Shawna Bell, WIP
I have not written anything in a long time. Inspiration is hard to come by some times. I usually get my ideas from dreams. I haven’t had any in a while that I remembered after waking up or worth putting on paper. Well, a couple nights ago I had a good one. It probably helped that I was having trouble sleeping in order to remember the dream so vividly. Anyway, after hemming and hawing about how I couldn’t write this story because I don’t know enough about American black culture, my husband told me to stop making excuses and just do it. So today I did. There are still elements missing, and it sounds a little like a movie script and less like a novel, I offer the first three pages:
Shawna stands on stage, microphone in hand, head thrown back as her voice echoes through the arena. Thousands of voices can be heard screaming along with the words. She is at the height of her career, her albums going double platinum, but even as the music swells inside her chest ripping out through her throat like a geyser, she feels hollow. Sweat beads on her brow causing her chocolate brown skin to glisten in the glow of the stage lights. As the last note escapes through her mouth, she drops into a quick bow. She stays that way for a second letting the crowd’s applause to roll over her. She breathes in short gasping breaths. As the energy of her fans slams into her, she, just as suddenly rises to her full height, arms flung up into the air. The crowd erupts once again with renewed clapping and cheers, begging for more. The lights go out and a disembodied voice says softly into a microphone, “Thank you.”
