Categories > Cartoons > Jem
Struggling Artist
2 reviewsNo one seems to realize how hard it is to write a truly meaningful song. One shot.
0Unrated
With a subvocal growl, Kimber tore the sheet of paper in front of her in half, then in half again, and then, with a grunt of exertion, in half a final time so that, when she opened her fingers, sad pieces of confetti fell to litter her bed. Then she used a sock-clad foot to push it all onto the floor and flopped backwards, arms splayed wide. Dramatically, she sighed and closed her eyes. Why was it that the words always came harder when she really, really wanted them to come easy?
Rolling over in her best Discontent Young Adult (even if everyone else still treated her like a teenager, she most certainly was a young adult and you could just check her driver's license for the fact, thank you very much) manner, the redhead sighed. Three days. She had three more days in which to craft a perfect song, a mélange of words and notes that clearly declared her feelings. It wasn't that she had never turned out a decent song in three days. Oh, no. The way Jerrica made demands for songs, she was used to having twenty-four hours to produce the Holograms' Next Big Hit. To be honest, it wasn't really hard then. All she had to do was combine a tried and true mix of love and pop music methodology. Give it all a good beat and try to come up with a new rhyme for "missing you" and Jerrica was happy. Raya was always happy over anything and strangely would only object if she had a drum solo. It sometimes took a bit more to please Shana and Aja because they seemed to believe that she had more talent than those songs showed.
Well, frankly, she did.
No, the problem with this song was that it actually meant something to her. She wanted it to be perfect. She needed it to be the kind of clarified feelings that oozed through classical music. Liquid emotion. That was what she was shooting for in this particular song. She had never tried something so serious, though, so that would explain the frustration. Rolling onto her stomach, she stretched to grab another piece of paper and her most favorite pink pen. The pen had never failed her yet. This would be its true test.
Pen caught between her teeth, Kimber retrieved a large book to use as a makeshift desk and arranged the blank sheet music atop it. Then she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and dropped the pen into her waiting fingers. Time to go.
"To Stormer, my favorite musician..."
Rolling over in her best Discontent Young Adult (even if everyone else still treated her like a teenager, she most certainly was a young adult and you could just check her driver's license for the fact, thank you very much) manner, the redhead sighed. Three days. She had three more days in which to craft a perfect song, a mélange of words and notes that clearly declared her feelings. It wasn't that she had never turned out a decent song in three days. Oh, no. The way Jerrica made demands for songs, she was used to having twenty-four hours to produce the Holograms' Next Big Hit. To be honest, it wasn't really hard then. All she had to do was combine a tried and true mix of love and pop music methodology. Give it all a good beat and try to come up with a new rhyme for "missing you" and Jerrica was happy. Raya was always happy over anything and strangely would only object if she had a drum solo. It sometimes took a bit more to please Shana and Aja because they seemed to believe that she had more talent than those songs showed.
Well, frankly, she did.
No, the problem with this song was that it actually meant something to her. She wanted it to be perfect. She needed it to be the kind of clarified feelings that oozed through classical music. Liquid emotion. That was what she was shooting for in this particular song. She had never tried something so serious, though, so that would explain the frustration. Rolling onto her stomach, she stretched to grab another piece of paper and her most favorite pink pen. The pen had never failed her yet. This would be its true test.
Pen caught between her teeth, Kimber retrieved a large book to use as a makeshift desk and arranged the blank sheet music atop it. Then she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and dropped the pen into her waiting fingers. Time to go.
"To Stormer, my favorite musician..."
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