Welcome To Fake Paradise!

This is the personal writing blog for Joana Hill, creative writing major extraordinaire! Here you'll find the random ramblings and occasional writings of a girl obsessed with gay romance and the yaoi manga FAKE. You've been warned.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Update on NaNo

It's day four, and I'm up to 12,828 words so far. It's not even noon, though, so you can bet that will be increasing :) And here's a bit of the novel to tie you over until this thing hits shelves *crosses fingers*

I stared at the man sitting at the piano. He was the same one form the Spring concert. If I asked Noelle, she’d probably roll her eyes and tell me if I listened, I would've known he was going to be our new pianist.

“Good morning,” he said, finally looking away from the music sheets in his hands. I stiffened in my place, but he didn’t seem to notice. “You’re Rin, right?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. “Yeah, but how did you know?”

“Mr. Kais talks about his students a lot.” He smiled in a secretive sort of way and turned back around so he was facing the piano. And then he moved to the side, giving me room to sit beside him as I approached.

I glanced around. There were some students around, but they were too wrapped up in their own conversations to notice us. So I sat.

“Do you know how to play?” he asked. I was just sitting there, staring at the white and black keys before me. “You don’t have to look so terrified; it won’t bite you.” He took one of my hands and arranged my fingers over some keys. “Just try playing some scales.”

I pounded down, and a horrible combination of sour notes sounded. He let go of my hand, and I leaned back, blushing. “Sorry,” I muttered.

“You’re not a very subtle person, are you Rin?” He didn’t say it meanly, but he still looked like he was trying not to laugh.

The door opened, and I hunched my shoulders.

“Good morning, Ritchie.”

I looked up to see the choir director, Mr. Kais. He was a bit older, probably mid-thirties, not that he had ever told me. He was a great director, but he often looked tired, and his brown hair was starting to get grey patches.

Ritchie stood up from the piano bench and followed Mr. Kais to his office. They both disappeared inside, closing the heavy, soundproof door behind them. I sighed and fell forward, letting my forehead hit some piano keys. Surprisingly, it sounded better than when I had been trying.

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