Sing. Sing a Song.
When I was a few years younger, I was one of those wanna-be-singers you'd most likely find breaking the sound barrier at karoake bars. My song back then: I Will Survive. Oh, and I sang it with a vengeance, too. Someone had just broken my heart, twisted it into a thousand different directions and left me feeling rather sad. So, to soothe my weary soul, I took to the makeshift stages wherever I could find one. Oh, I thought I sounded awesome up there, singing and strutting my stuff, entertaining the drunken crowds with my rendition of the popular karoake song, a rendition that managed to catapult me to greater heights; straight out of the dumps and onto bigger and better days. Of course, not until someone actually recorded me did I realize how badly I jerked that song around, and how wonderfully supportive drunken crowds could be! I've since replaced the microphone and need to scream out lyrics in front of unsuspecting crowds with a more refined approach to finding that inner sweet spot - with writing my novels like Tangerine Twist and The Fiche Room, however I can't deny that when I Will Survive comes on the radio, I still belt out those lyrics like I was singing to a room of fans.
Now, if only I could actually sing... Until then, I'll just keep on writing...
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