Free Twang by Julie L. Cannon

open notebook to his chest.
    “Really?” I answered in my best amazed voice.
    He rubbed his chin before he continued. “Listen, I’ve been retired from Rockin’ Rooster Records for six months, but I’ve also been kicking around this idea that I might launch a new label. If I did, I wouldn’t mind recording you if you can come up with another original tearjerker like ‘Spooky Moon.’ Something that tickles my fancy.”
    “Pardon?”
    “I said, I’d like to record you if you can come up with another tune that works the audience the way the one you sang in there tonight did.”
    “You don’t like any of these?” I retreated to the nervous gesture of twirling my hair around my pointer finger.
    “They’re good.
Real
good. But they all seem to be from a young girl’s viewpoint. I want you to write a song from an older female’s perspective, one that pulls the heartstrings. Maybe a woman in her twenties at least, chasing love or something like that? Romantic love gone bad? Wounds of the heart and all.”
    I swallowed hard, wondered if it mattered that I’d never had a boyfriend, much less a love gone bad. My warm fuzzy feeling was fast fading. Speaking of getting told on by the moon, I hoped that old lunar ball wasn’t listening as I said, “Um, yeah, sure. Got lots of personal experience dealing with that kind of thing. With romantic love and all.”
    “Well, remember, what you want to do is tell a story here. Lyrics that convey a certain emotional arc, you know. Show some tension, some conflict, the way you did with ‘Spooky Moon’ but from an older, brokenhearted female’s perspective.”
    “I know exactly what you mean,” I said.
    “Great. Just remember, give me some fresh imagery, some poignant stuff.” Mike Flint stretched his left arm so his cuff rode up and he could see his wristwatch. “Okay now. You go home and write it and get in touch with me and maybe I’ll takeyou on as a client.” He rustled around in some papers on the dash, found a business card, and handed it to me.
    I smiled as I slid it in my pocket. I felt like I’d won the lottery. I couldn’t wait to get back to the Best Western and tell Roy and get going on my new song. I reached for my guitar and opened the truck’s door.
    “Hold on.” Mike’s voice stopped me. “You a member of NSAI?”
    I shook my head.
    “I’ll cover your membership,” he said. “We’ve got to protect our rights, you know? Also, before we plow on, I have to tell you it’s my policy never to sign an artist unless I’m her manager, her agent, and the owner of her recording label. Kind of like a package deal. Understand?”
    I didn’t care if I understood or not. My big break was breathing down my neck. “Fine by me,” I said. While he was in such a generous mood, I asked if he’d mind driving me back to the Best Western.
    “My pleasure,” he said, shifting the truck into reverse. “I can assure you you’ll be glad to have a veteran like me taking care of you. Entertaining the crowd for one song at the Bluebird is one thing, but becoming what I think you have the potential to be is quite another. I don’t think many folks know how hard it is to get to the top and stay there.
    “It’s a lot of work to reach the point I think you’re capable of, Jenny, and even more difficult to stay there. The Nashville scene can be confusing, cutthroat, and now you’ve got someone with experience to guide you and help you build your career.”
    It felt odd to be called Jenny, but waves of pure delight rolled up and down me when he said that word
career
, and I managed to say, “Great.”
    My heart was beating like a girl waiting for her first kiss as Mike pulled beneath the awning leading to the Best Western’sfront door. I felt far, far away from life in Blue Ridge, Georgia, as I told myself:
This is the moment you’ve been waiting for. You made it! Your dreams have become reality
. I didn’t yet know that Mike Flint was also handing me a