I'm Dancing on the Ceiling

Walking into the studio a couple of days later, I stared in awe. I’d recorded in one before, sure. But it was nothing like this. The record company was paying for the studio time and therefore, I got a nice studio. I’d never been in the nice studio.

“You must be Clarissa,” one of the producers said, holding out his hand. He was tall, with broad shoulder, a square jaw and a large head topped with a mop of golden blonde hair.

“It’s Clary but yeah, that’s me.”

“I’m Ian Westerfield, your co-producer.”

“Yeah, they told me about you. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Same here. So, first things first, let’s get some idea of what songs you want on the album, alright?”

For the next couple of hours, we talked about songs and I played some for him. It was a good time. He was a good guy, I liked him. He understood that some of my songs I was not going to budge on, they had to be on the album. And I understood his points about how some wouldn’t fit with the rest of the album, since my music tended to range from upbeat dance songs to slow folk songs.

He even made a comment on my outfit, a pair of really short shorts and a red Pizza John shirt from the vlogbrothers. “That’s cute. Are you as nerdy as they say, Clary?”

“Yes, sir. I am nerdy, and I am not afraid to announce it!” I replied with a smile.

My twitter bio was just that too, “Nerdy. Musician. General awesomeness.”

We set up the board, writing down the songs that would be included. We had chosen my three must-haves, Downfall, Willpower and Make It Happen. He allowed me my two nerd songs, Starry Night (a song inspired by the Doctor Who episode featuring Van -Gogh) and Firefly (a song about the Sci-Fi show, Firefly). He insisted that I put on two of my iffy songs because he thought they were amazing, Reach the Stars and Ready, Set. The last four songs weren’t terribly special but Ian promised me that they’d sound spectacular after he was done with them.

“Today was good. You’re a dream to work with, Clary. You’re definitely better than the other nightmare I’ve been assigned.”

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“This little shit named Gary Smith. I fucking hate that kid, pardon my French.”

“You don’t have to apologize for your language. I’ve said worse than that,” I said with a wink. He laughed as I put my flip flops back on, having kicked them off five minutes after settling in earlier that day.

“Do you need a ride back to the hotel?” Ian asked, changing the subject. He pulled a leather jacket on over his broad shoulders.

“Nah. I can walk. Thanks though, Ian. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye Clary,” he said as I left, bumping into a tall man with brown hair.

“Sorry,” he said, smiling at me. I stared as he slipped into a studio across from mine. I headed out, wiggling my iPhone out of my pocket. I’d made just enough money on merch and EPs to splurge for my birthday.

ClaryBowen Day One: Complete. I’m already in love with this album. I’m sure you will be too.

From my other pocket, I took out my iPod and started back to the hotel. I was in an unfamiliar city, in the dark and in very tiny shorts. But I wasn’t afraid.

ClaryBowen Most girls my size would be scared to walk around in the dark in a city. Me? Nah, I ain’t scurred!

I pushed my earbuds into my ears and turned the music up all the way. Walking, I fell in time to the beat. The first songs to play were All Time Low songs, since that was what I’d chosen to listen to on the plane here. I did have an entire country to fly over and I hate planes.

After a few songs, I stopped hearing Alex’s words and just heard the music flowing together, allowing me to relive the past couple of days. It was a dream, my dream come true. I was finally getting somewhere, after 6 years of struggling to get my name out there. My fans though, they were my reason for everything.

ClaryBowen A walk can do wonders. Clears your mind. It only strengthened my one reason for everything. My love for you guys. You are wonderful.

This was it. I’d finally proved everyone back home that they’re wrong. I can do this. I won’t let it slip away. I won’t. Not this. Not ever.