Important Update!
Just so you all know, I'm auditioning for a new Nickelodeon TV series. The series is currently untitled and revolves around a group of friends who move from Minesota to Los Angelos, wanting to be the next big boy band. I'm auditioning for the lead, Donavan, one of the hockey-playing friends. I will keep you posted, because this might just be my big break! I've always wanted to be an actor/singer, and this may just open doors. Also, if I get it, it comes with a recording deal to SONY/BMG!
Maxwell .:. Roleplay Starter
The life of a true artist is a difficult one, Maxwell thought as he sat behind the front counter of the bookstore. Daydreaming, Nadia called it, but Maxwell prefered to think of it as thinking. He had told her once and she had laughed. "Thinking?" she had sputtered, "Hah! About what? You've nothing to think about, your years are still short." Maxwell always wondered how much he'd have to think about when he was Nadia's age, when he was pale with deep lines retracing each memory in criss-crosses across his hands, when the skin hung loosely from his ancient bones. Thoughts would cluster up his older-than-time brain until it pulsed furiously. If all the thoughts he had now were nothing, nothing was huge.
Maxwell slumped into a wheeled chair and, using his legs, pushed himself away from the counter. Why were they even open today? There were no customers, only a few wanderers who had assured him they were "just looking, thank you." He'd much rather be out painting...
Closing his eyes, Maxwell remembered his place. He'd had many dreams that had taken place here. It was far too familiar to be fictional, but so far away it seemed to have been from a dream, or a dream within a dream.
Long sloping hills of golden yellow swished in the summer breeze, obviously covered in sunflowers. In the far distance was a shady group of trees, black as pitch against the white sun setting behind them. He'd tried so many times to paint this scene, but the brush couldn't quite capture the whisper of the winds, the song of summer. The syrupy aroma lingered on in his mind but was never evident in his paintings. Maybe, if he tried his small brush-- the one with real horse hairs-- and if he mixed his newest paint with the very light one he'd conjured two years ago . . .
His train of thought was cut off by the tinkle of three little bells above the French doorway-- a potential customer!
Startled into awakeness, Maxwell smiled a very big, very fake smile at the browser. "Hi; welcome to Nadia's Book Corner. May I help you?"
Maxwell slumped into a wheeled chair and, using his legs, pushed himself away from the counter. Why were they even open today? There were no customers, only a few wanderers who had assured him they were "just looking, thank you." He'd much rather be out painting...
Closing his eyes, Maxwell remembered his place. He'd had many dreams that had taken place here. It was far too familiar to be fictional, but so far away it seemed to have been from a dream, or a dream within a dream.
Long sloping hills of golden yellow swished in the summer breeze, obviously covered in sunflowers. In the far distance was a shady group of trees, black as pitch against the white sun setting behind them. He'd tried so many times to paint this scene, but the brush couldn't quite capture the whisper of the winds, the song of summer. The syrupy aroma lingered on in his mind but was never evident in his paintings. Maybe, if he tried his small brush-- the one with real horse hairs-- and if he mixed his newest paint with the very light one he'd conjured two years ago . . .
His train of thought was cut off by the tinkle of three little bells above the French doorway-- a potential customer!
Startled into awakeness, Maxwell smiled a very big, very fake smile at the browser. "Hi; welcome to Nadia's Book Corner. May I help you?"
