A Musician's Life -Revised

I asked for critique for this piece, and was rewarded with some helpful observations. This is the first revision. (Unknown, at this point, if more is needed. Let me know. And I will come back, even later too, to decide, assuming my writing keeps improving.) After this version, I've kept the original ending, for anyone stopping by after-the-fact.

Critique still wanted -

Johnny was accepted into Julliard at the young age of ten, so his parents move to New York for him. The word "prodigy" was said often, even by the instructors in a school full of exceptional talent.

He loved the piano, so studying wasn't a duty; it was joy. Even after six years, his parents never needed to wake him up on Saturdays. Despite the one-hour trip by bus and then subway, he was there at nine and returned late for dinner, every Saturday for 30 weeks a school year. The only difficulty was managing regular schooling, while practicing the piano at home. He had to maintain good grades to go on to college for his music, so he did what was needed. Summer was filled with the sound of his piano.

His playing abilities flourished. "Prodigy" seemed too small a word anymore. Accepted into the college, John continued, now given more time on the piano and living on-campus.

His adviser was pleased by his progress, but suggested he needed to enjoy life away from the piano, too.

He dismissed the idea with a simple, "if you say so."

He discovered the recording studio. Other students joined him and an ensemble was formed. The group enjoyed their Friday nights together – talking music, practicing a piece, perfecting it, and then recording it. Afterwards, everyone went out for a beer. John stayed behind at the piano.

The following year, his advisor asked John to socialize more and develop other hobbies away from the piano.

"What for?"

By senior year, the ensemble had recorded enough music to make a demo, which became quite the hit around campus. A promoter heard it at a party, and signed up them. Carnegie Hall was filled a year later. John's piano was heard by thousands, and then millions. His ensemble was living the dream. John was playing his piano and now living in a penthouse with its own recording studio.

The rest of the musicians still enjoyed their beer, after a gig. They still enjoyed time together, and two married each other. John was back at the auditorium, playing his piano until the roadies had to pack it for the next gig.

The promoter was disappointed when the married couple announced a child was on its way, so they were retiring. Money would never be a concern. John played on, barely noticing the difference with the replacement musicians.

His promoter hired people for John, to cater to all his needs – an assistant to help him with all the needs of the business, a housekeeper to keep his home in order and feed him, a driver, and studio musicians and a soundman at his beckon call, day or night, if he had a song that needed more background. John would have liked a fill-in, when he had to do appearances for talk shows, but that just couldn't happen. The music kept coming.

The ensemble changed over the years, until, eventually, everyone retired. John was now a solo act, but always sold out. His fingers slowed down, but never missed a note, and his music always remained fresh. He still played his piano, until the roadies had to take it.

Arthritis forced him to move to warmer climates. He chose a mansion in Beverly Hills, because it kept him close to many of the gigs. He barely noticed the new staff.

After decades of constant use, his traveling piano and his home piano were beyond repair. He remembered the inferior pianos from earlier in life, and knew he needed custom-made pianos. He was despondent for those quiet weeks, the first quiet weeks he ever remembered.

Finally, when the piano was delivered, he was renewed, like that ten-year-old boy from long ago. He sat down, before the movers had left. The arthritis had leached in too deeply. He couldn't play.

* * * * *

Arthritis forced him to move to warmer climates. He chose LA, because it kept him close to many of the gigs. He barely noticed the new staff, but when his piano had to be replaced, he was depressed for weeks. He remembered school days, always using an inferior piano, so he bought two custom-made pianos, for his mansion and for the road.

Finally, the arthritis won. He could no longer play his piano. Now what?

* * * * *

Prompts for September 9, 2009:

• show the passage of time rather than a single moment in time
• use the words "If you say so..."
• include a rhetorical question
• include the name of a state
• tag with wwe   --trust me, that's almost the only way I'll find your submission