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.