For November, This Beautiful Sentence will be slightly different. Instead of focusing on other authors’ words I’ve found beautiful, for NaNoWriMo month I’ll be pulling out four of my favorite passages I’ve written during previous NaNoWriMos. When you’re rushing to write 50,000 words in a month, a lot of that material isn’t great, but every once in a while something bright shines through the pile of rubble.
Last week was from 2022. This one is a scene from 2023’s NaNoWriMo. It’s Eileen’s first day at her elite performing arts boarding school. She has been picked for the team that represents the academy at important competitions. It’s extremely rare for a freshman to be selected, and she’s meeting the man who picked her and is the coach of the team.
The writing is pretty straightforward, but this one stands out to me because there is so much going on in less than 1000 words: Eileen finding out that she’s not alone in her anxiety and insecurity about her dancing, the difficulty of a life in the arts, synesthesia, beautiful music, a nod to one of my favorite Nabokov passages of all time (“Picnic, lightning.” as he disposes of Humbert’s mother in only two words), blessings/curses (Eileen is so sensitive she sees beauty everywhere, but it also means she lives her life in almost constant sensory overload), and it closes on the idea that there is so much to life that people don’t see.
“Oh, that’s right. You were Marcy’s star pupil.”
“Madame Price?”
“Yep. I called her Marcy when we went to school together and she hated it, which made me do it even more because I have a very sarcastic sense of humor sometimes. Marcella’s very traditional and stuffy, but there probably isn’t anyone better in the entire state at building perfect fundamentals.”
“She was very big on those. She’d always say that you can’t put on the roof until you’ve dug a deep basement. Can I ask you a question about something I might not even be allowed to know about?”
“If I can’t tell you, I won’t.”
“Did she like me?”
“Why would you ask?”
“It’s just that sometimes she would make me feel so beautiful, but sometimes she’d say something that was like her poking a pin right into my heart. Kind of like what you said you’d be doing.”
“We both went to a good school and we both felt like that there sometimes, too.”
“Where?”
“Have you ever heard of Juilliard?”
“I’ve only heard other people talk about it.”
“Marcy’s recommendation letter was the shortest in the stack. She said it breaks her heart that you going here would mean four years without you in her studio, but this is the place where you’d spread the biggest wings she ever saw and fly the way you deserve.”
“She really said that?”
“Cross my heart et cetera. I didn’t even know she had a heart to break, so those are big words coming from her.” He laughed loudly at his joke. “What was it you were afraid to say about me earlier?”
“That you looked a lot meaner during my audition.”
He gave a laugh that sent his head back. It wasn’t one of those that made you feel like you were being mocked; it was one that invited you in on the laugh. “We’re always like that at auditions. If you can’t handle three people staring at you for free, you’ll get eaten alive by 2,000 people who dressed up and paid full price.”
“I was really scared.”
“I know. You won’t be by the time we’re done with you.”
“You knew? Then why did you pick me?”
He sat down at the piano and played for about ten seconds. “What color is this?”
“Ochre.”
“You’re sure?”
“What else would it be?”
“Satie always uses the weirdest colors, doesn’t he?” He started playing something much faster, with notes that fell like sugar being sprinkled into a pan of cold water. “How about this?”
“It’s like looking through a pale blue icicle when the sun hits it just right. So sparkly.”
“Delicious, right? Do you know what it is?”
“No, but it’s probably off Chopin’s palette.”
“Bravo. It’s his ‘Aeolian Harp’ etude.”
“I wasn’t sure. That piano needs tuning. The shade is a little off color.”
“I know. They do every one of them on campus over summer break, but they’re behind this year because the tuner they contract with got struck by lighting at a picnic last month.”
“What a horrible way to go.”
“It’s tragic enough to go in a book someday. Okay, now, third time’s a charm.”
Only a few seconds in, I sucked in my breath, then let it out as a long sigh.
“Ooh, whatever shade this is for you must be as lovely as mine.”
“This one doesn’t have a color. I hear this one with my heart.”
He stopped playing and it was then I realized my eyes were closed. He had turned around on the piano bench and was leaning toward me, doing that slow, gentle nod that brings the chest along with it, waiting for me to speak.
I was so embarrassed at having gotten caught that I couldn’t. He said, “Music isn’t something you listen to, is it?”
“I listen to it all the time, sir. All kinds. Whenever I can.”
“No, I mean it’s not something you just listen to. There’s something in music that activates something in you, isn’t there?”
“Is that bad, sir?”
“It’s what got you here at your age. That year you’re ahead is a huge year in a young dancer’s life. It’s what will get you through here, but it’s also what just stopped your world for a second. Every blessing has its curse.”
“I’m sorry. That’s just… that was the first real piece my mother taught me to play.”
“Wow. She really knows you, doesn’t she?”
“I’m sorry?”
He patted the bench and scooted over. I sat down next to him. He swept his hand a few inches over the keys as if to remove an invisible cover.
I sat up with perfect posture and placed my hands over the keys with equally-poised arms and hands. I’d never had a piano recital–playing it was something maman and I did together as an intimate, not formal pair–so I simply borrowed what I knew how to do from ballet.
I began to play, and about a minute in, Mister Scott leaned over so his mouth was near my ear. “Eileen, it’s okay to dream here.”
“How so?”
“The piece. It’s Debussy, your mother, and me giving you permission to dream.”
I let out a small laugh and stopped playing. “Oh, I get it. Rêverie.”
He pointed at my leotard. “This is the place of your dreams, isn’t it?”
I blushed. “I’m still having a hard time believing I’m here at all, much less on your team.”
“You don’t realize you’re special, do you?”
“Not really, no.”
“Most people don’t see music in color. There’s a word for people like us.”
“Aliens?”
He laughed and clapped. “We’re synesthetic. We’ve been given a gift most people don’t even know exists.”
“Seriously? What do people see when they listen, then?”
“Nothing. And they don’t know they can’t see it.”
Next week: This Beautiful Sentence goes back to normal on Wednesday, December 4th. The quotation will be by a mystery author. Not an author of mysteries, but an author who is famous throughout the world who you’ll have to guess about!
See the index for what’s been posted and what’s to come.
I'd love to hear from you!