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Post by carter dominic andrews on Mar 16, 2012 6:26:38 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: d3d3d3; width: 370px; padding-top: 30; padding-bottom: 30;] wretched, look at me, i've lost it melting on the table, in parking lots and markets.
Carter loved when he was sitting in the back of the Live Lounge getting to tune his guitar. It was the one time he could shut out the rest of the business and zone in on his instrument. Yes, he did love working here meeting all the new people that'd come in and praise him for his music, but really it still felt empty going through the motions like he had to. People talked to him for the matter of minutes, maybe he'd get a free drink out of it, but other than that he'd go home alone and climb into a cold bed just to fall asleep and do this all again the next day. He wished there was something, or someone, that'd break this vicious cycle he found himself in but he knew that probably wasn't going to happen. He was destined to be alone after what he did to Tim.
There had been times that he'd try to get ahold of his old friend, but all letters were left unresponded as well as phonecalls unanswered. He hated it but what could he do after everything was all said and done? Nothing, so that's why when he stood up when it was his cue to go out on the small stage he forget about everything that plagued his memory. He forgot about Matt, his newest conquest, as well as Tim and his group of friends that all left him without a trace. He forgot about the alcohol problem he had and how he was tipsy already as his feet touched the stage and he could hear the crowd clapping from their seats. As he sat down on the chair, nice little intimate setting set up on stage, he plucked a few strings of his guitar and addressed the crowd. If he could stay up on this stage forever he would because it's the only place none of his troubles mattered, and for a little while he was the center of attention.
His set felt like it was finished in less than five minutes when in fact he'd been singing and playing for over an hour and a half. The crowd across the Lounge cheered for him after his final song as he stood and waved before climbing down off the stage. He walked to the back and put his guitar away, and when he closed his guitar case and locked it he propped it up against the wall where all the other instruments had been. He walked back outfront and situated himself at the bar as he motioned for the bartender to come over. He could hear a female take over on stage but her style didn't interest him so he tuned her out as he asked for a scotch. The person behind the bar laughed, knowing he'd been under twenty one, but with the fake ID his father had bribed him with they'd never get in trouble serving him. The lawyers had their people make it up so would a cop really be able to tell the difference? Not a chance, so as Carter grinned at the person they slipped a drink across the bar and he picked it up in his hands. "Another night, another wasted fucking memory."
words 554 | tagged; open | notes someone please snag! |
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Post by brielle nicole archer on Mar 21, 2012 17:50:11 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,padding-left:16px; padding-top:0px; padding-right:0px; padding-bottom:0px; background-image:url(http://i51.tinypic.com/2nbr3oi.jpg) ] brielle nicole archer this is real, this is me
i'm exactly who i want to be - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Sitting in the back, her hair falling slightly in her face; Brielle worked over her computer, her fingers dancing across the key board, as she worked on the basics of the story she was attempting to write. She knew that the only way she could be moved from 'intern' to 'journalist' at the Times. She was, actually; rather determined to become part of the official team at the office. She didn't like introducing herself as 'intern' she'd much more prefer to be an official member of the team. Brielle Archer; Journalist. It definitely sounded much more professional then Brielle Archer; Intern Writer. Much, much more professional actually. She sighed, as she looked down at the work she'd completed so far, before looking back at the current individual preforming at the lounge. Some man, probably an ideal candidate for an interview, though she'd have to wait till he was done preforming. It'd be horribly rude, and unprofessional if she were to just demand an interview now. So instead, she was content with working on the piece.
Mike Night Musicians
Can preforming at Mike Night, and similar live entertainment facilities benefit a musical career?
Many individuals appear all over the world during Mike Nights; or other events that give aspiring musicians the chance to preform in front of a group. But the question is: Do these events actually help the musician's career, or is it merely a good 'practice' setting for preforming in front of an audience. Here at the Live Lounge, musicians take up a short amount of time, to play and be heard, before being replaced by another individual. But is this time really long enough to be worth while to their future careers? Or is it just another waste of time, in their attempted careers.
Clapping resounded around the room, pulling Brielle from her work. Glancing up, Bri looked around before seeing the man now sitting at the bar sipping a drink. Closing her laptop, Brielle placed it back in her bag, before she pulled out a small notebook, and slipped her bag over her arm. Looking around, she began to weave her way through the crowd, before stepping up by where he stood, clearing her throat slightly to get his attention, "Hello. My name is Brielle Archer, I'm an intern for the Jacksonville Times." She introduced herself, with a calm, slight smile, before she followed it up with her reason for approaching, "I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions? I'm working on an article about how preforming in settings like this affect a musician's career, and figured there would be no one better to help me get an inside view, than a musician. It'll only take a few minutes . . . if you're willing."
She was careful to keep the whole thing extremely professional in her method, before she waited calmly, hoping to receive a positive answer, but being careful not to pressure him into it. She wanted a willing interviewee, one that could give her all the information she needed. She just had to insure that everything was perfect. This would have to be the first in all of the wonderful articles to come; and in the end . . . she just had to make journalism. She just had too.
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