The guitar exploded into my life in the form of a battered acoustic. The summer surprise from my uncle came complete with the promise of lessons and repairs. The promise fell through, but the inspiration survived.
Since then I have upgraded from the honey-gold mess to an electric blue beauty. Mellow acoustic strumming has turned into distorted electric soloing; three-chord songs have been replaced with complex riffs. I have found my voice playing rock music; I am no longer lost in the stereotype that girls cannot rock. I can now confidently tell the smirking salesman at Guitar Center who points me towards the pink acoustics that I am not that kind of girl. I may appear reserved to the untrained eye, but I am a rock star on stage with my Les Paul. Electric guitar is my portal to excellence and my escape. Electric blue blood courses through my veins.