I've had a lot of fun showing some of my writing this week, and talking about my characters. So much so, that I wanted to solicit some feedback on one scene in the sequel to SLIPSTREAM. I hope you don't mind. Please don't feel obligated to read it. If you do, I ask that you please press play on the embedded video first because the music of Chopin really inspired me to write this piece, and it's classical music so you can read and listen at the same time. :)
Jordan checked behind him and saw no one. “Myd?” he whispered, not wishing to make too much noise. His eyes darted in every direction from underneath the shadow cast by the bill from the hockey cap. He strained to hear anything, but he heard no footfalls. A wind chime sounded its ghostly music on the far side of an open window.
His fingers flew over the keys, pressing them in tune as if directed by a ghostly consciousness. He closed his eyes, feeling the music rise around him like a warm, soothing blanket. On the ephemeral wings of the Nocturne’s slow and exquisite rhythm, Jordan saw the sun drenched parlor of the home as it appeared in all seasons of the year. In the sparkling clear notes from the piano, he saw a man that looked much like him playing at the exquisite instrument. He was in his mid-twenties, blond, slender of build, wearing a blue denim jacket almost identical to the one he wore now.
When he finished, Jordan sat there in complete silence, blond eyelashes restrained tears with nothing but surface tension, fully aware that Myd and a stranger watched him. But he couldn’t move as his mind raced. Jordan thought the unthinkable. A single tear fell from his chin and broke on the piano. “My father played this,” he said. “My dad played this every single day, right here, in this spot.”
“—Jordan,” the man said at last. His voice fell upon his ears like thick syrup.
He turned and looked at the speaker standing there next to Myddrin. He respectfully stood and removed his hockey cap and held it in his hands. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “I don’t know what came over me—.”
“It’s all right, son” the man stated. “I haven’t heard Chopin played like that since your father played it for me—as you’d guessed already—almost eighteen years ago.”
I have always had a fondness for Chopin. I hope you liked this snippet.
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