"Okay. You haven't completed the song. How much have you done?"
"… None."
"NONE? I thought you were the creative genius!"
"Matt, the gig is two days - hear that? DAYS - from now, and we only have half a set. If we use covers! When will you be done?"
"Don't rush me."
"Hate to break it to you, Mozart, but we are in crisis mode. Either you write us this song, or we can't go on!"
"I'll get it done."
"You had better."
-x-x-
Matt sighed. He was so doomed. The other guys in his band were going to murder him. And then resurrect him so that the audience members could have their turn. This gig was - without exaggeration - The Big One. Ready to make or break them. Up until now they'd played at school events, and at small private functions. But this time they had finally secured a professional public performance at a well-known club. A club that agents and talent scouts were rumoured to visit. It could be their ticket to the Big Time.
So everything had to be new. New songs, new sets, new routines. And because Matt was the primary songwriter, a lot of that responsibility fell squarely on his shoulders.
Normally, he wouldn't mind. Usually he thrived under pressure. He wasn't one to stress out and fall apart in hysterics. He would just sit down and get it done. Unfortunately, he didn't think that would work this time. He seemed to have completely lost his creative spark. No matter how hard he tried, new music just wouldn't come to him. His bedroom floor was littered with failed attempts, each one a shade more pitiful than the last.
And he didn't know what to do. Every avenue seemed a dead end. If they went on stage with a set of terrible new songs and covers, they would be laughed off stage. The club would never have them back and they'd never find an agent. If they went on stage with only their older, far better music, they'd be told to come back only when they had something new and different. Another opportunity lost. Another step backwards in a business in which one wrong move could ruin everything. The business of shattered hopes and broken dreams.
Matt shook his head. He didn't want his band to crash and burn the way so many others had. He knew they were good, and he knew they deserved a shot at stardom. He didn't want all their hard work to amount to nothing.
And as much as he did not want to admit it, it was beginning to look like that was the way fate was sending them. And it would be all his fault, unless he found inspiration soon. And this was why he was taking a long walk. He wasn't running away, exactly. He just had to get away from the world. He was sure that, if given peace and quiet and some beautiful scenery, he would find the song he needed.
Or at least a good place to hide when everyone wanted his head on a pike.
He was wandering down a fairly overgrown path through a nature reserve. It was a park he'd visited often as a child, but not in many years. If he was remembering correctly, he thought he was probably heading towards a secluded pond. He didn't think many people knew about it - it was rather a long way into the bush - and he was hoping that there, by the gently lapping water, he could find his peace.
As he walked, his fingers moved through various chord progressions, itching to find the right one. Snippets of music played in his mind, but somehow each one sounded totally wrong. When he was at his best, whole songs would just come rushing to him, and he would have to scramble for the nearest pen and paper in order to scrawl them down. At his worst, he was like a desert waiting for the rain.
So he was distracted as he ambled into the clearing. He wasn't paying attention to where he was. He meant no wrong, really. But once he'd stopped, and properly focussed on the view before him, he was unable to move. Unable to leave though he should have.
This was not what he'd been expecting.
Emma's useless facts about nothing in particular
The lining of a person's stomach is replaced every 36 hours.