I had to play piano in Relief Society today for the first time ever. When they called me to do it, my exact words were (groaning) "Oh, nooo." Brother Jensen didn't seem to bothered by my reaction, stating that the girl who plays the piano in primary doesn't play, either, and she doesn't have a piano. So I accepted, wondering what in tarnation they were thinking when my name popped into their heads in conjunction with the piano. Don't misunderstand, I play...if you can call pounding out my own little melodies playing. I just don't read music. You see, once upon a time a certain mother forced her daughter to take piano lessons from the ages of 6 to 13 (me). The problem is, I was good at 6 as I was when I finished, at 13. The interim years were spent begrudgingly going to a once a week lesson and exasperating a very patient teacher with my dismal facsimiles of what she played for me. (I always made her play it first, and then would try to mimic by ear what it sounded like. Eventually she caught on to my little game and refused to play songs for me until I attempted to read the notes. That's about when my piano lesson days came to an end.)
So, last week I spoke with the music leader, gathered a list of songs I would need to know, and began to painstakingly decipher the hieroglyphics known as music. I went into relief society today telling myself that I was going to make mistakes, and that I should just get over it and keep playing through. And you know what? Though I made mistakes...saying 'several' is being kind...I didn't do half bad. Afterwards a couple of the sisters told me I did okay and that it will get easier. An especially well-meaning sister (the previous accompanist, to be exact) told me that I did fine, but I just needed to remember that a dotted half-note needs to be held longer than a regular half note. I nodded and said i would try to remember. I thought about asking her what a regular half note was, but I didn't want to scare the poor thing. :)
Stephenie Meyer (author of Twilight) told a BYU audience that she felt that the dream she had that eventually became a full-length novel was God's way of telling her to get going. "It sounds a little odd to say you were inspired to write a vampire novel," she said, "I really feel like it was a situation where I had a talent that I was not using. I had buried it. And that was my kickstart. I was supposed to be doing something with this talent." That's kind of what it feels like. I have been focusing on so many other things, that the musical side of me has been basically buried while I concentrated on endeavors I deemed more profitable, like my art and writing. I guess that's the way it works. There's always something more we can be doing. Just as something gets easy, its time to grow in something else. Last sunday in gospel doctrine class, our teacher said, "Nobody gets stronger by lifting 1000 pounds on the first try. The trick is to start with something difficult but doable." I may hit the wrong notes about 3/4s of the time now, but who knows? Eventually it will only be 1/2 the time, and maybe someday I can add playing the hymns to the list of challenges I endured and, eventually conquered.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Brandon, this one is for you
After toiling through 26 fruitless pages, I decided to start my latest story all over again. (see previous post "road block") And, at Brandon's request, I'm posting my first page of the new stuff here, because he wants to read it and for some reason none of my emails to him are showing up! So, indulge me if you will, and if you've got a moment, drop me a line and tell me what you think.
Chapter One
My fingers scraped painfully on the stone as I worked with anxious energy to twist the rusted lock from its catch. It was cold; many of the neglected stones had fallen away from the walls, and tiny shafts of half-light filtered through the cracks left bare. Though I was thankful for the weak light, it brought with it the chill. I didn’t care much—I knew that there would be no other place I could rest, no other place to feel safe, than the room beyond this heavy door with its rusted iron inlay. This great door had been beautiful once, but like so many things, time’s slow decay had left it ruined. Still, it stubbornly kept its duty, like a weathered soldier wearily using the last of its strength to bar me from passing.
I bloodied my knuckles, but finally the lock fell away and I earnestly pushed my shoulder against the solid weight of the door, and it creaked open with a scraping sigh, as if the soldier had fallen and had passed from this life to the next. It was of no consequence to me. The door had served well, but the place it kept had long ago been forgotten. It was no longer required to protect it so mightily.
I should have better prepared myself. I knew that since the fire, this wing had fallen into disrepair, but my mind had still faithfully preserved it as it once was—a warm place, with billowing gauze curtains and colorful toys. As I stood in that dark doorway, those memories slipped away. All that remained of the high raftered ceilings and thick, protective walls were skeletal braces and scorched, blackened stones. The roofing had caved in on one side, letting in starlight and snow. It had gathered in the corners and drifted on the floor, thick and white and eerily shadowed where there had once been crimson carpet glittering with sunshine-patterns.
The fireplace was the only fixture that remained largely unchanged. The chimney stood stalwart, shooting up straight and tall through sagging eaves. I stood for several minutes staring into the black depths of the hearth, wondering how the fireside that had kept me warm and comforted me as I slept in my father’s arms could have possibly turned my childhood refuge into this ravaged void.
I tucked myself into a corner beneath the fallen-in roof out of the snow and wind. I could hear the groaning of the tired planks and knew that if there came a strong breeze there was possibility of my being crushed beneath collapsing walls, but I didn’t care. Let it all fall in on me.
I folded my knees beneath my chin and squeezed my eyes shut tight. Nobody was around to see, but I still felt hot humiliation as the tears scalded my cheeks. The undisturbed silence of countless years was broken by the sound of my choking sobs and the violent tremors that shook my body. Everything had been taken from me. Even my memories of this nursery-room.
There was a bitter chill. My sobs slowly quieted, the heat of my despair dissipating into unfeeling resignation. The numb stretched from beyond my frozen, bleeding fingers and my aching bones to my soul. I wanted to die. Perhaps I would. The thought comforted me, if only a little.
Instead, I fell asleep.
© Crystal Campbell Smith, 2007
Chapter One
My fingers scraped painfully on the stone as I worked with anxious energy to twist the rusted lock from its catch. It was cold; many of the neglected stones had fallen away from the walls, and tiny shafts of half-light filtered through the cracks left bare. Though I was thankful for the weak light, it brought with it the chill. I didn’t care much—I knew that there would be no other place I could rest, no other place to feel safe, than the room beyond this heavy door with its rusted iron inlay. This great door had been beautiful once, but like so many things, time’s slow decay had left it ruined. Still, it stubbornly kept its duty, like a weathered soldier wearily using the last of its strength to bar me from passing.
I bloodied my knuckles, but finally the lock fell away and I earnestly pushed my shoulder against the solid weight of the door, and it creaked open with a scraping sigh, as if the soldier had fallen and had passed from this life to the next. It was of no consequence to me. The door had served well, but the place it kept had long ago been forgotten. It was no longer required to protect it so mightily.
I should have better prepared myself. I knew that since the fire, this wing had fallen into disrepair, but my mind had still faithfully preserved it as it once was—a warm place, with billowing gauze curtains and colorful toys. As I stood in that dark doorway, those memories slipped away. All that remained of the high raftered ceilings and thick, protective walls were skeletal braces and scorched, blackened stones. The roofing had caved in on one side, letting in starlight and snow. It had gathered in the corners and drifted on the floor, thick and white and eerily shadowed where there had once been crimson carpet glittering with sunshine-patterns.
The fireplace was the only fixture that remained largely unchanged. The chimney stood stalwart, shooting up straight and tall through sagging eaves. I stood for several minutes staring into the black depths of the hearth, wondering how the fireside that had kept me warm and comforted me as I slept in my father’s arms could have possibly turned my childhood refuge into this ravaged void.
I tucked myself into a corner beneath the fallen-in roof out of the snow and wind. I could hear the groaning of the tired planks and knew that if there came a strong breeze there was possibility of my being crushed beneath collapsing walls, but I didn’t care. Let it all fall in on me.
I folded my knees beneath my chin and squeezed my eyes shut tight. Nobody was around to see, but I still felt hot humiliation as the tears scalded my cheeks. The undisturbed silence of countless years was broken by the sound of my choking sobs and the violent tremors that shook my body. Everything had been taken from me. Even my memories of this nursery-room.
There was a bitter chill. My sobs slowly quieted, the heat of my despair dissipating into unfeeling resignation. The numb stretched from beyond my frozen, bleeding fingers and my aching bones to my soul. I wanted to die. Perhaps I would. The thought comforted me, if only a little.
Instead, I fell asleep.
© Crystal Campbell Smith, 2007
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Announcing Envision Image Photography
As many of you probably know, in the last year and a half Carma and I have slowly started to get into the photography business, starting small with a few weddings and now many family pictures. Its been great, and we've learned a lot more of technique and style in the last year than we ever knew before. The last step in the process was completed last week, when we recieved our EIN (Employer Identification Number) which allows us to really start officially acting as a business. How awesome is it to be 23 and own your own business! We still have some kinks to work out (our website is looking a little neglected) but we're ready to go! We hope to work into a broad clientele, so if you know anyone who might be interested in a session, let us know! Here are just a few samples of what we've done, but our Envision Image blog has a much more comprehensive sampling. (http://www.envisionimage.blogspot.com/)
Monday, October 1, 2007
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