The Baron Returns!

[velvetpage]

Well, I managed to write the chapter that was bothering me. I got around the writer's block by writing it out by hand. That forced me to forego the temptation to revise as I went, which slows me down and means nothing gets done unless I'm happy with what just happened. This has the added advantage of being possible while Elizabeth colours with her crayons. She did a pretty yellow flower, I did about a thousand words, and we're both happy.

I wrote it from his perspective, and I'm not sure I captured it correctly. There's a couple lines I'm not quite sure of, but the jist of it is there. It's been bugging me off and on all day.

Whenever I had that vision of Elizabeth picking up fake flowers, I made a conscious decision to superimpose one over it. The new one was the French play my kids are doing, the Three Little Pigs, with rainwolf in full costume as the wolf/gnoll. It made me smile every time. Even better was the moment when (in my head, since this doesn't happen until next Friday) my kids caught sight of him in the complete get-up. I ran through several different scenarios in my head, each one a little better than the last. They're all pretty convinced that it's Elizabeth coming in, so they're going to be totally shocked. In fact, they won't be expecting anyone at that time, since Elizabeth is indeed coming in the morning. I can hardly wait.

I also showed my kids one of the ways I work out frustration. We were in the music portable, which is perfect for presenting French plays because there are no desks. My kids were sitting with their make-work on their laps, at the back of the room, while the audience (another class, invited in) sat on the carpet in the centre of the room and the group that was performing did their thing at the front. Well, the performance was over, my kids were being noisy brats throughout, and I had just finished yelling at them, when I realized there was a piano at the back of the room. I told the few who were listening that I was going to blow off some steam, sat down, and played through Beethoven's Pathetique Sonata, second movement, without stopping. The dynamics and phrasing were all off because the touch on that piano is so different from mine, but the notes were there and the heart certainly was. I had about six of them spellbound. One of them kind of giggled at the middle, where the pace changes and I made a slight mistake. One of the girls fixed him with a good teacher look and said, "Can you do better?" He subsided, and I continued with no more interruptions. It was priceless.

Comments

[r-caton.livejournal.com]

My dad apparently used to vent by playing the piano...my sister has it now. My teacher at primary school taught me enough piano (via the time honoured tradition of auricular percussion) to last a life time; and now I suspect if it wasn't full of little wheels, bellows and pipes I wouldn't give one house room.

[velvetpage.livejournal.com]

I lived without one for two years when we were first married, since getting one up to the apartment would have been next to impossible. (Getting our current one up the porch steps was nearly impossible. It literally weighs a ton.) I wouldn't want to do without it now. It's a wonderful instrument, and I'm so used to its tone and timbre that playing any other just doesn't appeal to me as much. The fact is, I don't play that well. I have good technique, but I can't sight read for beans and I've never been able to play by ear worth a darn. That limits me to pieces I'm prepared to practise for months, which I did with the Pathetique. I love it, in part, because I can play it blindfolded. My kids were rather surprised that I kept closing my eyes or looking away from my fingers. They didn't seem to grasp that a really good pianist hardly ever looks down.

[r-caton.livejournal.com]

I used to look down a good deal. then got the music wrong.
look at the music*WHACK*
look at the keys!*WHACK*
look at the music*WHACK*
look at the keys!*WHACK*
look at the music*WHACK*
look at the keys!*WHACK*
look at the music*WHACK*
et cetera, et cetera, et cetera...

Good ol' traditional teaching from the 1930's...still going 30 years later.

[velvetpage.livejournal.com]

*shudder* The methods I was taught by were progressive by comparison. No hitting involved. Lots of stickers, though.

[anidada.livejournal.com]

"Can you do better?" *rotfl* I like her. :)

[velvetpage.livejournal.com]

I like her too. She's one of my really nice girls. She was asking me afterwards how I got to be so good at so many things. She wasn't even trying to butter me up - she really wanted to know. I explained about the many hours of practice involved, but it was a nice boost to my ego.