"It's Quiet Uptown": A Hamilfanfic

Okay guys let's talk for a lil bit before we get started.
I've been wanting to do some sort of blog content, whether it be an actual post or a video, every week, so this post would have originally been scheduled for Thanksgiving week. However, you guys would be getting enough general content that week because I was at home and doing stuff with family and friends that week, so I decided against that. Then after that I only had two weeks of school left, and I figured it was better to just let myself sprint to the finish and get all of that done. Finishing school has been CRAZY. But hey, I got it all done, plus I got to work a lot, so that's good too.
While we're still kind of talking about school, a miracle happened.
This semester my English class is intro to academic writing, and it's been killing me. I won't lie, it scares me pretty freaking badly sometimes when I think about how one of my least favorite classes is my major. But I also think that makes a lot of sense, because I still love English and I can't see myself studying anything else, but it's also really discouraging to get to your new school and realize you know nothing about the thing that you were finally able to make yourself known for. (For all the family and high school friends still supporting the dream--YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST.)
Anyway, I've had to write three papers for that class and it's been rough going. The first was a sort of persuasive essay, the second a personal narrative, the third a group project rhetorical analysis. How my future looked and how I felt about it was pretty much weighing on that second paper, considering my desire to sell narratives to the public. On the first paper I got an 85. My professor then graded the third one next and me and my group got a 70. See? It definitely hasn't been easy. On Friday I got the grade for the second paper, the one that mattered the most for me. I couldn't even make myself look at it until Monday.
Guys. I got an A-.
Can you believe this?! I really might have a chance. Seeing that grade was yet another moment in my life where nothing felt impossible.
Guys. I am capable of writing narratives.
An A-. Oh my gosh.
I'm still stuck on it. I don't even know how to quite express to you guys how exciting that is for me. I am so happy, and it's looking like not all hope is lost for me.
My favorite thing is writing the missionaries and hearing from them. I've also officially come to the point where I can start my papers in a month. Lance (choir fam) and Mr. Calkins have already placed predictions of where I will labor. Prayers would be appreciated.
Why is it now that the time has come that people are telling me how hard a mission is, that there's no way to truly know what will happen? Guys. I know. I know because I try imagining what it will be like and I feel my body try to go there and it feels that it is so close to being there but still can't yet grasp it as a reality because I don't know what that reality is like. I know because I imagine life after the mission but I know that those scenarios are in no way accurate because I don't even know who I'll be after the mission. I know that nothing that I'm studying right now can prepare me entirely for what I will face out wherever, but I also know that Heavenly Father will bless me in the field because I'm trying.
People always tell me stuff will be hard, stuff I already know is hard, and stuff I want, and it's never harder than I imagine it will be. They told me being in chamber singers would be hard. They told me being in Fame would be hard. Both of those things were exactly as hard as I thought they would be, not always in the ways I thought they would be, but they were still as hard as I thought they would be, and I was ready for that because I knew that and I still wanted that and so I was willing to learn how to do those things. Now people are telling me a mission is hard and I'm so aware of that and I'm willing to go through that because I really want to do this and I'm willing to learn how as I go. What are people going to tell me next? That writing is hard? That building a career is hard? Marriage is hard? Having children is hard? Being famous is hard? I already know it's hard. Everything I want is hard. But I still want it and difficulty is not going to stop me.
You people reading this right now. When all of those things happen in the future, and people start telling me that it's hard, you will have witnessed this, and you will know that I am aware that getting what I want is difficult, but just because I am wildly hopeful and ambitious doesn't mean that I think it will be easy. I know life is hard, but I still want everything, and I don't see why I shouldn't get it. You heard it here first.
Anyway, I'm back in Henderson for a month, and I'm living for all these Christmas things. I went to the choir concert at Basic on Tuesday and got to listen to no lie the most BEAUTIFUL Christmas music I've heard in a minute, plus I got to sing the "Hallelujah" chorus with them all on the stage and that's really where home feels like. I was greeted on the stage after by almost everyone in my Henderson/Basic fam. It was honestly really great and I'm happy to be spending the month with you all.
Anyway, the purpose of today's post is to share a narrative with you all. (Friendly reminder about my stellar personal narrative grade, so that must make me good at this. I still can't get over it.) If you keep up with the blog's YouTube then you probably saw me and Jacob's cover of Hamilton's "It's Quiet Uptown". This narrative is a story I wrote based on that song. The date I have on the original copy is October 26, 2016. I wrote it in my imaginative writing class. We were told that day to just take out a piece of paper and write whatever we wanted. There were no requirements for that day's assignment. Well, it was difficult for me to come up with an idea in some ways, but at the same time it wasn't. Because that day I couldn't stop thinking about this song, and I kept painting a little story in my head of the song. But I didn't want to write something based off of that song. I wanted to write something else, maybe something that was mine. But I couldn't get the story out of my head. So eventually I let myself go for it. I tried being subtle at first, but then I just let myself write it as if it was about what it actually was about: Alexander Hamilton losing everything he had in a short period of time, as told by Lin-Manuel Miranda.
I only wrote two pages. I didn't even get to the part where he asks Eliza for forgiveness, and when he gets that forgiveness. And I haven't been able to bring myself to finish it. If you guys really want me to finish after you read this, let me know. If you're satisfied (*cringes at accidental Hamilton joke*) with how it is now, that's cool too. But I think that's why it feels a little incomplete, because it kind of is. This was never edited, but it wasn't effortless either. I guess you could say it's "got a lot of brains but no polish."
Enjoy. Thanks and much love.
--Lizzo
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He never would've imagined in all his life that he'd be living in the rich part of town. A year ago he would've been happy about that. A year ago everything was fine. He had some respect. His wife loved him. His son was alive.
The rain poured down onto the flowers. He watched the water roll off the leaves. He was drenched at this point. He'd been out here for nearly three hours. He didn't care. He liked the silence.
No, that wasn't true. He hated the silence. He missed arguing with his enemies. He missed the chaotic meetings. He missed his wife saying his name. He especially missed his son.
Yes, he hated the silence. But the silence in solitude was preferred to the muttering he heard in the street: "Poor man, lost everything he had at once. Doesn't have an ounce of respect. His wife won't even look at him. His son died only a week or so ago."
He was tired of listening to his own thoughts. He stood up, started heading toward the gate.
There she was. He looked in the window and saw his wife sitting in front of the fire. Her face was stained with tears, but she wasn't crying anymore. She stared at the ground blankly. He wanted to go comfort her; he wanted to do something that would take all her sorrows away. But he knew that no matter what he said, she wouldn't listen. Nothing he could do would be enough.
If things were different, he would have asked her to accompany him. Instead, he desperately gazed through the window a few seconds more, sighed, then walked out the gate.
He had a few moments of quiet before he hit town, the closest to peace he could get. Then he started seeing people filling the streets. He looked down. Maybe they wouldn't notice he was there.
But soon enough the people started talking. "Yep, that's him. Cheated on his wife and wrote about it for the entire world to see. Ruined his own life in just a few weeks. Did you hear about his son?"
He passed stranger after stranger, people who didn't even know him but knew his story. Tirelessly, unfeeling, his feet walked on, down the streets, unconscious of any destination. People glance at him as he passes. There is a quiet hum over the streets. Unlike his old home, the city is not very loud. His son would think it peaceful.
He glances at every tree. His son would love the way the green leaves shine against the gray sky. He looks in every shop window. His son would love the bright lights and colors. His son would love him, too. His son would be the only person that still loved him, if only he were alive.