Welcome to Friday Fiction! This is the part of the blog where I post something that is, hopefully, just made up enough to be considered fiction. It’s a chance to flex those creative muscles a bit by finding a quick writing prompt and running with it. This week’s prompt: “If your love life were a song, what would the title be?” And here’s how I’ll try and spin that into a story…
Adam chewed on his pencil as he stared at the blank piece of sheet music. The page was empty, save for the lines that were waiting to be filled in with notes. But he had nothing to put to paper.
He had no tune in his head. He had no lyrics in his heart.
It had been over a year since Adam had written what anyone would consider a hit song. Not that every song he wrote needed to be a hit. By this point, he would have been happy to churn out something that would have wound up being the eighth track on someone’s album that would never even be considered to be released as a single.
But there was nothing. It was as if the music that had always been inside him was gone.
In a way, he supposed it was. He no longer had his muse. It was an idea that Adam had always scoffed at. Muses don’t exist… Romantic nonsense… At least, that was what he always told himself. And then he met Diana. She changed his mind.
Sure, Adam had written songs before Diana was ever a blip on his radar. But once she came along, everything about his music changed. Suddenly his songs were filled with hope, with optimism. He went from liking what he did for a living to loving it. And things stayed that way for the better part of the last decade.
But the cancer came on quickly. It was brutal. It was relentless. And in the end, Adam lost the love of his life and, with her, most of the faith that he ever had in himself. Because he knew that faith had really come from her and the way she looked at him. The way she loved him.
Adam took the pencil out of his mouth and chucked it across the room. He was getting nowhere. So he grabbed his guitar and began to slowly play the first song he had ever written for Diana. It was a song he could play without even thinking about it.
As his fingers plucked the strings, he hummed the tune. He didn’t dare sing the lyrics for fear that the tears would choke him up. It isn’t that he was ashamed to cry, he just wasn’t sure if he would be able to stop once he started.
This could be a hit song, he thought. Adam had never shared it with anyone other than his wife. He kept it between the two of them. He wanted it to be theirs alone. He still wanted it to be theirs alone.
Going so long without writing anything meant less income. Sure, royalties on some of his more popular tunes were still helpful in making ends meet. But times had only gotten harder.
I could write this one down… send it in, Adam told himself. But would she want me to?
He continued strumming the tune effortlessly. He closed his eyes and pictured her, sitting across from him, watching him play as she had so many times throughout the life of their relationship. Without realizing he was crying, he heard the unintended added percussion of a teardrop hitting his guitar. And he stopped playing.
Adam set down the guitar, wiped away the few tears that had escaped his eyes, and crossed the room to retrieve his pencil. Then he returned to his seat and wrote at the top of the page, “Diana’s Song.”
Let the record show, I know absolutely nothing about the songwriting process. Nor do I have any clue how royalties work. And I really don’t know what goes on in the music industry at all. What preceded was my attempt at making up a story based on the prompt I was given. God speed.