Ode to Bree

Wish

Unedited Chapter One [1]

       Music was Nathan's cathartic release; whether it be the soft strumming or finger picking on his acoustic, or the ringing distorted sound of his pick against the strings of his electric, Nathan poured his emotions into it, but the results were never good enough.
       He found his lyrics distasteful—every word he wrote sounded like a five year old wrote it— and so there were countless balled up pieces of paper in the mesh bin beside his table.

       The loud music in the Den wasn't helping him either: he was never fond of the bar music, but it was better than the silence of home, where everything was still and the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.
       The Lion's Den, as it was formally known, was a small, underground bar that welcomed any of Nathan's caliber: young and old, musicians alike. Sometimes you'd be able to perform, get critiques, meet new people and possible a friend. That was the case for Nathan and Seth.

       Seth sat in front of him, watching has he kept ripping out the pieces of paper, crushing them and throwing them into the bin like some pro basketball player; ninety five percent of them were on the floor around the bin, though.

       "Stop trying so hard," Seth advised, putting the rim of his beer bottle to his lips before leaning his head back and taking a swig.

       Nathan looked up at the blonde man. He was only sixteen, so the only drink he had was a glass of water—it was legal for him to be there, but it was illegal for him to be drinking. Nathan looked back down at the thin and dirty looking notebook beneath him. When he first got it, it had three hundred pages. Now, it probably had twenty, give or take a few.

       "I don't understand why nothing I write is actually good!" He groaned, dropping his pen down unto the table. The heavy music had stopped down, and he noticed that someone had gone up on the stage; every night they'd have someone go up. Most of the time, they sing an original song, but the others—like Nathan— would sing covers of crowd favorites.

       This group was going original, and God, they were good, and Nathan felt more shitty.

       "How do you know it's not good?" Seth asked.

       "Because it's not," Nathan mumbled his answer, glaring down at the table.

       Seth scoffed and pulled the book from under Nathan's fists. His eyes slowly moved across the page, and Nathan felt a little panicky, as he had never let Seth read or hear his original stuff.
       Nervously, he cracked his knuckles, making Seth look back up at him, then back down at the book. Nathan was sure that the numerous scratches and careless inkblots would make it incomprehensible for him.

       "You're right. You suck," Seth laughed, breaking the dreading silence (it wasn't really silent, as the group on stage were hyped along with their audience, but Nathan blocked out everything and watched Seth carefully).

       "Kidding!" He quickly added, upon seeing Nathan's frown reaching for the table below his chin. "It's not that you suck... you don't! It's just that... your words are bland," Seth explained.

       He passed the book back to Nathan.

       "How do you do it?" Nathan asked, staring right at Seth. He had never put his friend on the spot before, but Nathan knew he couldn't keep on writing for the trash bin any longer. Seth was the lead guitarist and songwriter for the Seattle based band, Father's Sons. For the past six months, they've been on a break, working on their second album, Lost.

       Nathan didn't understand why Seth was wasting his time in a dump like the Den—with him— and not trying to write songs for the new album.

       Seth held a puzzled look on his face. "How do I do it?"

       Nathan nodded, a solemn look across his face. He truly wanted to know, and learn from Seth, since he was, low key, a big fan of his band. Wishing, the third song in their third album, was his absolute favorite, since it related his situation perfectly: his wish to become someone, to make a name for himself and not just be the guy that writes crappy music and doesn't have a single friend (besides twenty six year old Seth).

       "I just write. Once I know what I'm doing and what kind of story I want to tell, it comes to me," Seth answered.

       "Now you're just bragging," Nathan scoffed.

       "You didn't let me finish, kid," Seth sassed. Nathan sighed and threw his hands up in surrender.
       "I was going to say," Seth paused, "... I plan everything from the structure of the entire song, the music and the words. That takes time, and since I have three other band mates, it takes a lot of time."

       "How do can I be as good as them?" Nathan nodded towards the group that was now stepping off the stage, the crowing cheering, applauding, whistling and shouting. Nathan heard part of their song, and he thought it was good. He liked it.

      
No one can hear you,
No one can save you,
No one knows how your
Itty bitty heart breaks.

       Seth turned around to see whom Nathan was talking about. He chuckled and turned back around, shaking his head at the young boy.

       "You'll never be as good as them," Seth opined.

       This made Nathan angry, but more so with himself. He asked a stupid question, did he expect to get an answer that he would like? No. Instead of arguing, Nathan sighed and admitted defeat.

       "But, that's not necessarily a bad thing," Set added at the last moment.

       "How is it not?" Nathan asked, annoyed at Seth's riddling approach.

       "For you to become like them, you'd have to rip them off—basically become a carbon copy. You want to be original, don't you?"

       Nathan nodded slowly, still not sure what Seth is trying to say. It was there, right in front of him, but he still didn't understand.

       "Don't focus on becoming like me, or them, or any other person. Sure, maybe a few common chords, a couple overused synth beats and repetitiveness can make your catchy tune a hit, but the thing about music is that it's one of the best ways you can express emotion and reach out to someone. I've had so many people come up to me and the guys, saying how much they enjoy our songs, how happy they are when they listen to some, and how the others get them through the tough times.
       That's what motivates us; sure, we do it because it's what we love and what we want to do, but there still has needs to be some motivation in your life. For me, it's the fact that the songs I write don't just sound good to the people, they come alive with them, they help them."

       Nathan drums his fingers along the table, taking in all that Seth said. Motivation? He's never really thought about that before. He shoved his tattered book into his backpack and slung it over his shoulders.

       "It's late, I should probably get home," he said. Seth nodded and took another swig of his beer.

       "Think about what I said," Seth said.

       Nathan nodded and grabbed his guitar, packing it into his case. He trusted Seth enough, and since he was experienced, maybe it might work. He would have to find inspiration, but how?

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Ah, hello, and thank you for reading. I have a question for you:

How do you find inspiration? (it can be for anything, eg. writing, drawing, photography)

Please remember to vote + comment!