Back-Pocket Dream

I've been watching the blind auditions for this year's The Voice, and... I really need to stop doing this to myself. I love music.  I've always loved music.  I love shows about music.  Honestly, I do.
But the thing about being so into music the way that I am--and if you look through my blog you can get a glimpse into this well of passion that burns within me--is that I have this heartfelt desire, a desire that I have always harbored, to be the alto that hits the industry.  Most of the female vocalists in the industry are sopranos.  They sing in these high registers, and everybody loves it.  It's like if you're a girl, you're just supposed to sing high.
But then there are girls like me, who love to sing, love to perform and do something that affects people, who really... can't sing that high.  I am an alto.  I sing music sung by men, because it's in my vocal range.  85% of the time, I don't sing it up the octave.  I don't move it at all.  It sounds different in my voice because music always sounds differently sung by a girl than it does by a boy.  But I sound better in that low register.
Now, seriously, I'm not trying to say that I'm a professional grade singer, because that's far from the truth.  I love singing but I probably have a long way to go.  Simultaneously, I know where my strengths lie, and I think that's a huge bonus.

That being said, it has always been a huge, huge dream of mine to sing professionally.  I have always wanted so. badly to be a part of that industry.  You have no idea how much of my heart and soul is in this, and I know how many other people say that, but... I dunno.  I've been singing since I was an infant--and I mean that quite literally--and... there's just... something about the act that makes me feel whole.  Singing makes me feel like, even though so little is right in the world, and so little is right within me, I can put the pieces back together, and I can be okay, and I can have a real, honest-to-God place in the world.
All of this sounds so freaking stupid and hokey and just absolutely ridiculous, but... I mean it.  I really do.

But here's the thing.  As much as I want to, I couldn't possibly do it.  I just couldn't.  I can't write music, though I have tried so desperately for so long.  I hear this music in my head every time I write about a band.  I hear the music that I'm describing in my head as I'm writing about it, but like hell can I ever play it.  It's just not fair, for how badly I want it.
People tell me that it just takes work, practice, a transformation of thought.  But being so involved in music, and being so close to people that are even more involved than I am, the ability to write music doesn't just miraculously appear while studying music in college.  You don't just... develop that.  It doesn't just happen.  Some of you might argue with me, but take some time for some hardcore introspection and try again.  I suppose I could be wrong, but... I dunno.
I know that other people write music for other artists.  I know I don't have to write my own music to make it.  I know that. I do.

My spotlight is not in music.  My spotlight is somewhere in the literature world, and I know that it's out there.  I know it's somewhere, and I'm going to find it.  As much as I wanted it to be in music, it simply isn't.  It just isn't.

My life is not a movie, nor is it a novel.  I don't get to follow all of my dreams, and I don't get to fulfill all of those things that I've prayed for since long before I knew how to.  We aren't meant to do all the things that we wish we could.  We aren't meant to follow all of our dreams.  Even though I can say that, it's still sad to have to admit it.  It's still sad to have to admit to myself that there's no way I can do all these things that I've always wanted to.  Wisdom always comes with a price.  Insight always comes from something that caused pain.  If being smart, being wise and insightful, means plowing through a life full of obstacles, of pains and sorrows, there are days that I would really rather be stupid.  But those times are few and far between, because the help that I have managed to be to people is worth it.  Someone has to go through the struggles so that others don't have to.  It would be nice if it wasn't me, but we aren't given the choice of where our lives go.

My struggles make my stories believable.  My struggles provide the heart, the soul, the energy of my work.  My experiences shape my outlook, and that outlook shapes my material.  I like where my material's been going.  I like so much.  But I have a long way to go.

This isn't a dream that I'm likely to follow.  If that makes you sad, think of all the things you've let fall by the wayside and tell me it's so different.  You have to let go of some things to hold onto others.  My writing is what I choose to hold onto.  My love for singing?  That's not something I'm going to let go of.  It's just not something I'm going to pursue.
It's a back-pocket dream.  And I really think we all need a few of those.


Have a good weekend, you guys.  Live for love and happiness and the dreams of a lifetime.  Tell a stranger s/he's attractive.  Donate.  Smile at the people you pass on the street.  It's the little things that change us daily, but someone has to step forward to do the little things.  Someone has to step forward.
Be the one that steps forward.  You never know what it could mean.

Until next time, and with love,
--Emily Renae
~xoxo

The Preface to The Review of a Hopelessly Amazing Yet Dreadfully Goddamn Sad Novel by One Such Author, John Green

Could that title get any longer? I have my doubts, and my suspicions.

John Green is an author I have discussed at great length at least once in the past. Well, perhaps his work more than himself as an individual, or an author specifically. In complete honesty, if I could get my hands on John's 100% up-front and in-depth life story, I would pay a very large sum for it. That may sound really creepy or stalkerish, but the fact of the matter is that I am highly interested in the play-out of his life which has influenced his writing. Far too much of his work is very heavily influenced by his life and experiences and I cannot deny my intrinsic curiosity about the specifics. I understand that his life is his own and there is absolutely no way that I could ever truly know it--or him by extension--but that does not remove the desire from me. And in all reality, No, I don't actually truly mean that, not in entirety, anyway. I hope you understand that conflict, because I've no desire to further explain it.

John Green has 4 published novels, all of which I am in possession of and 3 of which I have read. I did my final project last semester for my comp class on Looking For Alaska, and I may decide to post at least pieces of it here for you, because it was actually very good--whereas the last paper I posted was absolute garbage, just noting. And I never really got a chance to blog about LFA, either. So... we'll see what happens. Paper Towns was the subject of the blog post before last, and it ended up an extremely long post. I have yet to read An Abundance of Katherines, but I am quite certain that it will be one of my very-near-future endeavors.

I am presently 5 chapters from the completion of The Fault in Our Stars, whose title comes from a Shakespearean poem; I did not mark that page. By the time I actually write the rest of this blog post, I will have finished those 5 chapters. It is currently 2:00 AM on the 7th of February, and I have Microeconomics at 9:30; while not a particularly difficult class, it does require focus, because half-assing economics is kind of a dumb idea.

I kind of made this book into a project with quotes. While reading, I picked out quotes that stood out specifically to me, for whatever reason that might have been. I also asked a very good friend (one of my best, as a matter of fact; I feel it important to qualify that) to do the same thing. I haven't got a clue if she actually did it or not, but my book is full of little pink post-it tabbies. I may or may not eventually take them all out; it's hard to say at this point. This book is not as infinitely quotable as LFA was, or even Paper Towns, but TFiOS wasn't about being amusingly quotable, or really necessarily 'quotable' in general. It simply wasn't. Isn't. However you'd like it expressed. The Fault in Our Stars is... is... tragic. It's tragic and it's beautiful and yes, in places, it's incredibly funny, but it's so... Dreadfully Goddamn Sad. That's what it is. That's why I said it in the first place.

John Green writes about life. He writes about life and how dreadfully goddamn unfair it is and he doesn't pretend like because this is a novel, everything gets to end up being okay. Green doesn't do that to us. He doesn't sugarcoat the awfulness of things. He doesn't provide an illusion of grandeur to things that are just lifelessly... well... un-grand. There are far too many words that would fit there for me to pick even a few, so I'm going to use a very graceless "un-grand" instead, and you can just cope with it because sometimes, Green makes me very sad, indeed. And this novel makes me very sad.

I thoroughly appreciate that Green is 100% abhorrently realistic and honest and truthful and blunt while managing to be graceful and delicate and bold and creative and beautiful. I thoroughly appreciate that he doesn't just make the end glittering and golden because, as readers, as optimists, as people, we all want it to be. He doesn't make the ending happy because life so very rarely ends happily, and this is the heart of what Green is portraying: Life. Real, honest-to-God, painful, joyful, unfair, beautiful life.

Tomorrow we'll discuss this novel. Tomorrow I will cry, and I will wish I didn't get so emotionally attached to characters on paper and I will praise John Green for creating such beautifully dynamic characters and I will hate life for being what it is. Tomorrow.
Tomorrow.

Author's note: I wrote this last night at 2, as stated, but am forced to post it NOW because Blogger is being an absolute butthead. I don't understand what the hell is going on, but it's pissing me off. I will have a follow-up posted ASAP. Promise.