In the spirit of art influencing art, we joined forces in an epic collaboration where writers were given the opportunity to set their words to film composer, Michael Maas‘, inspiring music!
The winners will be awarded mp3 files of the five selected tracks from the exclusive film industry release “Piano and Strings Edition” as well as Michael’s new album, Illumination.
Congratulations to the winners and to all the incredible writers who participated in this collaborative challenge! Winners—send me your email address to receive your music!
Here We Go_Christine McGrew_Pen & Ink illustration by Mark Holden
I had a blast participating in a truly unique venture orchestrated by Ruth Long and musician Big Earl Matthews, where writers and indie musicians collaborated on a promotion for the launch of their new album “My Friends and I”.
The brilliant album highlights thirteen various artists and their musical talents, capturing the essence of the eclectic music scene in Modesto, CA.
Each of these songs inspired music-driven tales that were compiled in an ebook companion. Art inspiring art–artists supporting artists! The road to success is different for all of us, but with a little help from my friends and I, it’s a trip worth taking! My tale for Christine McGrew’s beautiful song, “Here We Go“.
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The music house in Modesto is overflowing with excitement, buzzing through the crowd like a live charge. Tendrils of bitter smoke lick at my nose and sharp fingers of tequila tickle the back of my throat.
Ryan Russell makes his way offstage, echoes of “It’s Your Time” still hovering in the air. My friends and I went into this together—a collaborative concert celebrating our new album.
The glaring lights obscure everything beyond this raised island. My voice clears–finger’s poised to pull the notes from eager strings.
Time to give life a show
I let the music carry me, over the crowd and out the door, until it flows, like a river, down the streets of downtown.
It’s a moment made of magic, where anything and everything is possible. I have never felt more alive!
I’m flying
My guitar sighs, its final breath caressing the crowd. The stillness is broken with applause, a reaction that feeds my spirit. I weave through the deafening maze, their words of praise widening a grin that has no room to grow.
“That is, quite possibly, the best show I’ve seen you do!” Bethany beams, pulling me into a hug. She hands me a drink and lifts her glass. “To our smashing success, rave reviews and fabulous fans!”
At the dark end of the bar, where history and love are planted in the grain, I catch a glimpse of my most recent romantic disappointment. I take the back stairs two at a time, suddenly desperate for some fresh air. I burst into the balcony and pull the night into my lungs, greedy for the relief it brings. I pierce the stars with wishes that have more to do with leaving than loving.
“Still prefer stargazing, I see. Old habits never die.”
I spin around, goose bumps racing across my skin. A figure steps out of the shadows. The moonlight reveals startling blue eyes, boyish features under barley locks, sun-kissed skin on a lean, muscular frame. He tilts his head and pulls his lips in a lopsided grin that steals the breath from my lungs.
He is, quite possibly, the hottest guy I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he offers, edging closer to me. “I was listening to your music. It’s beautiful…magical even.”
I back against the railing, my senses on full alert, though I’ve no idea why. “I’ve never been called magical before. Stubborn. Willful. Never magical.” I reply.
“The music whispers your secrets, to anyone listening close enough.” He stops just inches away, pinning me with his intensity. “Perhaps, you have more secrets than you realize.”
There is something intriguing about him, a trace of wind chimes in his voice, the smell of rain on his skin.
“You’re acting awfully cozy for a stranger,” I manage to respond, backing away to reclaim my personal space.
“I’m no stranger, darling. We’ve met before. Not in this lifetime, mind you…the one before.”He brushes a loose curl from my face, a gesture alarming in its familiarity, even as it sends ripples of excitement skittering through my core. “It’s taken me a long time to find you.”
I pull away from his reach, visibly shaken.
He closes the gap between heartbeats. “It’s me, Peter.” he says, his brow wrinkled with worry, his eyes clouded with hurt. “You don’t remember, do you?”
I try to place him. Maybe I met him at Cole’s party last weekend, when I consumed way beyond the recommended daily allowance of whiskey.
“I’m sorry, err, Peter, I—“
“She said this would happen. Too much time has passed. She gave me something to help you–to help you remember.” He pulls out a dainty leather pouch and dumps its shimmering contents into his palm.
“That’s glitter.” I announce, annoyed. Glitter is an irritating substance that’s nearly impossible to remove from curly hair. “You’re going to jog my memory with glitter?”
Why does the hot guy have to be a crazy drunk?
“I don’t know what glitter is. This is pixie dust–it will help unlock your memories.” He raises his hand towards his face, anticipation lurking behind bright eyes.
Here we go.
Not drunk. Delusional.
“You’re lost Wendy, let me show you the way,” He pleads.
“My name’s not Wendy. Now, put the glitter back in its little bag and walk your crazy a—“
The crazy hot guy blows his handful of glitter right in my face.
Before the string of expletives could escape, a barrage of images overwhelm my senses…the movement of the scene made me feel in a dream.
I see a bird’s eye view of an island. The surrounding sea dotted with massive ships. I smell flowers, their sweet scent carried on the briny breeze. I feel raindrops, icy shards melting on burning skin. I hear the roaring trumpets of a dozen boys as they charge down the beach.
The images scroll faster.
I see pirates wielding swords, Indians shooting arrows, mermaids diving and faeries darting. And then there’s Peter…he’s holding my hand and were flying.
I’m flying.
Panic claws its way up my throat. I fall to my knees.
Oh. My. God. I’m hallucinating!
“Don’t fight it, Wendy. Go with it. These are your memories.”
“What did you give me?” I demanded. The threat of nausea second only to my searing headache.
I feel his cool hands gently cup my face. “Look at me. Look into my eyes and tell me you don’t remember who I am…who you are.”
I am swimming in pools of brilliant blue. I feel the barest breath of a kiss on my lips. He tastes of the sea and the sky, of sweet honey and sweeter secrets.
I stare deep into his fathomless eyes and see…me.
Not the girl I was precious minutes ago, but the girl from centuries past.
For a list of the participating writers, visit Ruth Long over at BULLISH INK!
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Support indie creatives across all disciplines by purchasing the CD, reading the stories and leaving your feedback for the musicians and writers!Our heartfelt thanks to all those involved and the listeners and readers that travel with us on the road to success:)
I’ve joined a group of gifted writers who weave works of flash fiction from photo prompts. Each day features a different author and a new “picspiration”. Stop by Daily Picspiration and treat your imagination to intriguing tales.
Curious about the story behind this picture? Bring your tissues and have a good cry over HEARTACHE!
The world is slowly slipping into a silence that is deafening in its finality.
Life has cast its final show, the last of its players scattered, their voices fragmented and forgotten. The once vibrant landscape has vanished into the hungry mouth of devastation.
Even I grow weary of the emptiness.
I find my melancholy alarming, an affliction that gains ground with every lost sound. Every life collected pulls this land deeper into desolation. When humanity began its descent into oblivion, the music followed. The remnants of strings and keys lay discarded, their melodies abandoned.
I would surrender a thousand souls if it would bring the music back…
Yet another light dims before me. A young boy, his body battered and broken in the sugary sand, his hand still holding fast the handle of a long weathered case. I can hear the erratic rhythm of his heart as its futile beats are stolen by the greedy wind. What is it he holds so dear, that in his final moments, the last of his strength is spent on this stubborn grip.
Curious, I snap open the locks that anchor his soul.
I have not seen this particular treasure in ages.
It is an instrument of hope.
I can still hear the echoes of its past–the stale breath of its notes hovering in the oppressive air. When the boy’s shell severs its spirit, the magic in this case will cease to exist. It will become yet another trinket of a dying breed.
That is reason enough to change the boy’s fate.
I refuse to take another spirit that promises an end to the stillness. And so I surrender my claim on his life.
He will live and he will play and he will fill the void with melodies long buried…he will become an instrument of change.
It has been ages, but Death has not forgotten the power of music.
Written for my husband, capturing the moment we first met…
A web of luminous strands pulsate in a riot of vibrant color, a thing of beauty only I can see. I weave in between the connections, each one a different shade of love, a different song resonating in its core.
The restaurant is alive with the sounds of a hundred conversations, plates scraping, glasses clinking, laughter and music. Not the music that trickles from the ceiling, but the songs that spill from their hearts, flowing through the threads that tie them to another, a thing of beauty only I can hear…
In a corner booth, a frustrated mother endures yet another battle of wills, the sticky strings binding her soul to her children burning the brilliant white of unconditional love. A choir of children’s voices can be heard playing along the web of a families’ deep-rooted affection.
Friends, laughing over sips of plum wine are wrapped in the glistening gold of understanding and camaraderie, their comfortable song an inviting guitar being plucked and pulled to match their banter.
An elderly couple sitting at the bar shares a plate of sushi, their iridescent blue cord humming with the steady wisdom of piano strings and a steadfast bond that time cannot touch.
Young lovers embracing near the window exude a fiery passion that glows in ruby tendrils, licking at their hearts with the intensity of a violin.
Behind the scarlet flames sits a pair I almost miss, the subtle sounds of their heartbeats slipping into silence, the drumming pulse of their connection fading. Like the yellow flower centered between them, the petals of their song have dropped, one by one, until there’s nothing left but the stem–a wilting memory of the music they once shared.
They have forgotten me…
A crackle of energy pulls me to yet another table. I watch, entranced as I’m drawn to a pair meeting for the first time. The woman’s mane of auburn curls cascade down her back in ribbons of anticipation, her crimson dress matching the flush that floods her cheeks. The young man’s chiseled jaw restlessly works to calm his nerves, his striking cerulean eyes dart from her eyes to the menu, his leg tapping a nervous rhythm underneath the ebony table.
I edge closer.
Their eyes meet. The man smiles.
The smile steals her breath and swallows her heart whole.
In that instant, a flood of silver sparks erupt between them. The music is deafening. An entire orchestra surging with the flame fiercely burning through their hearts.
It is a love they shared long ago. They may not remember the lives they once lived, but they remember me.
I am a thing of beauty anyone can see, anyone can hear. I am the whisper of possibility, the promise of connection, the passion that drives creation.
I’ve joined a gifted group of writers who create works of short fiction from photo prompts. Each day features a different writer with his or her own “picspiration”. Stop by Daily Picspiration for intriguing new stories updated daily!
Curious about the story behind this picture? Stop by for a shot of fantasy and a JINN & TONIC!
I appreciate feedback, so comment, critique or just banter to your heart’s content! Should you leave a really awesome comment over at Daily Picspiration, I may share my fair-trade, shade-grown, bird-sanctuary, organic coffee with you:) Or, if you leave a link to your site, I can just pop in and say something witty after polishing off a cup or two!
This epic Finale Tribute was created by the talented Elise Fallson!
They’ve given their voice to the music and now it’s time to cast YOUR VOTE for favorite chapter in the Tree of Life: Branching out story! Submit your vote via MESSAGE to Sam’s FB page until August 17th! Two lucky commenters will be selected to win signed Tree of Life albums.
Audiomachine will also choose their top three favorite excerpts! The writers of these winning posts will be awarded audiomachine’s new Tree of Life album, autographed by the celebrated composer, Paul Dinletir.
What do you think about the Branching Out collaboration? Are you a new slap-happy fan of audiomachine? Have you used music to inspire your imagination?
A tongue and cheek blog hop in honor of Mr. anti-blog hop himself, my dear friend, witty wordsmith, and fellow Tree of Life contributor, Gary Philip Pennick!
IWSG meets the first Wednesday of every month. A community of brilliant writers led by Alex J. Cavanaugh.
Inspiring Soundtrack: Audiomachine – Tree of Life
For this month’s post, I want to send my heartfelt thanks to the talented group of writers that exceeded the Tree of Life: Branching Out challenge I set out before them in a way I never would have dreamed.
Each of these writers possess a unique gift for the written word. They collectively merged their storytelling skills to create an overwhelmingly beautiful saga, wrought with meaning and woven with the essence of music.
With each new voice, the epic tale grew, branching out in unique ways that reflected the individual while honoring the whole.
I am in awe of their abilities, their strength, their enthusiasm and their support.
I may have planted the seed, but it is you who breathed life into it. Rooted in passion, it thrived on your imagination.
You are the branches of this, the Tree of Life.
It is an honor to have worked with you, and on behalf of audiomachine and myself, I cannot thank you enough for the incredible journey…
Amy Willoughby-Burle, John Wiswell, M. Pax, Al Diaz, Gary Philip Pennick, DL Hammons, Susan Scott, Ruth Long, Djinnia, Daniel Swensen, KC Hunter, Shannon Kenoyer Lawrence, Tina Downey, Beverly Fox, Michelle Wallace, Mina Lobo, Gwen Gardner, Angela Brown, Lisa Shambrook, Sarah Wesson, Leighton Williams, Elise Fallson, Vidya Sury, Damyanti Biswas and C. Lee McKenzie
Tree of Life Composers: Paul Dinletir Kevin Rix Danail Getz Jeff Marsh Steffan Michael Koch John A. Graves
Special thanks to:
Marc D’Amour of audiomachine, for his continued support of this project!
I’ve recently joined a gifted group of writers who create short stories from photo prompts. Each day features a different writer with his or her own “picspiration”. Stop by Daily Picspiration for intriguing new stories updated daily!
Curious about the story behind this picture? Take a look at my flash fiction, Treehuggers, a tongue & cheek dedication to all the brilliant Branching Out writers! There will be a reception afterwards in the tree house, with an open bar and heavy hors d’oeuvres:)
I appreciate feedback, so comment, critique or just banter to your heart’s content! Should you leave a really awesome comment over at Daily Picspiration, I may share my fair-trade, shade-grown, bird-sanctuary, organic coffee with you:) Or, if you leave a link to your site, I can just pop in and say something witty after polishing off a cup or two!
In the spirit of art influencing art, we joined forces in an epic collaboration where writers were given the opportunity to set their words to film composer, Michael Maas‘, inspiring music!
WriterlySam 