hair, and wondered if sparkling blue eyes made her look abnormal.

7:43. The beat sped on. She dove for her backsack and followed her sister to their mother’s car. Ax was a freshman at xxx High, and was experimenting with make-up. Translation: she looked like a raccoon.

Her mother, Libby Dantella, enjoyed throwing herself into a frenzy nearly everyday, as she believed more things were accomplished if you were panicking about them. Therefore this morning, as she was driving them to school, she was barking at Aradyn to get a job.

“It’s the second semester, and you still haven’t found one! How else are you supposed to pay for college, or even a car? Your father and I aren’t exactly bathing in money! More like rummaging for it...” she ended in a mutter. “I know it’s below your standards, but why not try McDonald’s? Hmm? Would it be so bad? Or Sonic? I hear the pay’s good....”

“Mom, you know that if I have time for a job, I’m only applying to Zippian’s Music.” Aradyn sighed and watched scraps of nature outside the car window. A calmer melody had replaced the insane beat, but tension was still webbed through it. When hr mother’s voice cut through the air, however, it was like an annoying cymbal crash.

“Oh good heavens, child! That old man is loony! He’d probably forget that you even work there. I heard from Mrs. Hinton that Alzheimer’s is starting to take the old fellow. Besides, you’d be much better off out and about on this side of town. Like Domino’s Pizza! Why, you could deliver orders to all your friends! Or how about Subway? We could get discounts, you know...”

They had arrived at school. Amber slid out of the car without a word, and Aradyn intended to do the same, but her mother plunged into instructions. “Now dear, I know you didn’t eat breakfast because Lord knows you sleep too late, but do try and get something from the cafeteria. How else are you supposed to function in that dreadful Calculus class of yours? I’ve seen yours grades, and they’re slipping! Spending too much time on that piano—”

The school breathed a new song into her, pulling her attention away. She mumbled a goodbye to her mother and set off on the cobblestone walkway.

Beginning With One

2009-02-10T14:35:00.000-08:00

The Juilliard Project sparked after I wrote the following story as a warm up. I wanted to see how I could describe music...
The characters will change, the plot will change, and the length will change, but music will still be the pulse of the writing.

Beginning With One

Leah stared at her piano. She had been selected to perform in a group of five for a musical competition. Her ensemble would compete against others, and a scholarship to any school of their choice was the prize. If they won, the money would outline her dreams of Julliard.
Her finger pressed down on a key. The note disturbed the morning silence. Unsatisfied, she played a chord. The sound wasn’t as barren.

She sat at her piano on the small stage, waiting for her fellow performers to arrive. She was anxious to meet them. What if they weren’t as capable as her? Reason told her that they would not have been chosen if that were the case.
She was placed at the side of the stage, with a drum set behind her. A microphone hogged the center. A singer. Why should they have a singer? Voice ruined the instrumental effect.
The future group’s conductor stood by Leah, jabbering about something that wasn’t filling her ears. His name was Professor Keating. Within the first few minutes of greeting him, she concluded that he was an absent-minded old man who didn’t know that plaid and stripes didn’t match, as was his coat and shirt. He had white wispy hair and bifocals. And he was supposed to be genius.
A sudden jump of tone in his voice made her focus in on his words. “Ah!” he exclaimed, “Here is one of our violinists.”
Her vision targeted in on the boy. ‘Young man’ was the more correct term. He walked with confidence, with his violin case tucked securely under his arm. He was tall and topped with dark hair splayed around his head. He stepped onto the stage with grace.
“Ah yes! I presume you are Mr. Michael?” Professor Keating asked. The boy inclined his head. “Good, good. May I present Miss Leah, our lovely pianist.”
He flicked his gaze down at her then back to the old man. Leah set her jaw. Mr. Michael seemed rather unsocial.
Once the professor had told him that he may warm up if he wished, Michael turned and walked to the opposite side of the stage. She felt herself gasp. From his case he produced a beautiful violin. A handsome boy with a handsome instrument. How fitting.
Within a few seconds a melody unfurled from him. Leah pretended not to notice, but her ears disobeyed her brain and soaked in the music. He was good. Brilliant.
She heard the creak of the door open and shut. In walked a small boy with large glasses and baggy clothes. He too cradled a violin case. Once on the stage, he tripped over his untied shoe laces, sniffled, and then peered up at Professor Keating.
“Ah dear sir, and you are Mr. Laurence?” The professor smiled. The boy replied with a high voice. He could surely not be in high school, thought Leah. Unless he hadn’t hit puberty yet.
Laurence shuffled over to stand by Michael, whom he gave a small peep of a greeting. Leah turned back to her piano. The music in front of her danced across the pages, tempting her to play. Without thinking her fingers coaxed a few notes out. She stole a glance at the violinists. They were staring back. What would she create? With a smile she started the song. Her song.
She had fallen in love with it when she had first gotten the music. She had let her fingers stroke the ivories until they mastered every measure. She could play it flawlessly, but she never tired of the song. It was woven in her heart. She was the pulse. The foundation. She cradled the rest of the instruments in her palm, in her music. She had to press the beautiful notes into the audience and awaken them.
She was lost in the song when a spill of light from outside interrupted her. The arrival of the drummer, she guessed, because he did not appear the singing type. Her first thought was that he was a punk. Tattoos on his arms and ragged jeans, he skipped up onto the stage, two taped drumsticks in hand. He looked at Leah, winked, and then turned to Professor Keating.
“Mr... Ah... Jared?” the old man asked.
Instead of replying, Jared reached out to high five Professor Keating, and as he didn’t know what to do, the drummer slapped his back instead. He then made his way to the drum set, seated himself, and launched into whamming the drums with his sticks. She couldn’t play now. The drums would swallow her music.

Minutes passed with no show of the singer. Michael gave up trying to practice with the hammering of the drums staining the air. He leaned against the wall, occasionally glaring at Jared or glancing at Leah. She showed no warm emotion towards him. Little Laurence was determined that the room could have a lovely sound if he and the drummer played, but to no avail. Jared was ruthless. He never stopped. Sure, he was excellent, but he was mutating into annoyance.
Then she entered. The singer. The member they didn’t really need. She strutted onto the stage and Leah’s heart was thorned with envy. Of course she was beautiful. Beautiful with a beautiful voice. How fitting.
“The last of our members! Miss Alexandra.” Professor Keating beamed.
“Alex,” corrected the singer. Her voice was sharp. Alexandra to Alex. Chop the name in half, leaving a lifeless name behind.
“Pardon... Now!” Professor Keating cleared his throat, “For the next few minutes, please get to know each other, as you will be spending a great deal of time with one another the next few days.”
Leah slowly stood and trudged to the middle of the stage, where Alexandra was. The boys followed. Professor Keating mumbled something about his wife and disappeared.
The five teenagers stared at each other. The singer cut in the silence and announced, “Well, I don’t know about you, but this is a waste of time. Let’s just practice. Especially the part where I come in.”
Anger bubbled in Leah. Seeing that no one else was going to protest, she said, “Shouldn’t we start at the beginning?”
Alexandra zapped her eyes on Leah. “Why? Only you play there. You should already know your part.”
“Same for you! Why do you want to start in the climax of the song? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“The climax is the most emotional,” Alexandra growled.
“But in order to get to that level of emotion, we need to start at the beginning and work our way up.” Leah returned.
“Don’t know ’bout you guys, but I say beginning,” Jared said. With that he settled himself at his drums. Alexandra shot a death stare at him, but Jared winked back.
Silently Michael and Laurence went back to their stations. Leah seated herself at her piano, and began.
There was too much tension in the room. She could feel it. Her fingers felt it. Her music sensed it. It wasn’t lush as it had always been. The music was attacking the air, not enveloping it into a lullaby. Her confidence dwindled, but before she could pull out Michael came in with his violin. He was supposed to hold her up and amplify her. Instead it sounded as if he were fighting her. He was struggling for his sound to immerse hers. To balance it, she struck the keys harder. A voice cut them.
“STOP!” Professor Keating exclaimed. “What is that? You are supposed to be great! I’ve never heard such a thing in my life! Flow together! You are at peace, not raging in a war! Again!” Leah’s eyes wandered toward Alexandra. She was smirking at her.
Furious with herself, Leah focused in on her part. At too fast a tempo the strands of notes came barreling out. She heard Michael shyly enter, as he knew this wasn’t right but didn’t protest.
“Stop! Leah, come here.” Professor Keating ended gently. Humiliation burned her face. Trembling she went to him. She looked at Michael. He looked livid. “What’s wrong with you?” the violinist spat. “You played it well before! I heard you!”
Her anger boiled over. “In case you haven’t noticed, the atmosphere in this room isn’t exactly peaceful.”
“Now what Miss Leah is saying is true,” Keating remarked. “This is a beautiful song, and without its performers feeling the beautiful emotions that are supposed to flow with it, well, this isn’t the song, is it? Now why are you five not content?”
No one stirred. Exasperated, the professor sighed. “Come now. There is no point in practicing if you won’t cooperate.”
“To me, it seems as if the pianist isn’t cooperating,” injected Alexandra.
“Look guys,” said Jared, “Let’s just do this thing, okay?”
“I don’t mean to interrupt,” suddenly squeaked Laurence, “but time is almost up. This is our shortest rehearsal...”
“Mmm yes I see... Well you five get a goodnight’s sleep, and be fresh for tomorrow!” Professor Keating tried to end on a happy note.
Leah felt tears threatening to spring. She was ashamed. Since when had she not been able to play? Forgetting her music, she dashed off the stage and slipped out of the auditorium into the failing light.

She lay in her bed, heart pounding. Slits of anger dashed her, while a cloud of depression muted the intensity. A thousand questions jabbed at her mind, wondering why she had failed. Sleep was out of the question. Leah rolled out of bed and stared out the dormitory window. Ants with headlights filed down the interstate. A small light grasped her gaze; a lone star shone in the ink. Probably a satellite, she mused, as no other stars were present.
On a whim she turned and walked out of her room. She padded down the hall, making sure she wouldn’t disturb the fellow musicians. She stifled a chuckle. Some musician they thought she was.
Once in the auditorium, and abandoning caution, she settled herself at her piano. Maybe they would hear her and realize that she could play; she just had to be in her element. Not wanting to listen to a couple of warm up notes, she plunged into the song.
The melody started, a relentless strand that slowly grew and cleared the way for the violin, who drowned her after a few measures, but that was the beauty of it. The drums would then come in, supporting her, and the second violin would fly...
She restarted. The music was in her blood now and her fingers danced across the keys. Let everything out. Her pace quickened. The angry energy and thoughts from the afternoon poured onto the piano. The still air gulped her sound and became alive.
Once she was satisfied with her playing, and had probably woken everyone else, she let her fingers walk, playing whatever path they wished. Leah closed her eyes and listened to what was being created. She realized that she had started the song up again, only this time it sounded different. More passion? She opened her eyes and added her other hand. More. Grow. Build. The violin came in, and she let her heart fall onto the ivories.
The violin. She wasn’t imagining it. She whirled around. Michael stood staring at her, violin poised “Why did you stop?”
“W-Why are you here?” she mumbled.
“I heard you. It was like a dream, so beautiful.” he walked over to her. His hair was ruffled. “I had... to join you.”
She smiled at him and faced her piano. “Start from the top?”
“You don’t mind if I stand here, do you?”
“Not at all.” Leah whispered.
She stitched the air with the song, passion was the thread. After a few measures, Michael crept in with a crescendo. He flicked his bow, creating a counter melody that meshed with hers. He steadily grew louder until he was dominate and she was supporting him. The second violin soared in, lifting them to the skies. She and Michael kept rising, and Laurence reached as high as he could go. Leah blinked and found Laurence standing beside them, eyes closed and playing his heart out. She grinned and turned back to her hands. The drums suddenly started, a soft beat, helping her piano part keep afloat in the beautiful chaos. He eventually surpassed her however, as it was supposed to be. She listened to them leave her behind with a smile.
The unexpected voice slammed her down to earth, and with shock she watched Alexandra sing while staring at Leah. She kept playing the piano and stared back, determined to not drop her gaze first. She soon realized that it was a wasted effort, as Alexandra’s expression was gentle. Alex was gentle. Leah smiled, and the singer smiled back. Her voice took control of the song with Laurence backing her up. The voice smoothed a path in the midst of the music, allowing them to gush past into the non-existent audience.

When they finished, no one spoke. Echoes of the sound still hung in the air. Professor Keating had joined them with tears in his eyes. Leah’s heart was pounding; she had never experienced anything like this. Alex burst out into a joyful laugh. Leah followed. The two locked eyes and were branded by friendship.

The audience was a whisper. All eyes, including the judges, were on the five musicians. Leah sat behind the piano, hands on the keys, waiting. Someone she didn’t see announced who they were. Individual names were pointless, she thought, as the past days had formed a bond around them. She tossed a glance at Michael, who nodded back at her. Jared winked, Laurence smiled nervously, and Alex beamed. They were whole.
They were ready. The people were ready. The hushes died into silence. Leah’s heart imitated a jackhammer. The spotlight was all on her. If she messed up...
She pressed down the keys. Her body started moving with the music. She coaxed the melody into the people; she had to break down their guard. Her pulse hopefully melted them away...
Michael eased in with her. With his bow he aided her in awing the audience. She and the violinist were flung into a deeper level of passion. His sound flooded hers; she had formed a crevice big enough for him to get into the audience’s minds. He streamed through.
Laurence’s part leaped over them, beauty tailing his notes. He surged by, widening the crevice into a gap. They were getting through. When Leah could be heard no more, Jared grasped her with his rhythm. He barged through the gap cracking it. Their sound flowed in. They grew. Unstoppable. Michael’s melody liquefied, then prepared for the voice. Breaching any resistance from their listeners, Alex pushed them all through. Leah and her part stood back listening. Their sound rushed by her, leaving her to pay her same melody. The same beautiful melody.

* * *

The wind stroked their faces. Leah and Michael sat outside on the auditorium’s steps, watching the city get ready for bed. Everyone had already left. The program had been a magical experience for her, and the night had passed with many congratulations. Julliard was now in her grasp. Her heart still raced from the nervousness, the aftermath, the victory. Her emotions made a laugh spill form her mouth. Michael grinned back at her. Her eyes caught a lone dot in the sky.
“You see that one star up there?” Leah asked and pointed to the star, or satellite, she had seen nights earlier.
“Yeah?”
“It’s a satellite, huh? That’s kind of depressing... The sky’s getting filled with man-made structures...”
Michael laughed. “What? No, that’s Venus.”