Greetings to all my friends. A new day has begun, and I'm happy to share another one with you. Well, the topic I want to talk about in my post today is a new story. Today I'm dedicating it to Katie's R79 card. The story is about her and the beginning of her musical career. I hope you like it. Let's begin!

You know, friends, Katie started playing guitar with her dad's old guitar. An ugly acoustic, one of those that's more for decoration than for playing. The strings were stiff, half rusted, and it had a skull sticker that was peeling off in the middle. No one knew exactly why it was there. Sometimes the guitar sounded muffled, as if it was too lazy to make any noise. But she played it anyway. She was about nine years old when she played her first decent chord. Just a single one. And her dad celebrated it as if she'd written a movie soundtrack or something. She thought it was funny, but it also made her want to play another chord. And then another. And so it went.

Her dad had been a musician too, but only on weekends. He played with some friends in smoky bars filled with guys who talked louder than the music. He said they played the blues, but “not the blues,” as if that were a category. He said it laughingly, but sometimes you could tell he still felt it a little. When he saw Katie picking up the guitar without anyone telling her, he started teaching her things. No pressure, no lessons, or anything. Sometimes they'd just sit and play the same thing over and over again. As if they were repeating a word until it stopped sounding weird. When she turned twelve, she got a new guitar. Red, with black edges, shiny like a freshly washed car. She didn't say much. She just looked at it. Then she left it in her room for three days without playing it. Not because she was ungrateful, it was just that she felt weird about leaving the old one behind. As if it were betrayal, or I don't know. Her dad noticed and said something like, “You can use both, it's not betrayal.” Just like that, without further ado. And that was enough.

Years passed. She kept playing. She composed her little things, recorded videos with her cell phone, uploaded them to the internet, and almost no one saw them. But she did. And she laughed. It amused her to see herself afterward, with a focused face and her tongue hanging out when she tried a strange riff. One day, her mom, who usually didn't say much about things, told her she should record an album. Katie laughed. She thought she was joking. But no. Her mom meant it. And her dad got involved too. He helped her record some songs, right there at home, with a microphone her uncle had left behind and that was more for podcasts than for music, but oh well. They uploaded the album. And nothing happened. Almost no one heard it. Katie felt stupid. She said that was it, why continue, that she sounded better when she was fifteen and recorded in the bathroom with her old guitar. Her dad listened to her, let her finish, and then said something like that was normal. That he'd also played things that not even the cat could hear. But of course, hearing it is not the same as experiencing it.

Weeks passed. Or months. I don't know. Time gets weird when you're disappointed. But one day, someone emailed her. A record label, supposedly. They said they'd heard her album and wanted to talk. She thought it was a joke or spam or one of those things that arrive with spelling mistakes. She almost deleted it. But her dad told her to reply, just in case. And it was real. Real people, with normal profile pictures. They'd liked the album as it was. They offered to re-release it, to give it a little promotion. She hesitated. She thought it was dead, that no one would be interested in something not even their cousins ​​had heard. But she said yes. In the end, she didn't have much to lose.

They re-released it. They changed the cover, made short clips for TikTok, arranged the songs differently. Nothing huge, but you could tell they knew what they were doing. And for some reason it worked. One of the tracks, the silliest one, according to her, one she didn't even think about including on the album at first, started playing. Someone in Brazil did a choreography. Then someone in Mexico. Then in Japan. Weird. People were commenting, messaging, asking if he was going to release more.

Her dad didn't say much. He just looked at everything with a face like, "I told you so," but without saying anything. One day, he simply asked her not to sell the old guitar. She told him no way, that there was never any doubt about it. There was no speech. No big interviews. No tears. She just kept playing. Sometimes she did well, sometimes she struggled. Sometimes she wondered if it made sense to continue. But she played anyway. Because she did. Because ever since she was a little girl with an ugly guitar, that was the only thing she knew how to do without giving it much thought. The best part is that her success was just beginning; this first album would pave the way for a very successful career that would soon follow.

My dear friends, thank you so much for reading. I hope to bring you a new post soon and be able to be with you all here again. If you'd like, we can dedicate a second part to this story soon. Let me know in the comments if you'd like to see it. So, have a nice day.

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