Tennessee: The Intro

The title isn’t set in stone, but I’m using it for now.

What is Tennessee? It’s a novel about a seventeen year old girl named Rose Selben and her quest for happiness. Rose is shipped by her parents to a small town called Middletown in west Tennessee get some fresh air from her hectic life in Silverburg, New Jersey, and care for her elderly grandparents. She is forced to leave her friends and has no intention of making new ones. However, as fate would have it, she runs into (literally) a few characters that greatly change her drab outlook on life.

If you’re looking for action packed sci-fi or intellectual literature, continue your search. Do not stop here. If you’re looking for a beach book without a lot of substance and a touch of guitar playing and high-school self discovery, keep reading.

In the coming weeks, I’ll post bits and pieces of it about once a week as I edit/write more of them. I’ll start a page on the blog with links to each piece for an easy reading experience.

Coming soon to Frei For All: Chapter 1- Part One

Reminisce.

March 2009:

The applause died down as he walked onto the stage.  I was expected something decent, quite honestly.  I’d heard him sing before, and even before that, I’d heard him play guitar.  That was when I fell for him. Stupid, stupid me. I took a deep breath and prepared myself while he fiddled with the microphone and put on his guitar.  Finally he was ready and began.

His voice sounded whiny, like himself.  Free Falling by Tom Petty, a classic.  Destroyed by mediocre musician.  “I’m a bad boy, cause I don’t even miss her. I’m a bad boy, for breaking her heart. But now I’m free falling,” he sang.  I felt the fury rush up in me as I swear I saw a smirk on his face.  What an ass.  It probably meant nothing to him, but to me it meant so much.

An hour later I waited for my turn. I could do this. I’d played my song a million times.  As I was about to walk on stage with my song and my guitar I looked down. There he was holding her.  I panicked.  I wasn’t even supposed to be here. I was supposed to be in the background playing guitar for someone else.  Here I was about to sing something I didn’t believe in the least.  About him.  No, not about him.  About someone who never existed. Someone decent, kind. A musician.  Those two just don’t go together.  A total oxymoron.

No, I’m the moron for making myself believe it.

Oh my soul.

I think a piece of my soul died today.

Oh how I greatly dislike freshmen that can’t comprehend the concept of Bb concert. If that isn’t bad, well how about the kid who stared blankly at his clarinet while we played a chromatic scale?  Why can’t we have a freshman camp and spare the upperclassmen’s hearing?  And, oh, PLEASE learn how to tune. If you’re flat, push your freaking barrel/head joint/mouthpiece/slide in or do the opposite if you’re sharp. Please spare me.  I juggle alto sax, marimba, and electric guitar and they can’t master one instrument.  That’s right, what we lack in size and uniforms we make up with guitar at football games. PRS SE and 100 watt 2×12 shiny Marshall and  HOW LOUD IS YOUR BAND NOW?! Okay, still pretty loud. But guitar’s a start.