Consequences
I felt like throwing my violin at the wall. I had spent hours and hours getting my scales in tune, and I was still putting my fingers on the wrong places on the fingerboard. Rubbing my eyes, I put the violin down in its case and looked outside the window. It was pitch black outside, so that meant that it was very late. I sat down on the nearest chair, which creaked as it took my weight. I closed my eyes for a moment and thought to myself “What am I doing this for? I don’t like practicing scales and arpeggios.” Then I looked down at the sheet music that was sitting open on the old, wooden desk that was leaning against the wall as though it were using it as a crutch. I looked at it and saw a mixture of scales, arpeggios and chords put …show more content…
Now wide awake, I sighed and got up with my teeth chattering. Still wet, I put on my church clothes and went into the kitchen where my mother was cooking some horrible-smelling stew over a fire. My mother was sometimes a nice lady, though she wore the same plain dress every day and occasionally got unnecessarily angry at me when I didn’t wake up in time for church. “Get your shoes on, Niccolo. Get a spoon and pour the stew into a pot, we need to go NOW.” Wrinkling my nose at the stench, I tied the laces on my leather shoes and did as she asked. I suppose it being my birthday on October 27, 1791 didn’t excuse me from our family tradition of getting up early and visiting the church before I started my violin studies for the day. However, visiting church was not all that bad, thanks to one of my friends who was also named Niccolo. Niccolo Paganini. We were both the same age, even born on the same day on the same month. Although we were both the same age and both played the violin, his playing was absolutely perfect. Intonation, bowing, just everything. Only thing was that he knew it, and was quite arrogant about it too. The church was only a short walk from where I stayed, so I came upon
I felt like throwing my violin at the wall. I had spent hours and hours getting my scales in tune, and I was still putting my fingers on the wrong places on the fingerboard. Rubbing my eyes, I put the violin down in its case and looked outside the window. It was pitch black outside, so that meant that it was very late. I sat down on the nearest chair, which creaked as it took my weight. I closed my eyes for a moment and thought to myself “What am I doing this for? I don’t like practicing scales and arpeggios.” Then I looked down at the sheet music that was sitting open on the old, wooden desk that was leaning against the wall as though it were using it as a crutch. I looked at it and saw a mixture of scales, arpeggios and chords put …show more content…
Now wide awake, I sighed and got up with my teeth chattering. Still wet, I put on my church clothes and went into the kitchen where my mother was cooking some horrible-smelling stew over a fire. My mother was sometimes a nice lady, though she wore the same plain dress every day and occasionally got unnecessarily angry at me when I didn’t wake up in time for church. “Get your shoes on, Niccolo. Get a spoon and pour the stew into a pot, we need to go NOW.” Wrinkling my nose at the stench, I tied the laces on my leather shoes and did as she asked. I suppose it being my birthday on October 27, 1791 didn’t excuse me from our family tradition of getting up early and visiting the church before I started my violin studies for the day. However, visiting church was not all that bad, thanks to one of my friends who was also named Niccolo. Niccolo Paganini. We were both the same age, even born on the same day on the same month. Although we were both the same age and both played the violin, his playing was absolutely perfect. Intonation, bowing, just everything. Only thing was that he knew it, and was quite arrogant about it too. The church was only a short walk from where I stayed, so I came upon