Momma don’t stop me from playing the geetar out on the front porch. I sit and fiddle with them tuning pegs, twistin’ this way an’ that ’til I get the sound just right to my ear. I don’t need nobody to tell me how, I just know when I hear the right sound.
The neighbors walk by an’ stop to hear me play. Sometime they smile, sometime they frown and shake they head. I don’t mind none, just keep on picking them strings, humming under my breath ‘til them words break out like sun from behind a gray cloud.
Miss Johnson from three houses down bring her kids by sometime; they like hearing me play. Miss Johnson say I’m gonna be a big star someday but I don’t believe it. I just like to play. My fingers get itchy without strings under ’em, so I scratch them by playin’ songs out here on the front porch.
I don’t know where the words come from, they just roll out of my head onto my tongue and drip from my lips into the air. I get loud sometimes, an’ Momma come out and tell me to hush it down now, baby’s ’sleep. But the baby like my songs, he giggle and coos like he havin’ a ball. Sometime he claps his little hands and to me, it’s better than any ol’ big audience.
I look out from my chair and there’s a few folks out there, all lookin’ up at me. I stare at the dusty planks on the porch, I don’t know how to keep eye contact an’ all ’cause it sometime make me nervous. When I finish my song, they all clapping for me and I kinda shrug, mumble a word of thank’n and go on to the next one. An’ it is just fine. Right as rain. I smile for the people gathered out there at the gate, an’ I go on to the next song.
I play for awhile, ’til my head get tired and I feel out of breath ’cause I singing loud again, only Momma don’t stop me. She see that everybody just fine with me a playin’. An’ so is she.
(Photo credit: gianni from morguefile.com)
There's the creative passion contained in the vernacular. You do it because you do and it makes you feel good.
Adam B @revhappiness
I love this! You writing about music makes me so freaking excited for Crooked Fang. Can't wait!
The line where the music itched his fingers and he had to scratch it by playing was brilliant! This story made me smile.
I was able to guess the dialect from the title, and had no problem getting into the voice of the piece. Neat experiment, Carrie.
I like the line about the itchy fingers too. Nice one.
Now MY fingers are itching to play again.
I love the way that, through the vernacular, you create a perosnlity within my mind. Made me smile.
The title sets the reader up to expect the dialect within the story. Nice touch and thanks.
I love the expression of natural talent, welling up from within.
wonderful voice. Really got sense character expressed themselves less through words and more through the vibrations of strings
This is probably once of your best pieces ever, m'dear. I could 'hear' him speaking in my head, and it was just such a happy story, full of the joys of music, and without any trace of arrogance, or even pride. Just enjoyment. Beautiful.
This made me think of 'Johnny Be Good'
Very nice voice in this one. Truly great artists enjoy their art.
Oustanding voice here Carrie! And you got that dialect spot-on, something few do well. Bravo!
Your descriptions and dialect made this a joy to read. Enjoyed it a TON.
This is such a feel-good story, Carrie. I couldn't help but smile at the guitar player's simply joy. It shone through in your well-chosen words.
Post a Comment