The Audition

I wrote this short essay in my senior year of high school; my teacher, Mrs. Kohn, was so impressed by my writing that she insisted I be put in her Honors English class. I have a two-inch binder in which I've saved essays and papers I wrote in high school and college, and I recently dug it out of my storage unit. As I flipped through it, I was amazed at two things--first, how far I've come in terms of writing mechanics; and secondly, by how little my voice as a writer has changed. There's something comforting in knowing that even though I've grown, learned, and changed in many big ways, I've kept that one quality of myself that makes me...well, me.

Anyway, I thought I'd share the essay here, and in future, I may share other things I wrote as a teenager and then as a college student. It's interesting--to me, anyway--to see how I've progressed but also how many parts of my personality have remained strong, and have always shone through in my writing.

Here's the essay I wrote that so impressed Mrs. Kohn (by far one of the finest teachers I ever had); it's about auditioning for my school's nationally-recognized jazz choir.

The audition loomed before me like a dark grey storm cloud about to start pouring rain on my head. I could not believe I was actually trying out for Jazz Choir. Playing the clarinet for Mr. Gaesser was hard enough, but sing? The prospect made me shake with nerves.

The whole day, I drove my friends crazy with my nervous, half-crazed predictions of the audition. "Sing for us, Megan," they implored, but I would not, as if by singing to my friends I would jinx the audition. Not just any audition, but THE audition.

Just a few hours before I was to try out, I tried to sort out my jumbled thoughts. "I can sing," I told myself. And suddenly, a calm came over me. Why be nervous? I knew that I could sing well enough to obtain a spot in that choir, simply because I love to sing.

The time to audition came. I walked into the music room, determined not to let Mr. Gaesser make me nervous. As I strutted into the music room, however, my confidence again deserted me once I had given my cheery "hello" to Mr. Gaesser, and I began to feel like I was one inch tall.

Mr. Gaesser sat behind the big black grand piano, which seemed larger than life that day. I was told to stand next to the piano.

I sang the required scales and my prepared song, all the while feeling like it was the worst I had ever sung in all my life. To my ears, my voice sounded weak and too soft. But I sang for Mr. Gaesser, wanting to prove that I could sing. I barely noticed the rest of the room, the music stands and chairs stacked in the corner. I only noticed that big black piano, and the man sitting behind it, his expression unreadable.

Then it was over, and Mr. Gaesser was saying, "Good job, Megan." I left the music room and walked out to my car, not knowing the outcome of THE audition, but feeling a sudden sense of pride in knowing that I had tried.


P.S. I ended up making jazz choir.

Mrs. Kohn gave me full points for the assignment, and left comments like "excellent opening" and "A beautiful essay--excellent description." At this point in my academic career, I already enjoyed writing, but a year with Mrs. Kohn made me even better, more excited to write. I've never looked back.

As for the choir, it was a great experience; and I've always loved being able to brag I was part of it--Mr. Gaesser is well-known in California and in the national jazz community for turning out excellent young musicians.

Five of us came home from our first semester of college to sing at the
Monterey Jazz Festival over Labor Day weekend.