Seeing as my concerto 3rd mvnt is now in the top 5

I don't really need to ask for reviews...

Anyone wanna go review my concerto? : (

Totally original news post idea right here.

Basically, everyone in my family listened to Rap. End of story. We jammed to it in the car, in the kitchen, on our porch. Frankly, I didn't really think about other genres. I never bought any CDs for myself, but I didn't really need to. I wasn't really exposed to instruments, except in 4th grade where we learned recorder. But I soon forgot the recorder as well as how to read music.

I can't really say how I felt about hip-hop, but I know that I wasn't passionate about it. Meaning I didn't hate it, but when I heard it, it didn't make me feel good inside either. This was probably influenced by my "dad" being black and my mom trying to be like black people or something like that. Plus we lived among black people. No racism here.

Eventually - let's say, 7th grade - I started taking notice in the music we sang in my youth group. It's that kind of Christian that's like rock. There was a keyboard too, and the occasional solos interested me. I liked it. I liked the way the fingers moved across the keys. I liked how the instruments worked together, like a family.

I told my youth leader that I might learn piano - and hopefully by high school join the worship band we had there. We had a piano in the place where we met every Wednesday night. I didn't know how to play, but I messed around with it, pleased with the sounds that came out of it.

I expressed these desires to my mom, and eventually she approached me with exuberance, saying she had found a site. I followed, and there it was: Pianonanny.com. My life changed literally. There are 34 lessons on that site, divided into a "Starters" group, an "Intermediate" group, and an "Advanced" group. Admittedly, my mom probably just wanted me to learn piano, but there was so much more on there!

The lessons started with music basics. I relearned how to read music. I learned also how notes related to piano. This was thrilling. I found excitement in pointing out where middle C was to my mom. "See, and there's D and E," I said. She didn't understand my excitement, but she smiled all the same.

I finished all the Starter lessons, and by then I had gotten a piano in my house, which I played all the time. Not actual compositions, mind you, but just practice things, to help my fingering. It did help. There was one exercise on the lessons, some ways in, that was called "The Climbing Song," a simple composition by the lesson-maker. It was simply C D E F G G, C D E F D D, C in the melody, or something similar, showing the relationship between ascending notes and melodies. I think it was a bit longer than that. Anyway, I learned it with ease. But then something extraordinary happened.

You see, for the lessons, I was required to keep blank staff paper. This was to write down certain important notes. But what began to happen was even better. I wrote down this Climbing Song. I tried to make the notes somewhat nice-looking on paper, with little success. Key signatures were hard to draw, but thankfully this song, in C, didn't need one. Just the time sig.

Here's where the extraordinary occurred. After I wrote down The Climbing Song, I realized, I could change a few notes, and it sounded different. Or, I wrote something extra at the end. So I might've had C D E F G G, C D E F E E, C D E E D D, C, or something like that. I was absolutely fascinated with this. I played all my variations and extensions of this theme. I eventually moved away from the "climbing" nature. Must've been about a hundred different things I did with it, I kid you not. And THEN, I had this version that I stuck with. It was only 6 measures long. I added a left hand, that was an octave down from the right. I was bold enough to call it my own. "Rainy Day," I titled it. And then I felt a glow. This was SO FUN. Seriously it was. I'd never known such joy. Suddenly the possibilities seemed endless. So endless I could run forever with it. I printed more blank staff paper.

Like anyone, I experimented more with C major. I had in the meantime abandoned the Pianonanny lessons (I'd gone as far as a few lessons into intermediate, but I felt I knew enough about piano playing by then). I wrote another "song" called "Drifting Clouds" - again, 6 measures, and with no left hand accompaniment this time, just melody. I was playing with arpeggios, even though I didn't know it at the time. But this was the first original piece I had ever written, and it made me feel amazing.

Admittedly, I was pretty bad at translating the melodic rhythms from my mind correctly onto paper, so the notes were right, but the melody really wasn't. And the time signatures sometimes weren't. A melody called "Tears in the Ashes" came a little later. I was feeling rebellious; this was in C but started on an F. I liked the result. It was a whole 10 measures this time! Although, I wrote it in 5/4, even though it wasn't 5/4 in my mind. I still know how the original melody went though. Of course, my sister said I copied "Jurassic Park" for some reason, even though it sounded nothing like it. What did I care? She was 8.

I continued to listen to rap with my family.

And then, a revolutionary thing happened, on as grand of a scale as the Revolutionary War. I thought, "Why am I only writing these happy songs that end in C?" So I randomly chose....G. In fact, I came up with something in G [natural] minor. (I wrote the Bb's as A#'s lol, and I didn't even use Eb's.) The melody was simple - dark. I liked it. I liked it a lot. Naturally, I didn't know it was in G minor. I called it "To Arms!" It made me think of soldiers getting their weapons in a war. I played it SO MUCH on my piano, that it was stuck in my head for years afterward.

But this minor key! Ah, I loved it so much. I didn't know how to use it. I just knew it in my mind as "darker music," or "battle themes." I came up with another, in the left hand, in F minor actually. I called it "The Drums of War." Not as fantastic a theme, but enjoyable.

And then I relaxed a bit. I had come far. I looked back at my first composition "Drifting Clouds," and I realized the potential for the melody. I extended it. I came up with a pseudo-B theme. It was 20 measures! A record for me.

A little whiles later (and by this time I was in 8th grade), I took another large step. I started writing a song entitled "And Then It Was Dark..." This was my first song in D minor, which remains my favorite key to this day. I made use for the first time of call-and-answer between the right and left hand. I used a master repeat around the first four measures. And then I explored random rhythms, switching from 4/4 to 5/4 to 5/8 to 9/8. The song went unfinished, but it took my music in a new direction.

I didn't add to that staff paper. I eventually moved on to computer software. I searched long and hard for a free notation program. I downloaded a "Mozart" program, which was okay. I wrote some really long, almost pointless songs on it. But I could never save, which was a downside (it was a demo.) I couldn't even print. I stuck with piano still, as I was most comfortable with it. Eventually I quit with Mozart, and did some more research.

When asked what I wanted for Christmas, I told my parents Finale, which, from all appearances, seemed a great program. Instead, I got Finale Notepad, but it wasn't as bad as I thought. I could have 8 staves, and it was fairly easy to use, though it took a while to transcribe music. I started to branch out instrumentally a bit-piano with violin, some percussion, organs. I was learning. I wrote some songs and melodies that I was very proud of.

Now, at some point, my family rented a Harry Potter movie. Pay attention, this is important. I liked the movie, sure. But I especially noticed the music. Really, for the first time specifically I wanted to know more about the score in this movie. I looked at the back of the DVD case. John Williams. The name rang some bells...

Shortly after this we purchased the Rhapsody program that lets you download songs. I looked up John Williams. I was so surprised. He had written the music for so many films-Harry Potter, Jaws, Star Wars, E.T., the list went on. I listened to almost all of his music on there, which wasn't a whole bunch to be honest.

But then, I got into Lord of the Rings music (all three movies were out by this time). I loved it. Howard Shore...the first CD I burned was the Return of the King soundtrack. I listened to it countless time...And then I discovered geniuses like Danny Elfman. All this new music-I hadn't known music like this was out there! Forget rap.

And then-Classical. Everyone knew the name of Beethoven and Mozart. That's all I knew. I looked up Beethoven and discovered such familiar music. Moonlight Sonata was there. Fur Elise was too, and I showed my brother, but he didn't remember hearing it before. Whatever. He had such genius music, from his symphonies. Not nearly all of his music was there, but a good amount. I explored other classical composers, branching into
Mozart, Rossini, and others. This was amazing. I finally had some inspiration. This was a huge, huge step.

After 8th grade, I moved to Wilmington. Now, in 7th grade, a friend of mine had shown me Newgrounds (it had been 2003 then, before the audio portal I believe). We watched a few stupid flashes, but for some reason the name-as well as that awesome tank logo-stuck with me.

Near the start of 9th grade, I looked up Newgrounds again on my computer, the first time in two years. Looked different than I remembered, but I still saw that tank. I watched a few front page flashes, trying to refresh my memory. I looked around, and started learning about how to produce audio. Following a trail, I ended up downloading Anvil Studio, a simple midi-sequencing software. I transferred some of my Notepad songs onto here, and made midis. Then I got a midi-to-mp3 converter, and made some mp3s. They sounded terrible, but I was okay with that. I started to write more music in Anvil, even though it had terrible options composition wise.

One day, I visited Newgrounds again. And then-lo and behold!-near the bottom I saw the two featured audio for the day. One was Winterwind's Waltz no. 2 in Bm. Audio? I didn't know there was audio on Newgrounds. Music, though. My memories of composing flooded back. I clicked on the Waltz. Hey! It was a great piece. I listened to it several times. The audio portal was completely new to me. I explored Winterwind's profile-his email was there. I emailed him for sheet music, thinking I could play it. Sure, he said I need Noteworthy Composer. I download it. But then! I tried to get the file from the email, but it wouldn't work. He kept trying to send it, but I couldn't download. It made me really sad. He seemed to feel bad too.

How did I get a Newgrounds account, I asked him. He told me, and I signed up immediately. The first thing I did was review his Waltz. I continued to write some music in Anvil Studio. And then-one day I decided to submit music. This was about a month after signing up. I submitted badly made mp3s, wondering what the people of Newgrounds would think.

DarkOtaku was my first reviewer. He seemed to really like my music, saying it reminded him of his own. I checked him out-reviewed some of his work. I continued to submit songs that were in all honesty crappy. But then I made a breakthrough melodically with "The Moon's Lullaby." Its only major fault was that it was only right hand; no accompaniment, but I soon fixed that. Soon after I wrote what remained my masterpiece for a while: Shadow Waltz in D minor. I got a good amount of popularity with that one, by my standards. But all of this was midi-generated sounds, so they sounded horrible still. And then a friendly stranger called Jimbobsthebest approached me, offering to use his mystical softwares to make my piano music sound better-specifically Shadow Waltz. I let him, and after a while he sent it back, sounding amazing. He'd even remixed it with percussion and such, and I submitted that as well, crediting him. He went on to sequence The Moon's Lullaby, among others.

By now, I was getting handy with Noteworthy Composer. I decided I would try to compose with it. I added Winterwind on AIM after a long time of no-contact. He helped me out as I tried to feel my way around it. I used A major-why not? And a waltz, that would do; I was inspired by Winter's waltz. After about a month, and with many failed attempts and prodding from Winterwind, I had a finished product-Waltz no. 4 in A presto gaudioso, easily my best piece to date. Harmonically unsound, of course, but a HUGE step toward musical success for me. I used a free piano plugin in FL Studio, which I had recently downloaded (the demo, of course.) It didn't sound half-bad, but it was still almost-midi. Ah, well. I liked the piece, and I went a while without submitting more.

I started exploring other Classical artists on NG. Most specifically was Simon, whose music I loved. In April, he emailed me with stunning news. He had taken the themes from The Moon's Lullaby, Shadow Waltz, and my Waltz no. 4 and formed an orchestral arrangement, GPO'd and all. It was truly amazing work, and the email included priceless composition advice, which I took to heart. Soon after, I added him on AIM as well and proposed that he and I might collaborate; even though I was still figuring my way around Noteworthy (he had Noteworthy as well.) He agreed on the idea.

I started to develop some thematic ideas, and meanwhile I was working on another composition, which had strings, a piano, and a celesta. But more on that later.

I sent a rough idea for our collab to Simon, which was basically an arpeggiated chord progression in a piano left hand with a simple theme in the right hand, all in D minor. Very repetitive. Simon said the arpeggios gave him an idea. I have no idea what he meant. But then, some weeks or so later, he emailed me with a genius start to the piece. String orchestra and a piano stared me in the face, and a new primary theme played in my ears. He'd also GPO'd this minute-and-a-half checkpoint. We continued to bounce back and forth ideas over where this thing was headed, as Simon taught me about some music theory. This changed my thinking of music, and undoubtedly shaped my future compositions.

We decided to have a slower section with a glockenspiel, and creeping strings, signifying a contrasting mood. Later on I introduced a variation of the main theme, a more noble tone to it. After some variations and resolutions, the piece ended with a bang. He and I were very proud of it, and this collaboration taught me so much about music, and the capabilities of the strings.

In the meantime, I had finished the other song I was working on, called Creepingly because it reminded me of someone creeping around in a haunted mansion. Winterwind offered to Edirol it, which was a huge relief. In the end, it sounded amazing, and became my most popular piece yet, staying on the front page for at least a few days.

It was November before Simon's and my collab was packaged and ready to be submitted. After a while we agreed upon the title Dance of the Shadows, but then we changed it to The Dance of Shadows. Perfect title. I can't say the public embraced it, but that didn't matter. It was a huge triumph for me.

I was starting to get better at composing-no doubt about that, but I was still shaky around orchestras. In July, I'd entered a piano piece in the first MAC, and escaped with 10th place: not bad. But I needed more stability around strings and orchestras. What to do...?

I decided to learn to play violin. I'd always wanted to, of course. But now was a prime time. A little later, when signing up for classes for sophomore year, I signed up for orchestra, and in the summer, I had weekly lessons, hoping to be able to learn the instrument in two months before school started up again. I did. The violin was fascinating, and helped me understand not only strings but more about music. I learned conducting among other things.

In orchestra class, I felt like I was at home. The ability to play music in an ensemble was so thrilling, it inspired me to write music like I'd never been inspired before. I learned the ranges of the strings without meaning to, and spending time in a string orchestra helped me really get a grasp on it. I soon wrote A Familiar Blanket of Snow, which was beyond anything prior. It got me 8th place in the Christmas MAC of October, and it was played on Radiogrounds. I was elated.

My mom, making me look foolish, went and asked my teacher if we could play A Familiar Blanket of Snow for our Spring concert. Surprisingly, after my teacher had looked over the score, she said yes. Over the next months we worked on my piece, and I eventually had to rewrite the first violin part because it was so hard. But I made my way upon the stage in May, and conducted my own piece in front of an audience. It was exhilarating!

Needless to say, I continued with violin playing, which I loved. I learned more theory, with Simon helping along, and Winterwind too. I got tons better at composing over the summer, writing a symphony. That summer was the most drastic change of my music. I got tons better at orchestra as a whole.

And now, I've had a string piece Autumn Breeze performed at our fall concert just this month. I love music theory, and I try to learn more about musical styles every day. Hopefully my music has evolved as much as it seems to me, and hopefully you enjoy listening as much as I enjoy writing it.

And now I hope you can see the heart behind my music.

Rocky

I'm bach.

Here's ch. 2 for those interested, but then I'm going to stop, because I have a far more interesting story in progress that I actually know the ending to.

When George left the office building, the weather was still unfriendly. He frowned at it. "Go away." It thundered in reply.

He made his way slowly to his car. It was wedged between two handicap parking places, which was an odd place. It took George a few seconds before he realized which button to press to unlock his car. After sitting down and starting the engine, he put the car in reverse and floored the gas pedal, sending the car flying backward and hitting the Jeep behind him with a crunch. George turned a little and drove out of the parking lot as though nothing had happened.

It took fifteen minutes for him to get home, all through the rain. He pulled into his driveway and stopped, getting out of the car. Within seconds he was drenched. He walked up to his porch, dripping. He was about to ring the doorbell when he remembered he had a key. He did, after all, want to avoid Kate as long as possible.

George opened the door and walked into the foyer.

"George?"

He winced. There, sitting in the living room in the big chair was Kate, reading a book. "H-honey," he said with an attempt at joviality.

"You're home already?" said Kate. She snapped the book shut and clicked off the lamp beside her.

"Yeah," said George. "I mean. Don't...don't I always get home at this time...?"

"No."

"Oh, well, uh-"

"What is it?"

"What?"

"Something's wrong."

"What? I mean, no. No."

"Yes. Tell me. What happened at work?"

"Nothing. I mean...well, I sat at my desk. I answered a few calls..."

"What happened at work?"

"I...well, I accidentally went into Jared's cubicle...I mean-"

"WHAT DID YOU DO, GEORGE? DID YOU BREAK THE XEROX MACHINE AGAIN?"

"Not exactly, no."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN?" Kate was breathing like she had just run two and a half miles.

"I mean...I let it happen! But, like, it was the ballpoint pen, it did it!"

"GEORGE!"

"It's not my fault!"

"And why are you home early? Did he-did he send you home again, George? Again?"

"Well...something like that."

"Daddy."

"What do you mean, 'something like that'? Oh, no...George. You weren't...fired, were you?"

"I...uh...yes?"

"Daddy."

Kate burst into something of a roaring outrage that was quite terrifying to behold. "George! You worked there for ten years. Ten years, George!"

"Did I?" said George, a little dazed.

"Daddy."

"George, you were making money. I...I didn't have to have a job. And now what? Now what are we going to do?"

"Eat dinner?"

"No, George! I'll tell you what you'll-"

"Daddy."

George and Kate looked down at Anne standing there. "You're home, Daddy!" Anne smiled.

"Hey, honey," said George. "How was your day?"

"Good," said Anne. "Did you get fired?"

"I guess so."

"Well, I forgive you, Daddy." She hugged him.

George smiled. "Thanks."

Anne turned around and ran off to play. George looked at his wife.

"Well," sighed George, "I guess I better look for a new job." He grabbed a newspaper lying on the floor, sat down, and began scanning the inside.

Kate gave him a withering look and then stomped off to the kitchen, probably to make dinner.

George turned to the section of the newspaper that told him about job openings. "Hm...," he said. "Plumber? Kate, what's a plumber?"

"What?" called Kate from the kitchen.

"A-a plumber."

"What about it?"

"What is it?"

"You know. The person who fixes pipes."

"Oh, right." He paused. "Should I be one?"

"I don't think you can, George," said Kate sadly, entering the room. "I'm pretty sure you have to go to Plumbing School for that."

"No."

"Okay, well...No. Don't be a plumber."

"Why not?"

"Because they're supposed to be fat."

George looked down at his belly. "Oh." He consulted his news-paper again. "Aha! A lifeguard...that sounds important."

"It is," agreed Kate, "but you mostly just sit there and do nothing, getting no exercise, and getting fatter."

"But then I can be a plumber!" exclaimed George happily.

"No," said Kate sternly.

George scowled. He looked back down at the newspaper. "Well, what about this?" he said. "This looks like another business job. Well, I have experience in that. Think I should call, honey?"

"What kind of business is it?" asked Kate.

"I don't know," admitted George. "It just says, 'The best thing in which you could ever be involved.' That sounds convincing enough, right?"

"Yeah."

"I'll call."

"You do that."

"What's the phone number again?" said George aloud. "Oh, I see. Eight-two-five seven-one-five-two." He said each number as he dialed. He tapped his foot while the phone rang.

"Hello?" came a friendly woman's voice through the phone.

"Hi."

"This is Take-I mean, Highman Programming, Inc.," the woman on the phone informed George. "How may I help you?"

"I'm calling about the job opening."

"Ah, yes," said the woman silkily. "I take it you're interested?"

"Yes," said George, somewhat nervously.

"And what was your name again?"

"Tully."

"And your first?"

"George," he said, wondering why the kind woman's voice was scaring him.

"All right," said the woman. "You have an appointment tomorrow afternoon at 3:14 p.m. The intersection of Hark Street and Brick Avenue. I advise you not to miss it. Good day." She hung up.

George stared blankly at the phone in his hand. Had he just made an arrangement for an interview?

"So what happened?" said Kate's voice from the kitchen. George could smell chicken pot pie.

"Uh...," said George, who was still a little dazed. "She said I have an appointment tomorrow."

"Oh, really?" Kate peeked into the room again.

"Yeah. You know, maybe we should all go. I mean, this is kind of important. I haven't been fired in ever."

"All right."

George was not really looking forward to this "appointment." He couldn't even remember the last time he'd had a job interview. He'd worked at Bernburg's for a very long time. He had bought his first car while working there. He had met Kate during the time he was working there. Nothing special had ever happened precisely there, of course, but still.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he burned his fingers five times while eating the chicken pot pie. "Ouch!" he said. He didn't even have dreams about being chased by picnic food, as his sleeping time was consumed by random thoughts of failing to get this new job.

The next day he spent pacing, sitting down, jumping, pacing, ruffling his hair, and staring at the window. At lunchtime, 3:14 seemed dreadfully closer than ever...

"Wait! Kate...Anne...if we eat slowly, time will go slowly too..."

This proved to be false. By 2:50 and 48 seconds, George was sweating a lot. "WHY COULDN'T IT BE 3:30?" he burst out.

"They're probably testing your punctuality," said Kate wisely.

"Yeah...I was never good at things like apostrophes and commas," complained George angrily.

And then they were in the car.

"George, did you notice the dent in the back of the car?" said Kate.

"I did it," admitted Kate solemnly.

"KATE!"

"Just kidding."

And they drove on.

"Did they give you an address, honey?" asked Kate worriedly, as George drove around in what
seemed like an aimless manner.

"Nope. She only told me the intersection of...what was it? Brick and Hark."

"But, George!" said Kate contradictorily. "There's nothing over there! There's only abandoned barber shops and things."

"Apparently not," George pointed out.

"Well, how are you even supposed to know where to enter?"

"Don't know," said George.

At long last, after passing many tourists, they arrived at the seemingly desolate intersection, which seemed to have many rundown buildings that had long ago been vacated.

George unhooked his seatbelt. "Wait here in the car," he told them.

"George, you told us to come," said Kate.

"I changed my mind."

"Daddy!"

"No, just wait here." He got out of the car, closed the door behind him, and began to walk away.

There was nothing to indicate the premises of an important business. George desperately wished there was a sign that said "RIGHT THIS WAY, GEORGE! IN HERE!"

The two roads met in a kind of X, rather than a perfect ninety-degree cross. Hark Street wasn't straight anyway, but turned a lot like a wavy snake. The sidewalk that ran along Brick Ave was rather wide, and it had many (withering) trees and wooden benches, and also a fountain in front of what looked like an old French café. Exactly why this part of town was uninhabited was a mystery to George.

He stopped by one of the trees, leaning against it and staring around perplexedly. He glanced at his watch. Exactly 3:14. There was certainly nothing here.

Just then he felt his cell phone vibrate. Without thinking he grabbed it, flipped it open, and put it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Sit down on the park bench, George," said the familiar woman's voice.

"How did you get my cell phone number?" inquired George. "Only five people know it, you know-"

"Sit down, George."

George took a moment. "Why?" he asked. "And which bench anyway?"

"The one nearest. Just do it." And then he only heard a dial tone.

"What the hell?" was all George could think of saying.

But nevertheless, he sat on the wooden bench. As soon as he did, he felt a small rumble beneath his feet. "What the-?" The whole bench was shaking.

And then the sidewalk before him seemed to be sliding forward. The brick wall ahead seemed to open up, revealing only blackness. The cement itself was moving forward into this abyss, and the bench was going with it, taking George along.

Before George could get off, he was being taken down into the darkness, and whatever lay beyond.

Just so you know, I almost have no idea where this story will end...

-CHAPTER ONE-

George Tully, if you observed him closely, was a very abnormal man.

For starters, his interaction with his dog, Damper, each morning was like one that a man might have with a talking bouquet of flowers. George would pick Damper up, sniff his fur, and when Damper barked in his face, George would throw the dog out the window and run down the hall in fear. It is undeterminable whether George believed his dog was behaving ferociously or if he thought Damper was actually a frighteningly furry bundle of roses.

Furthermore, George's reason for choosing the small apartment in the middle of busy, downtown Daskenburg was that he wanted "to enjoy the countryside." Aside from not making sense, this reason was also nonsensical. Nevertheless, his wife Kate went along with it, and they and their five-year-old daughter Anne moved to 412 North Bridge Street.

Visually, he was as normal as could be, from his brown hair to his brown eyes. He was tall as a sign post, except shorter. Some of his favorite pastimes included what he referred to as "driving," searching for pennies in the subway station, and kissing his toy duck "McDucky." There were only two options if you knew George; you either loved him or you didn't. Truthfully, most didn't.

Now on this morning, which was a Tuesday, the alarm clock woke George and he, bolting upward like a burnt waffle, promptly slammed his head into the ceiling fan.

"Ow," commented George.

Kate grunted. "What's wrong?"

"I...I was having a good dream," said George sadly. "Stupid alarm clock."

"What kind of dream?"

"Actually, now that I think about it, it was a bad dream," said George. Then he whispered, "I was being chased by a giant peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich."

"Sounds terrifying," agreed Kate. She rolled over, away from him. "You better hurry up to work.

So George got off his bed and attempted to leave the room. He only succeeded, however, in walking into the wall.

"Stupid toaster!" said George angrily and randomly.

He managed to go out in the hall and into the bathroom. He closed the door behind himself, but because he hadn't turned the light on yet, it was dark.

"Ahh!" said George, and hurriedly flicked on the switch. He brushed his teeth and combed his hair - both with his toothbrush. As he exited the bathroom, he heard a squeal from down the hall, and turning he saw Anne running toward him. He crouched down and spread his arms for the embrace.

"Daddy!"

"Hey, honey!"

They hugged.

"You're going to work soon?"

"I guess so," said George.

"Aw."

"I know. Go on and watch some TV."

Anne ran off and did as she was told. George went into his room and got his suit and tie on, along with his shiny black shoes. He couldn't find his briefcase. "Stop hiding," he demanded of it. At last he found it under the couch; he'd forgotten that he'd stuffed it under there last night.

"Bye, honey! Bye, Anne!" he called before leaving out the front door-and walking out into a rainstorm unlike any the world had ever known. Well, in all actuality, it was like many the world had previously known, but that didn't stop this particular rainstorm from being very nasty, wet, and gray, as most rainstorms tend to be.

George hated rainstorms. In his mind they also hated him.

"Go away," he commanded it, agitated. The clouds began to move more quickly across the sky, as if actually exiting the area, but then it seemed to change its mind; it created a bit more mayhem in the form of lightning, promptly splitting a billboard, and soon after toasting a nice old lady's house.

George gave up and stomped in the puddles toward his car. The rainstorm followed him all the way to the office building where he worked. This building was just as cold, dark, and gray as the clouds threatening to dump rain on him. After having a bit of run in the revolving doors, he entered the bleak lobby, at which moment his boss Mr. Glub came dashing in sight.

"GEORGE!" he bellowed.

"MR. GLUB!" shouted George.

"Don't yell at me!" The man's eyebrows danced oddly.

"Okay."

"You...are ten minutes late, George. Again. Do you want to be fired?" Even Mr. Glub's green-and-yellow tie seemed threatening.

"What's 'fired'?" asked George interestedly.

Mr. Glub sighed. "Never mind," he said grudgingly. "Just...get to your desk. Do you have any idea how many calls you've gotten?"

"No..."

"Well," said Mr. Glub, "a lot." And with that he stomped off, undeniably to get himself a friendly cappuccino.

"What an odd man," said George. He walked into the elevator and commanded it to take him to the 4th floor. Admittedly commanding an elevator was not quite the same as commanding a person, as it involved much less shouting and much more pushing of buttons. Nevertheless, the elevator obliged and at last George arrived at his floor.

Now it just so happened that George was a businessman. The name of the business was Bernburg's Corporation of Stupid Phone Call Receptors. George had never found out nor ever tried to find out who "Bernburg" was, but he assumed it was probably some business guy. As a matter of fact, receiving stupid phone calls was precisely what George did at work. It was quite an amusing way to pass the time, not to mention getting paid for it.

A field of cubicles stretched before George, with only things like "4C" on the outer walls to distinguish one from the other. He tread the familiar path: first to the center of the room, then down row 5, then up row P, then stopping confusedly.

"Ah, yes," said George resolvedly, and he walked straight into his cubicle.

JARED HARMAN, read the sign on the desk. George laughed.

"They always get our names mixed up," he said to no one. Of course, the janitors had come by and changed quite a bit in the cubicle, including altering the picture of his daughter on his desk to that of a twelve-year-old boy, changing the color of his filing cabinet to blue, and conjuring random papers on his desk with headings like "Six Ways to Unclog a Toilet" and "Why Forests are Never Made of Only One Tree." However, George thought it looked practically the same as yesterday. He sat down in his swiveling, bouncy office chair, putting his feet right on the desk.

"Comfy," he commented.

Now what was he supposed to be doing? Ah, yes. Mr. Glub had said something about an enormous amount of phone calls. Tentatively he stared at the black, shiny phone, which sat there sinisterly like a coiling snake. George's hand shot like lightning, grabbing the receiver and putting it up to his ear. He smiled satisfactorily at the phone cradle, which still sat solemnly on the desk.

"I have won yet again," he whispered at it. "Now..." He removed the receiver from his ear and stared at it as though it was a foreign piece of spinach he had been about to eat. "Who on Earth could all those calls have been from?" He settled for simply pressing the redial button.

While the phone rang he studied the lights on the ceiling above. "It looks like sugar candy," he said.

Finally the ringing stopped.

"Hey, honey," said a female voice.

"Right," said George. "You called?"

"Nope," said the woman. "You sound a bit strange. Do you have a cold?"

"Is that the subject of your phone call?" demanded George. "I mean, it's not quite my area of expertise. You might want to try the Medical-"

"Stop joking, Jared," said the woman a bit more sternly, but sounding on the verge of laughter. "What'd you call me about?"

"I'm quite sure one of us is confused," said George. "I must say that it was you who called me. Plus you too have gotten my name wrong." He scowled.

The woman laughed. "All right then, Sir Pumpkinbread, what do you need?"

Quite sure now that this woman must be one of those telemarketers, George said, "What are you selling?"

"I suppose it's you doing the stupid phone calls now, isn't it?" said Ms. Telemarketer.

"ANSWER THE QUESTION -- !"

"George!" came a voice. George turned his head and saw Jared standing in the doorway. "Who the hell are you talking to?"

"A telemarketer," said George innocently.

"GET OUT OF MY CUBICLE!"

George laughed.

"Who is that?" said the telemarketer. "Is that -- ? Are you -- ? Jared!"

"Is that my wife?" shouted Jared, snatching the phone from George. "Honey?"

There was a muffled reply from the telemarketer that George could not hear.

"Sorry. I was...I was getting coffee and -- "

"Jared! Don't buy it!" shouted George. "Whatever she's selling, don't buy it!"

"Shut up!" said Jared harshly. "Listen, honey. I gotta go. I have things to do. I'll see you around 5:30, okay?"

The telemarketer said something else, most likely, George thought, trying to get a last minute advertisement in there. George wondered why he kept referring to the telemarketer as "honey."

"Bye." Jared hung the phone up. He turned to George. "Why," he said, "are you in my cubicle?"

"This is my cubicle, Jared," replied George, spreading his arms as though indicating a rather obvious fact.

Jared sighed. "George, what is your cubicle number?"

"Twenty-six," said George.

"And what is this cubicle number, George?" said Jared.

"Twenty-seven," said George. "The janitor switched them last night. You know how they do things like that."

Jared sighed again. "No."

"Yes," said George pointedly.

"No."

"Yes, yes, and yes."

"Whatever," said Jared. "George, just get out. Look." He walked over and picked up the picture on the desk. "This is my son, Henry. He's twelve. Do you even have a son?"

"Yes, but he's a girl and much younger," said George. "What's your point? The janitors obviously cleaned the picture so much that it created distortion."

Jared looked like a flare about to go off. He grabbed George by the shoulder, steered him around, and pushed him toward the doorway. "Get. Out."

George stopped moving. Jared was only a little man after all. "Listen, Jared. Why don't you get on home and have a good drink, and maybe a nap? You seem a little stressed. I think...I think you may be dealing with some emotional blows."

"What -- ? I mean...uhhh...hey, that sounds like a pretty good idea, George." Jared stopped trying to push George out of the cubicle.

"Tell you what," said George. "After that, if you're feeling better, we can party tonight."

"Sounds good." Jared started to leave the cubicle. He was out in the aisle.

"So, I'll see you at -- what? -- seven?"

"Sure," said Jared, straightening his jacket. He started to retreat.

"Hey, don't forget the fruitcake!" George shouted after him.

"I won't," said Jared a little confusedly, but George's friendly wave reassured him as he exited.

* * * * * *

George spent the majority of the next hour causing a considerable amount of mayhem: he trashed Jared's cubicle, reducing the papers to shreds. He managed to break the Xerox with a ballpoint pen. He made several people angry by running around crying, "CHICKENS IN THE BREAK ROOM!" over five hundred times. By lunchtime he had set off the sprinklers after he had caused a fire in cubicle seventy-one.

He was sitting down enjoying a tuna salad sandwich when Vanessa Shoemaker of cubicle thirty approached him.

"George?"

"Mm?" he asked through a mouthful.

"Glub wants you in his office now. He says it's urgent."

"Okay," said George, confused. He stood up as Vanessa walked away.

Mr. Glub was in his office waiting for him. George pushed open the door tentatively.

"GEORGE!"

"MR. GLUB!"

"Stop doing that," said Mr. Glub.

"All right."

"Sit down, George," said Mr. Glub from behind his desk, indicating a chair. George sat. Mr. Glub sighed. "George...the Xerox machine is broken. Do you know how that could be?"

"Well...," said George uncomfortably.

"Mr. Glub should these be stapled or paperclipped?" said a voice from the doorway. A short, balding man stood holding a stack of green papers.

"Go away!" barked Mr. Glub irritably. The little man obeyed. "Now, George, I have heard from at least five people that you broke the Xerox machine using -- I believe -- a ballpoint pen?"

"But sir!" said George. "I didn't do it! The pen dove in after the lost penny and I...I was trying to save it, sir. I just...well, I guess I added some unnecessary force..."

"Unnecessary force?" thundered Mr. Glub. "You shoved the pen into the thing and broke it!" He sighed. "I-I just don't know what to do now, George. How many times have you broken it now? Five?"

"Six."

"Six. Yes, well. I'm afraid it just won't do. You're going to have to find a new job, George."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because I'm firing you," said Mr. Glub.

"What's 'firing'?" asked George.

Mr. Glub stood up. "It means you don't work here anymore. You're being replaced, you're leaving, you're out."

"But-"

"Get out, George! You're fired! Go find a new job!" roared Mr. Glub.

"Okay," said George. And he left the office, closing the door behind him.

All right, maybe I'll start posting stories in my news posts. Yes, I do write stories. Don't read it if you don't want to.

THE SPRING CONCERT

I've always liked music. I'm not just talking about listening to the music, simply absorbing and enjoying the sound in a relaxed manner. I want to know the inner workings of a piece. Why did the composer use that chord here? Why use a harp instead of a piano in this passage? I want to know these things. I want to feel the music in my veins. I want my heart to pound. I want staccato breath. I want to feel what he felt -- to think what he thought. I want to be one with the composer.

I became a composer three years ago. I had taken a few online piano lessons; they intrigued me. I clumsily wrote down notes, mere melodies. I had much to learn. Eventually, I started to better myself. I experimented with music software, after some time settling on one I liked. I practiced. Long hours I spent locked up. I stuck with piano; other instruments frightened me. I met other composers online, far better than me. I learned a great deal from them. I tried strings, but it didn't go well. I was still very inexperienced.

Music is a terrible and wonderful thing. It can consume you -- your mind and heart. But at what cost? It isolates you from others. You are different-no, everyone else is different. They do not understand. You and the music are one. You are the same. And the music is not a silly thing. It is not something to laugh at, dance to. It is not beautiful. It is the toils of the composer's soul. One cannot understand it; he can only listen and enjoy, listen and take bliss.

I took violin lessons eventually, figuring it might help me understand how strings work, and maybe improve my orchestration in general. I had signed up for orchestra class, so the orchestra teacher herself taught me once a week, half an hour each lesson. Soon I was afraid I would not learn quickly enough; but I progressed. I could play "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" after just three lessons.

By the time school started, I was as ready as one could be with two months of learning. I sat in the 2nd violin section, and rightly so, but soon I came to be first chair in the section. I think I just had more passion for the music than others. I practiced it every night. The others slowly started to realize how much I already knew about music. I knew some theory at that point; I didn't know how to utilize it in my compositions, but I knew it, and that was enough.

Through the class, I started to learn how strings could interact with one another. I tried my first string composition using a correct string orchestra layout: Violin I, Violin II, Viola, Cello, and Bass. I thought this would turn out well. I liked the melody; it was upbeat and lively. It had found me as I was mowing the lawn, like a long-lost pet that had finally found home again. I played it on the piano so that it could never escape again. And now I had something with which to work.

You see, actually writing the song is not the most difficult part. The melody is the hardest thing to invent. It has to be just right, and you must like it. I have thrown out many half-finished projects purely for the reason that I grew tired of the melody. A good melody never gets boring. Of course, anyone can come up with a good melody. It's what you do with that melody that counts.

So I wrote the song. In the intro, the 1st violins gave a hint of the melody, very slowly. But suddenly came the fast tempo. The theme was catchy, and very versatile. I could do a lot of things with it. I used a lot of pizzicato in the lower strings, and it provided a nice tone. There was a great amount of staccato in the higher strings. I added a slower section later on that showcased a different version of the theme in a different rhythm, a nice contrast. And then there was the familiar return of the faster tempo, the finale. Overall I was quite proud of the piece; it was the first time I was really happy with a composition. I could safely say it was my best to date. I called it "A Familiar Blanket of Snow." Later on I added a flute solo and a tubular bell part to it to make it sound more Christmas-like. I entered it into a Christmas-themed music competition and got eighth place. It was good enough.

Time went on. I wrote more pieces, a great many pieces. I got better and better. I always had this nagging in me, a desire to have my pieces performed. One day, in November, I expressed this desire to my teacher nonchalantly. She could see why I wanted it to be performed. A real orchestra is always better than an artificial one. But her response was surprising!

"Yeah, I think we can learn it for the spring concert."

These words blew me away. I never thought to have it performed any time soon. And soon I was surprising myself with what was happening so fast. I was printing parts for each section. It was tedious work; I tried to make the sheet music visually appealing at least-somewhat professional looking. I hoped the piece wasn't too hard. It was only a high school orchestra, after all, and string instruments are difficult to play. Also, there was an issue of finding a flute soloist and a tubular bell player. But I didn't worry about it too much.

I didn't really teach the class. I played with them, in the orchestra. I learned the 2nd violin part right along with the rest of them. The 1st violinists had trouble with their parts. I had to rewrite it. Their poor fingers couldn't shift that high up the fingerboard that quickly. I made it a lot easier, and they were grateful. We progressed pretty well learning it. I grew confident. One day my teacher asked if I would like to conduct the piece in the concert. I was thrilled.

May grew closer. The cellos had it. The basses had it. The viola part wasn't so hard. 2nd violins had it mostly. 1st violins had a little trouble now and then, but I was confident they would know it well by the concert. I decided I would take it a little slower that night. Playing it up to tempo would kill them. And I still hadn't heard about a flute soloist or a tubular bell player. Soon I rewrote the tubular bell part for glockenspiel instead, as it was easier.

The day of the concert, I was a mess.

"What if I mess up conducting?" I asked my mom.

"You won't."

"What if they mess up playing?"

"They won't."

At school, we spent the entire orchestra period running through our pieces. Finally the flute soloist and the glockenspiel player got to rehearse with us. We played it through a few times. There were so many violins, and they played so loudly. The poor flutist wasn't heard loudly enough, and she was essential.

"You guys need to play more quietly there," I said to them. "She needs to be heard. She has the melody here." I hoped they were listening.

I couldn't concentrate on anything at home. I kept thinking about that evening. I knew my piece was the third one the program. What would I say when it was my turn to step up? Would I be calm and wave and smile, setting the audience at ease?

I was consumed. I kept thinking of the music over and over, practiced conducting it. What tempos should I take? What dynamics should I employ? The members of the orchestra were not going through this. My heart was pounding. My breath was staccato. The audience would not know what I had gone through leading up to the moment. They would not understand.

The concert was at seven. I started getting ready at six. I wore just a white shirt, a tie, and dress pants: nothing fancy. The sun was setting when I stepped outside. I didn't notice the beauty it cast on the land, as I was too absorbed in my thoughts. I said goodbye to my family, who would be there in a while to watch me and record me, turned toward the road, and set off to the school.

There were some people already there from the orchestra. We waited around in the orchestra classroom as everyone else slowly arrived. Everyone looked so giddy and in good spirits. I tried to act happy like them, but my insides felt like cold stone. What if I mess up? What if they mess up?

We each received a folder for the music, especially for the concert, and also music programs. My piece was listed there, as well as my name. It felt odd. Some of us stood around practicing. Some put rosin on our bows, just in case. We had idle conversation, until 7 o'clock was just around the corner. The stage was already set up for us. I sat in my spot, first chair in the 2nd violins. It felt good, familiar. I didn't stare at the crowd. What crowd? There was no crowd. It was just us. This was just another rehearsal. Someone had accidentally put a lot of lights shining on us on the stage, but it was just a rehearsal. Nothing goes wrong in a rehearsal.

The teacher stood up and addressed the empty theatre-practicing, I suppose. We sat there awkwardly, some of us talking in excited whispers. And then it started. We didn't do so well on the Mozart Symphony, but it wasn't noticeable to the audience, and it wasn't so bad that we had to stop. We did a pretty good job on the Haydn Symphony. It was fun playing it. The audience seemed to enjoy that one. They clapped hard for it. No, I was imagining they clapped hard for it. This was a rehearsal. And now it was time. It took a few seconds for me to recognize it. I stood slowly, not knowing what to do with myself. I ran the song through in my head a thousand times in those few seconds. Some guys from the 1st violins were moving chairs out of the way as the flutist and glockenspiel player made their way onstage. There was applause-probably from some of the orchestra. Wow, they could clap loudly.

She was still standing on the podium, conductor's stick in hand. I wasn't going to ask her to move. She finally did. I smiled at the flutist and glockenspiel player. I heard some people call my name encouragingly, but vaguely. It came from far away, and didn't penetrate my mind correctly. My thoughts were jumbled. Finally I was standing there, raised slightly. The score sat there on the stand, unopened. I didn't open it. I didn't need to; this was my piece. I was one with it. It was me. I closed my eyes and raised my hands. I heard the tempo in my mind. Not too fast, I thought. I heard the flute already. I was consumed. It was so loud! The music went wild in my mind. Stop!

This part had to be calm. I gave the upbeat. It started.

A few measures, and then the flute came in, nice and serene. And then a fermata. I cut them off. A brief instant, and then with another upbeat I led them into the faster tempo. They were a little shaky with that entrance but they quickly got together. I tried to keep a steady beat. The flute had the melody again, and she was being drowned out. The violins must not have heeded my advice too much. I didn't think too much of it though. A steady beat was my priority.

We got to another fermata, just before the slow section. It was a good cutoff. The 1st violins did well here, seeing as it was quite a difficult spot. After this part, it was a transition back into the main, lively tempo. The bass had a solo. Then the cellos came in. Next, the violas entered, and then the violins altogether. The main theme reappeared, as familiar as it could be. And then, with finesse, it ended. There seemed to be an endless amount of silence after that last chord, but it was probably only a half of a second. And then applause washed over me.

I turned around. There was an audience! It was only a hundred people or so, but they were making a loud enough noise. They were clapping energetically, cheering. They didn't know what went on in my head. They liked the piece. They did not understand it, they did not understand the toils of the composer's soul, but they tried.

And that was enough.

By the 7th and 8th grade orchestra at the middle school lol
And I'm gonna conduct probably. Woot.

Like anyone cares...

I'm scoring a game called Zening (www.zening.com)

Probably gonna be released near the end of the year, but no promises. I'm pretty excited, as it seems like it's going to turn out great. The test game already has my song "Creepingly" on it : D

Woot.