Jamal Lyon (
heavythecrown) wrote in
cycleofages2016-11-20 03:14 am
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Who: Jamal Lyon, OTA
What: Trying to get out of his creative rut??
Where: Rec room
When: Nov 20, late morning
Warning: Mention of violence.
After spending more time that could be reasonable in his room, Jamal decides that the same scenery day after day isn't good for his creative processes. So despite the fact that he's still more of the opinion that he wants to avoid encounters -- which probably would have been good for him anyway -- he made his way down to rec area. He knew there were different areas for activities but he was drawn to the comfy sofas for now.
Setting against the the arm of one, he pulls the pencil from where he'd stored it behind his ear, the tablet that had been in his other hand now on his lap. Honestly, there wasn't much more here to give him a spark of inspiration than there had been in his room. He really should look into trying to get his hands on a keyboard again.
He shook his head, putting pencil to paper and furrowing his brow when not a single word came and the music that his entire life had been a constant companion and soundtrack to the world was silenced --had been since he'd been shot at an awards show. Maybe he'd lost his music in all that had changed.
What: Trying to get out of his creative rut??
Where: Rec room
When: Nov 20, late morning
Warning: Mention of violence.
After spending more time that could be reasonable in his room, Jamal decides that the same scenery day after day isn't good for his creative processes. So despite the fact that he's still more of the opinion that he wants to avoid encounters -- which probably would have been good for him anyway -- he made his way down to rec area. He knew there were different areas for activities but he was drawn to the comfy sofas for now.
Setting against the the arm of one, he pulls the pencil from where he'd stored it behind his ear, the tablet that had been in his other hand now on his lap. Honestly, there wasn't much more here to give him a spark of inspiration than there had been in his room. He really should look into trying to get his hands on a keyboard again.
He shook his head, putting pencil to paper and furrowing his brow when not a single word came and the music that his entire life had been a constant companion and soundtrack to the world was silenced --had been since he'd been shot at an awards show. Maybe he'd lost his music in all that had changed.

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"Let me grab that," he said, crossing the distance to reach down and pick it up, unable to help but notice the design on the paper that was face up. "Wow, that's really good," he said, offering the sketchbook back to her, a bit sheepishly because he really shouldn't have looked. He'd know how he'd feel if someone taken a peek at his unfinished lyrics.
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"That I can relate to." Picking up again had been the most difficult thing and it still wasn't going particularly well.
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He hesitated slightly at the question. "I had an injury and some issues with a friend," he finally said. It was strange to be in a world where his shooting hadn't been live on TV.
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