Whether it be melodies that give you inspiration for your muse, or songs that get you into the writing mood, pick 10 SONGS you find give you the urge, the drive, or the creativity to write for your muse, then tag your favorite peeps to get an insight on their musical inspirational feels.
TAGGED BY: technically @actofgenius but basically myself from @miimesis
01. “Le Cygne” by Saint Saens
02. “Op. 20: I (Lake in the Moonlight)” from Swan Lake
03. “La Complainte De La Butte” by Rufus Wainwright
04. “Je Te Veux” by Erik (lol) Satie
05. “Raindrop- Op 28, No 15” by Chopin
06. “La Vie En Rose” by Laura & Anton
07. “La Seine” by Vanessa Paradis et -M- dans
08. “Mars Is No Fun” by Camille
09. “Suis-Moi” by Camille
10. “Shut up and Dance” by Walk the Moon
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“ … I am really scared of flipping pancakes. ”
“ Sorry, did that hurt? Ooh, I want a go! ”
“ Of course, I assume they’re all missing me terribly. ”
“ We’re a rock band, not a symphony orchestra. ”
“ Ugh, this is so embarrassing. ”
“ So, Willy Loman, he’s a travelling
salesman and he’s having a
nervous breakdown. I guess
what he’s selling ain’t selling!
What’s he’s… selling ain’t… See,
he had these big dreams for his
two sons, Biff and Happy. But
trust me, no-one’s happy in this
play. Oh, yeah, he croaks at the
end. It was real sad. No really.
It drained my eyeballs. ”
( It’s been like... just over a YEAR since I made this puny lil sideblog, and I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has stuck with me through my indecisive muses and weird hiatus things that aren’t really hiatuses cause I kinda just end up coming back :P I’m actually kinda thinking of making Meg into a proper, main blog at some point. It would make things a whole lot easier! And I’ve been wanting to change my url for a while now, considering it’s a bit morbid for my interpretation of Meg! So I might be doing that sometime soon! Anyway, thank you to everyone I know on here! I love you guys so much, and this is the nicest fandom I have ever been in. )
Meg, although seeming high spirited at most times, was a very lonely child. Without a special friend to confide in and with a Mother who maybe pushed her too hard from time to time, she found she couldn’t talk freely to many. And so, she turned to herself. She would create imaginary friends when she was younger, and even imagined the infamous Opera Ghost was listening. In fact, until a few years ago, she considered him on her side. She thought about the people who made her unhappy; and she thought about how he could save her from them.
But those times had passed, and Meg, at the age of fifteen, was quite through with imaginary friends. This evening, however, she regressed. The young lady simply couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned and finally, she accepted the fact that she wouldn’t be able to, and went to the place she usually retired to when she suffered with the inability to sleep - the stage.
She loved the stage in the evening. It was dark and empty and her’s. Not the lead dancer’s or the prima donna’s. Meg’s and Meg’s alone. And she called on her friend, the Opera Ghost, that evening, as she swung her legs over the side of the wooden platform.
“ Salut, ” she called out. “ I apologise for not speaking to you in a while. You see, girls my age aren’t supposed to have imaginary friends. We’re very much supposed to be grown up. But I don’t think I can do that yet, not while I’m on my own. So I’ve come to talk to you, if that’s alright, Monsieur. ”
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( So I thought it was time for a drabble! I hope whoever is kind enough to take the time to read this enjoys it. I’ve never really written about Meg and dancing in great detail, I thought I’d get the notion down while I could. )
It wasn’t often that Meg Giry was compared to a swan. It was always a sprite, a pixie, a water nymph. Now, Meg was happy with this association, happy indeed, especially when she was leaping about the stage with a bounce in her lithe step. But she always found that she took pride in slow, graceful variations, too. Something she had only been able to demonstrate to herself in private, and her Mother when she was small enough to be able to show off.
( So I thought it was time for a drabble! I hope whoever is kind enough to take the time to read this enjoys it. I’ve never really written about Meg and dancing in great detail, I thought I’d get the notion down while I could. )
It wasn’t often that Meg Giry was compared to a swan. It was always a sprite, a pixie, a water nymph. Now, Meg was happy with this association, happy indeed, especially when she was leaping about the stage with a bounce in her lithe step. But she always found that she took pride in slow, graceful variations, too. Something she had only been able to demonstrate to herself in private, and her Mother when she was small enough to be able to show off.
Meg couldn’t sleep that evening. She tossed and turned so much in her little wooden bed that her mass of strawberry blonde curls stood up on their own. The tiny specimen of a human being pouted as she sat up. Folding her arms, she stood and made her way to the place she always went when she suffered with the inability to get a good night’s slumber.
The stage.
The Opera House after everyone had left was a sight that Meg had always loved. It was like it was hers, her spotlight, her stage. There she was, dancing up front, on her own - and as many people as she could picture sitting and watching her. Her seventeen-year-old mind had yet to sift out the remains of an extremely active imagination she had lived in as a child. However, this time, she wanted everyone gone. The family in the first row with the pretty yellow hair had been rushed out of the place because their house had a funny smell coming from it. The couple behind them had to leave because their dog was having puppies. She giggled, resembling a tinkling bell found on a baby girl’s rattle.
It was just little Meg Giry and her stage.
In this moment, the few hours of dance she managed to steal before it was time to wake, she could be anyone she wanted to be. She pictured herself as a prima ballerina, and she was taller (much taller) and long-limbed. Her fingers were twice the length than in reality and she had thick, smooth locks the colour of an English princess. A dull brown, classically beautiful.
She quickly stretched her muscles - if there was one thing her Mother had taught her, it was to prepare herself in case of injury, which she dreaded.
Meg imagined she grew wings in place of arms - brilliant white wings, so soft and delicate that she was afraid to touch them. The feathers were like petals, and they caused her to glide across the stage.
She could recall every note of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake - it was a favourite that she never did voice, as others envisioned it was merely not Meg’s speed. And in this instance, in her mind she was every instrument, she was the conductor, she was the lights and she was the artistry in the set constructed behind her. She was the stagehands and she was the applause.
An arm extended into the air with a flick of a finger and she was off. Across the stage she twirled, a smile unlike her other ones etched upon her face. A smile that spoke of contentedness, not her usual overactive excitement. She raised her leg to her chin and back again, balancing with such control that it was effortless to watch her trust her entire weight in the end of her toes and a tiny block of wood at the bottom of her ballet shoes.
Meg felt and breathed and drank the music in her head and translated it to movement, to visual. This is what she excelled in - being able to hear a tune and convert it for an audience so they might understand. And she took such joy in both fields - the sound and the sight. She moved in a way that would have her friends in la corps de ballet wondering who she was.
I have recently surpassed 600 followers on Erik’s blog. I made him over a year ago with very little hope or expectation to grow this blog beyond a handful of followers. Clearly - happily! - I was mistaken. I want to take a moment to thank all of you for making my blogging experience an overwhelmingly positive one. My muse is still going strong and every day is a wonderful adventure with him. Each RP blog and every personal blog who follows me, writes with me, likes my posts, sends me asks, or just takes quiet interest in this blog reaffirms my love for the Phandom, for writing, and for life itself. Thank you all. I love you guys!
There are a couple people who I would like to specifically thank. They will be below the cut. Please note, this is for a select few… however I have something big and exciting up my sleeve for a much larger pool of my followers. Stay tuned!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Anya is LIVE right now
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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Erik! You have to compliment someone RIGHT NOW. Say the nicest, true thing you can think of about the last person you spoke with.
“…Who was the last person I spoke with?”|[ If we’re being literal and following your default verse, that’d be @keptxdying, Erik. ]|“…Right. The Little Giry. …Is she the fourth or the fifth? I gave up counting them at this point. Well then… What can I say about someone I’ve only spoken to recently? I suppose that… Well, for one thing… Hn… Her hair is a rather lovely color.”
