Once upon a time there was this woman living on a farm, doing farm-ish things (not true farm things, since it was a farm in the re-making). She had three adorable girls whom she taught, and an amazing husband whose life she tried to make as wonderful as he made hers.
Once upon a time she wrote a few songs, here and there, enjoying clever turns of phrases and nice-sounding chord progressions. She enjoyed being creative and even felt a little like an artist.
Once upon a time she thought it might be interesting to record some of them, just to have that done. But of course that required lots of money, time, and talent.
Once upon a time the kids got older and so the time became more available, some clever people came up with the idea of establishing a company into which people who believed in the idea could invest, and she told that critical voice in her head that she was more talented than it said she was, so just shut up already.
Once upon a time she met with a studio owner and producer, who knew only what he'd been recommended, but still took on her project. When he came to her house to record the first reference tracks, he was excited by the piano and the room acoustics. Each of the twelve songs she'd written was deemed album-worthy, the lyrics complemented as being profound and moving, the song structures smooth and well thought out. The playing and singing were also encouraged. Her fears that he'd hear it and think, "what have I done, taking this on?" were allayed. She was excited, almost giddy.
Once upon a time she got back the initial mixes, opened the package, saw the CDs with "The View From Here: Demo" written on them, and started to cry.
Once upon a time she was on her way to really, truly recording a complete CD.
Once upon a time, she was me.
It still seems like someone else's life.