Practice, Practice, Practice

She had strong calluses on each finger from years of playing guitar, and her nails were cropped short. Where most women got manicures, she, at most, painted her nails a neutral shade before she picked up her instrument and practiced for another hour.

The years of hacking away at it were worth it, though, when she took to the stage. Her fingers flew along the fret board, creating improvisations that set hearts fluttering, and those who knew of her great music flocked to any concert she put on. She did not have the fan base of a Slash or Santana, but she had made peace with that; she had to work ten times as hard to make one tenth as far as many of the famous guitarists, but the adulation she received was the only real driver, and kept her practicing even when she could just fake it.

When her hour of practicing was done, she stretched her muscles, then spent another hour on a scale, and was pleased to get it just a bit faster.


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