he was praising me. I had to allow time for the information to compute. ‘Me!’ Iexclaimed. I had been inflated and popped in a matter of seconds. ‘What do you mean, me?’
‘You don’t look good. You’ve no image.’ His tone was harsh and direct. ‘Sean, what can I say?’ he continued more genially. The music industry is a tough place and it takes more than a couple of good tunes to sell records.’
My grip tightened on my guitar neck. I could feel myself becoming flustered. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The music doesn’t count?
These four guys had first contacted me months earlier. In the time that followed, they’d heard my music, seen pictures of me, thrown me the odd compliment and basically told me that this showcase gig was just a formality.
Formality, my ass!
My mind raced, faster, infuriated. I’d been used. Standing in front of them, I wondered how I was supposed to respond to criticism like that. Thank them for the frank but belated appraisal? Without realising it, I began rubbing my hands and feet together. Not much in the beginning, but as they continued to stare at me I became conscious of what I was doing. I tried to stop. I tried to speak but I was in a mental freeze. No words could explain this mad action I was performing.I clenched my fists, then loosened them. Rubbed one shoe over another and then repeated the act.
Turn your back to them. No, I can’t do that, I’ll look even worse.
Dear Holy God please protect…
I had to move my hand on the guitar neck. It felt as though all the negativity I’d heard was now at the tip where I was holding it. If I moved my hand the negativity would go. But before I moved it, I had to wipe the tip so that the negativity would be able to leave.
Dear Holy God please protect…
Surely I looked as though I was having a fit, but the four men continued to look on without comment.
What are they staring at? I NEED TO TURN MY BACK AND COMPOSE MYSELF .
‘I need to compose myself,’ I suddenly exclaimed aloud, then turned around.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
There was a silence in the room that was sharp and vicious. Finally I turned back and looked at the men.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I exclaimed, ‘I really am so sorry.’
They continued to stare at me.
‘Obviously I don’t take criticism easily!’ I laughed nervously, trying to make light of the situation. Still the men remained quiet.
Wait a minute, why am I taking this crap from these guys? I can leave this. These guys have no hold on me. I am a free agent. What have I lost? Just a little time and ego.
I stepped down from the small stage where I’d been standing and packed away my guitar.
‘Sorry to have wasted your Saturday,’ I said sourly, as I made my way to the door.
Don’s voice echoed from behind. ‘That could work!’ He spoke confidently, with excitement. I heard another voice agreeing and I turned to inquire.
‘What could work?’ I knew the answer before it had even left his mouth.
‘That, what was it—?’ He tried to describe it. ‘That mental breakdown thing you just did there. The thing you did with your hands and your feet! Whatever it was you were doing, we could sell that.’
I was shocked. ‘You could sell what? What are you talking about?’ I bluffed.
‘Even better, he doesn’t even know he does it. We could definitely sell that!’ Don was practically salivating at the prospect.
‘I know exactly what you’re talking about!’ I fought back. ‘My problems are not part of the deal!’
‘Think about it.’
Don’s words grated through my mind as I slammed the door behind me. It was misery to think that the worst in me was the only thing that could make the best of me come alive.
‘Owww,’ yelled Akio from behind. I had just reached our lunch village ahead of the others, but ran back to investigate.
‘Leechee,’ he cried. ‘Look, leechee on my leg.’ He pointed to the black slug-like creature sucking at his heel.
‘Pull it off,’
‘You don’t look good. You’ve no image.’ His tone was harsh and direct. ‘Sean, what can I say?’ he continued more genially. The music industry is a tough place and it takes more than a couple of good tunes to sell records.’
My grip tightened on my guitar neck. I could feel myself becoming flustered. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The music doesn’t count?
These four guys had first contacted me months earlier. In the time that followed, they’d heard my music, seen pictures of me, thrown me the odd compliment and basically told me that this showcase gig was just a formality.
Formality, my ass!
My mind raced, faster, infuriated. I’d been used. Standing in front of them, I wondered how I was supposed to respond to criticism like that. Thank them for the frank but belated appraisal? Without realising it, I began rubbing my hands and feet together. Not much in the beginning, but as they continued to stare at me I became conscious of what I was doing. I tried to stop. I tried to speak but I was in a mental freeze. No words could explain this mad action I was performing.I clenched my fists, then loosened them. Rubbed one shoe over another and then repeated the act.
Turn your back to them. No, I can’t do that, I’ll look even worse.
Dear Holy God please protect…
I had to move my hand on the guitar neck. It felt as though all the negativity I’d heard was now at the tip where I was holding it. If I moved my hand the negativity would go. But before I moved it, I had to wipe the tip so that the negativity would be able to leave.
Dear Holy God please protect…
Surely I looked as though I was having a fit, but the four men continued to look on without comment.
What are they staring at? I NEED TO TURN MY BACK AND COMPOSE MYSELF .
‘I need to compose myself,’ I suddenly exclaimed aloud, then turned around.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
There was a silence in the room that was sharp and vicious. Finally I turned back and looked at the men.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I exclaimed, ‘I really am so sorry.’
They continued to stare at me.
‘Obviously I don’t take criticism easily!’ I laughed nervously, trying to make light of the situation. Still the men remained quiet.
Wait a minute, why am I taking this crap from these guys? I can leave this. These guys have no hold on me. I am a free agent. What have I lost? Just a little time and ego.
I stepped down from the small stage where I’d been standing and packed away my guitar.
‘Sorry to have wasted your Saturday,’ I said sourly, as I made my way to the door.
Don’s voice echoed from behind. ‘That could work!’ He spoke confidently, with excitement. I heard another voice agreeing and I turned to inquire.
‘What could work?’ I knew the answer before it had even left his mouth.
‘That, what was it—?’ He tried to describe it. ‘That mental breakdown thing you just did there. The thing you did with your hands and your feet! Whatever it was you were doing, we could sell that.’
I was shocked. ‘You could sell what? What are you talking about?’ I bluffed.
‘Even better, he doesn’t even know he does it. We could definitely sell that!’ Don was practically salivating at the prospect.
‘I know exactly what you’re talking about!’ I fought back. ‘My problems are not part of the deal!’
‘Think about it.’
Don’s words grated through my mind as I slammed the door behind me. It was misery to think that the worst in me was the only thing that could make the best of me come alive.
‘Owww,’ yelled Akio from behind. I had just reached our lunch village ahead of the others, but ran back to investigate.
‘Leechee,’ he cried. ‘Look, leechee on my leg.’ He pointed to the black slug-like creature sucking at his heel.
‘Pull it off,’
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