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Grammy Acceptance Speech

Categories: Creative Writing Prompts.

Your name is called: You’ve won the “Album of the Year” Grammy for your album, (fill in the blank). You step up to the podium to accept your award and, halfway through, the orchestra tries to play you off. You’ve worked too long and hard to allow this to happen, so you don’t–to the surprise of everyone. Write this scene.

Post your response (500 words or less) in the comments below.

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7 Responses to Grammy Acceptance Speech

  1. Daenerys says:

    test. But what can I do?

    You know!

    No, I don’t! I truly am broken.

    <i< You won't be forever.

  2. Bret laid his hand on Hanna’s, the warmth of his palm pressing against the fine veins rising out of her flesh. The touch stirred her from a near-doze and Hanna found herself on an auditorium’s velvet seat, her grandson’s gentle voice echoing in her ears. She met the concern in his eyes.

    “Hum?”

    “It’s almost time, Gran.”

    “Time?”

    She skimmed across the now oddly fashionable spikes of Bret’s cropped hair, the longstanding worry in his brown eyes, the snug cinch of his tuxedo’s bow tie, and then swept across the audience to the stage. Finding the Master of Ceremony awash in the spotlights, Hanna straightened, the silk of her evening gown hushing against the backrest. Recollection joined the tremble starting in her chest and creeping along her arm where Bret enclosed her fingers.

    Upon stage, the MC beamed, the bleach on his teeth radiating like the pressed white shirt beneath his long black tie.

    “And now for the last nominee for the night’s final award.”

    The lights dimmed and a screen descended amid a swell of violins. Lights flickered in limelight shades, reminding Hanna of the whisky bottles stagehands had once held over flickering lamps. Dots of static swooshed over the stage-wide fabric and the music picked up, accompanying a youthful couple in black and white. They danced from stage right to left and back again in pirouettes, hopped sequences, and simultaneous leaps. The trail of the young woman’s dress rippled and the fellow’s tails snapped with each leg kick and toe turn. When Technicolor brightened the video, the music shifted into tighter measures matching her cloche cap, the beads of the necklaces dangling to her waist, and the snug fit of his cashmere sweater.

    Hanna lifted her free hand, the arthritis making her point with all four fingers. “He always looked so handsome in blue.”

    “You look beautiful too.”

    She shooed Bret quiet, but disentangling her fingers, Hanna slipped her arm through his and leaned against his shoulder. His jaw line crunched her hair-sprayed curls, but her sunken chest warmed as she hummed with the music.

    The trumpets crescendoed and they held the last note before fading beneath a rise of applause. On the screen, the youthful features had aged when they took their last bow. Vertical lines flickered and a sepia tone tinged their frozen figures.

    The screen darkened and the spotlight circled the MC again. He brought his microphone up to his gaping mouth but closed it as the audience gained their feet, their clapping ricocheting upon the auditorium’s curves. One spotlight left the stage and swept through the standing rows.

    Bret leaned down, his mouth by Hanna’s ear and the pearl clip pulling on her lobe. “We need to stand up now, Gran.”

    “What?”

    Hanna frowned at him before realizing the focus of the surrounding ovation.

    …. Click here to read the rest and feel free to leave a comment.

  3. Plgrove says:

    “And the Grammy for album of the year goes to….” Mega-hot Hugh Jackman announced in that sexy Aussie way.

    Oh please, please, I silently pleaded during the stereotypical biggest moment of my life. Let me beat Lady
    Gaga, LMFAO, Emimen, and dead Amy Winehouse.

    “Robin Michelle, for Have Laptop, Will Travel!”

    Yesssssss!

    “Keep it short, Robin. BB King’s 15 minute guitar solo has the broadcast running behind,” my publicist Craig Bowen whispered as I frantically checked to make sure my skirt wasn’t hiked up. Gaga picked up her plastic pink boa constrictor and just hissed.

    As a confirmed F-lister, getting to the stage from near the washroom took awhile. As I walked, I suddenly remembered my biggest fear: the bumper music! What if they try to bump me off the stage? Hell, they even did it to Frank Sinatra back in 1994. The late-night comedian joke was that when they cut to a commercial, power went out all across the eastern seaboard (thanks to Frank and his supposed “connections.”)

    “Congrats, mate. ” Hugh handed me the Grammy, as he kissed my cheek.

    I finally made it to the mike, Hugh’s kiss still rattling my insides like a jello convention.

    “Oh dear, I really was expecting Lady to be up here with her neon sign bra, so I wasn’t planning a speech,” I totally lied, after composing it nine years. “I’d like to thank my family for showing me everything I needed to know about treating people in life. I love you. My journalism teachers Mr. Blanchard and Mr. Force, who made me keep writing until I got it right. And my vocal coach Ms. Rick for not fleeing in terror.”

    I heard the first notes of “Star Wars.” Oh no, there it was.

    “Darn it, you people did this to Frank Sinatra, and you’re not doing it to me. Sinatra’s treatment of the great American songbook will forever be the standard of pop music as Beethoven and Bach are to classical. He was a major inspiration for “Have Laptop, Will Travel.” There are many small label artists out there who don’t have killer abs, or fancy dance moves. Amazing voices like John Berry and Daniel Rodriguez. I represent them as much as myself.”

    More John Williams music. I ignored it. “I hope this CD has brought to light the problems of the working poor in this country, and the plight of the spotted owl. And to those of you that ever looked down upon the fat girl, I hope you find yourselves on tracks 8, 9, and 11!” I shouted in retaliation of past wrongs as I was escorted off the stage.

    At the aftershow, Craig gave the bad news. ”They cut to a commercial in every market except east Detroit and Oshkosh, where your record sales are poop to begin with. And of course, there was the fried squirrel in the substation that turned out the lights all the way from Georgia to New Jersey.”
    Frankie, was that you???

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