It was the fateful day.
I handed in copies of my score to my professors and was alone on stage with three talented music teachers staring at me.
I swallowed a lump in my throat and I performed the cello parts of the movement. I wanted to close my eyes to let everything vanish into some kind of black hole, but I knew they were watching every move, note by note. Measure by measure.
Each segment in time would be played to the best of my abilities as I started to accelerate the tempo and increase the dynamics. Composing was my forte, and I needed to hit that first forte to prove that once the real “action” of the piece began.
C. M. B. Bell's Writing Universe 