PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
The room’s acoustics resonated perfectly; the sparkling new instruments readied for action arranged with OCD precision. Gone were the days of starving for his music and making do. His fingers danced along the frets of a guitar, spewing out a few of his time worn riffs.
‘I’ll lay down the guitar part first; it’ll be like the old days.’
He hummed and strummed his signature tune. Worrying the tuning keys and hazily turning knobs, he smeared a tear across his cheek.
He was waiting for something to come but his mind was a museum, important exhibits but nothing new within.
Written for Friday Fictioneers – a 100 words story based on a photo prompt. Hosted by Rochelle. Read the other entries here.
Oh so sad. That last line. Such loss
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Thank-you
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Loved the mind was a museum image
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Thanks Neil
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Wow, painful thrust right to the stomach on that one! Isn’t that every artist’s fear (including writers), that all your best work is behind you, that you will never again get a fresh new idea? And worse, that everyone will see, and know. Terrifying and tragic.
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Oh, and I especially liked the image of the mind being a museum, that was perfect.
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Thanks
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Yes, he tries all the displacement, replacement activities like setting up the instruments and investing in the best equipment but at the end, when he’s run out of things to do instead of writing he has to confront the situation…the inspiration has gone. Thanks for reading and commenting
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Inspiration is a tricky wicket that way. I find that if I just start, and write down *something*, eventually something interesting emerges. But I can understand the pressure of great past success: he feels like whatever he does now has to live up to what he did before, and that’s intimidating! One of the most inspirational exhibits I ever saw was a wide-ranging show on Picasso’s work, where it showed all the many paintings he did before and between the ones he’s famous for. And you know, a lot of them sucked, or were just mediocre, but he kept at it and another gem eventually popped up. That really drove home that volume is key: just keep producing.
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You have a great point there. If I just start writing to see what happens most of the time it’s rubbish but every now and then I find a gem which leads to something else and without the aimless writing I’d never have found it.
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I usually have even better luck not writing at all, but stepping away from my keyboard and thinking while I’m taking a long walk or showering or washing dishes (in silence — I need the concentration). I’ll work through the nugget of an idea in my mind, asking “what if” over and over and rolling it around until something decent emerges, and only then do I sit down and try to write it up. That way most of the rubbish doesn’t even end up written down, so I don’t have to delete it, which for some reason feels frustrating..
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This starts with such hope ~ shiny new instruments, segues into old riffs, and ends with twisted cobwebs of time where nothing new is able to rise. Well done.
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Thanks Alicia
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The last line resonated with me. Very sad.
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Thank-you
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Beautifully done, Michael. Let us hope the muse returns and he can fill his museum with new stuff…
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Let’s hope, thanks Dale
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It happens to the best of them, at some point the old creativity and inspiration fades away, often as a result of success. Nicely done.
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Yes, unfortunately few can maintain the same vitality and brilliance of the original muse
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Trying to reclaim the glory days. Poor chap.
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Hoping for a comeback which aint coming
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Heart wrenching, but so beautifully written, Michael. I loved the closing line.
Susan A Eames at
Travel, Fiction and Photos
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Thank-you Susan
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I really was expecting a happy ending, but no. A poignant piece indeed.
Click to read my FriFic tale
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Thanks Keith
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Dear Michael,
A story well told in a hundred words. The last line took my breath away. Brava!
Shalom,
Rochelle
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Thanks Rochelle
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Its almost as if, those who succeed are cursed by their own success, never again to meet the high expectations their “hits” created. A sad commentary on our society as well as a sad fate for the rock star. Well captured!
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Thank-you. He just seems to have dried up as many seem to do.
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the muse does take vacation but she will come back again.
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Hopefully he still has time
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His mind was like a museum–sad, sad. I hope his muse wakes up.
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So do I. Thanks
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That was unexpected. Loved the last line.
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Thank you
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I think all successful artists/writers, after a certain age, suffer from this fear that my best work is behind me. You told a beautiful story in just 100 words. The last line took my breath away.
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Thank you
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Heart-breaking, the stuff of nightmares for all artists.
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Thanks for commenting and thanks for the follow
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Heartbreaking but what stuck was “mind like a museum” Awesome comparison
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Thank you
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Well, he can always write about crocodiles.
A mind like a museum is not a bad thing. He just needs some new exhibits from time to time. Perhaps he’ll find them if he keeps looking.
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Thanks Russel, I did consider crocodiles and wrote Crocodile Rock before realising it’s already been done.
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Hope he gets inspiration & manages something brand new.
Museums get better with new exhibits…
Have a lovely weekend!
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Thank-you Anita
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Poignant.
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Thank-you
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Heartbreaking. Sometimes trying a different art altogether brings fresh ideas.
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It could do but I think he yearns for what he had and wants to recreate that but it’s gone, you can’t bring the past back no matter how much money you pump into it. He hopes he can do it again with new songs but the muse is nowhere to be seen
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Such a touching story- you describe his sensibility so clearly- from optimism to elegy for his past creativity. I wanted him to find a new spark of creativity.
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Hopefully he will but so many don’t seem to and their comebacks fail. Thanks for the comment
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To go from being creator to simply musician… it’s something to learn in that for everyone of us i think.
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I think so too, Bjorn. Thanks
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Sad, beautiful, poignant analogy. It really gave your story feeling.
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Thanks Dawn
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Oh, that’s heartbreaking! Remembering that magic and it being lost to you forever. You capture that tragedy so well -made me feel very sad!
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Thank-you Lynn
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My pleasure 🙂
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I know how he feels. That was so good, Michael.
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Thank-you Sandra
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Wonderful details giving the sense of slowness and preparation, only for nothing to happen. The lack of anything new is so sad.
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Thank-you Sarah Ann
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A very well written story, it struck a sad chord with me. I thought of my father whose health has recently degraded significantly, especially his mind. He wasn’t an artist but in the legal world, a brilliant man. I felt your character’s sadness as “he smeared a tear across his cheek.”
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A good illustration of the difficulty of success. When bands are hungry and on the way up that is often when they produce their best stuff. Songs about room service and indigestion are less raw and accessible than the early work’s torn hopes and dashed dreams. Notable exceptions imo – The Beatles, George Michael, 10 CC and Fleetwood Mac. I suppose George Michael and Fleetwood Mac wrote about their personal lives which in their cases seem to have been the gifts that kept on giving!
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I agree, it’s the hunger in any art that seems to fuel the best work and it’s a vicious circle because the work is good, they are a success and earn a packet leaving them replete and without hunger so unable to turn out new work of substance
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There’s so much emotion in this one. It’s beautiful.
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Thank-you Emily
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It’s the bane of an artist’s existence–we can’t remain at the peak of success forever. But, there can always be more than one peak, and hopefully, it will come. Beautiful piece, Michael.
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