100 Books Like Operatic

I often (half-) jokingly say that I'm a failed musician. Growing up in Montreal in the eighties, music was my deepest joy. I sang in choirs for years, and even fancied myself the next great baroque singer (I guess I was a nerd.) Nerves, however, got the best of me, and I turned to the next best thing, writing. In my family, music is a meeting place, a shared language; my kids have taught me as much about music as I have taught them. Nothing pleases me more than to see on a playlist of theirs a tune that I listened to before their birth. Music is the golden thread of my life. 

I often (half-) jokingly say that I'm a failed musician. Growing up in Montreal in the eighties, music was my deepest joy. I sang in choirs for years, and even fancied myself the next great baroque singer (I guess I was a nerd.) Nerves, however, got the best of me, and I turned to the next best thing, writing. In my family, music is a meeting place, a shared language; my kids have taught me as much about music as I have taught them. Nothing pleases me more than to see on a playlist of theirs a tune that I listened to before their birth. Music is the golden thread of my life. 

I love realm of the sensual. I sometimes call it The Magic Kingdom—the experience that sets us apart from our childhoods and teenage years. Intimacy—not just with people or lovers, but with the stuff we love as adults—is a compelling quest. For me, it lives in writing, cooking, singing, painting, befriending, loving—the things that lift my life out of the ordinary into time-stopping moments. Sharing it my writing, especially in my new fiction (Stay with Me, Wisconsin and my upcoming novel The Seven Mile Bridge) has been an experience of helping us all get our hands and hearts and skin into the things we love and then abide there as long as life allows us.

I often (half-) jokingly say that I'm a failed musician. Growing up in Montreal in the eighties, music was my deepest joy. I sang in choirs for years, and even fancied myself the next great baroque singer (I guess I was a nerd.) Nerves, however, got the best of me, and I turned to the next best thing, writing. In my family, music is a meeting place, a shared language; my kids have taught me as much about music as I have taught them. Nothing pleases me more than to see on a playlist of theirs a tune that I listened to before their birth. Music is the golden thread of my life. 

I am a spy aiming to uncover hidden documents, private journals, and secret messages penned in the distant past. I am a detective racing to reveal the world’s most dastardly deeds and daring escapades. I am an adventurer zooming around the planet along with history’s bravest heroes and most despicable villains. I am an artist whose illustrations transform ancient stone-cold statues by turning them into living, breathing human beings that laugh and cry, win and lose, love and hate, and spring vividly to life. And I am a storyteller striving to lure readers of all ages, whether they are children or adults.

I grew up in a family of church singers. As a young man, I studied poetry and piano, literature and guitar, listening to Hank Williams and reading William Faulkner while dreaming of becoming a Nashville songwriter. Eventually, I performed as a singer-songwriter myself on three continents, so it’s entirely honest to say that music, language, and stories have always been the fabric of my life. These novels represent everything I love about music and how it connects us—to people, to worlds beyond—and I hope you find them just as meaningful (and occasionally heartwrenching) as I have.

Having been a professional singer for about five decades and having grown up with, and studied the early recordings of operatic singers for just as long, I feel that I am in an unusual position when it comes to analyzing their art. The ability to describe a singer’s voice on paper is a unique challenge but one that I enjoy solving–especially since each voice is a law unto itself. When done correctly, analysis like this should make the reader want to go and find the recording so that they can listen for themselves. This is especially true for my expanded Kindle version of Early 20th Century Opera Singers.

I have been enthralled with legends of medieval knights and ladies, dark fairy tales and fantasies about Druids, wizards, and magic since childhood. I fell in love with French in junior high school and continued studying the language throughout college. My debut novel, "The Wild Rose and the Sea Raven"--the first of a trilogy-- is a blend of my love for medieval legends, the romantic French language, and paranormal fantasy. It is a retelling of the medieval romance of "Tristan et Yseult", interwoven with Arthurian myth, dark fairy tales from the enchanted Forest of Brocéliande, and otherworldly elements such as Avalonian Elves, Druids, forest fairies and magic— with a decidedly romantic French flair.

Having been a professional singer for about five decades and having grown up with, and studied the early recordings of operatic singers for just as long, I feel that I am in an unusual position when it comes to analyzing their art. The ability to describe a singer’s voice on paper is a unique challenge but one that I enjoy solving–especially since each voice is a law unto itself. When done correctly, analysis like this should make the reader want to go and find the recording so that they can listen for themselves. This is especially true for my expanded Kindle version of Early 20th Century Opera Singers.

I’ve always thought that the Venn diagram of Space Opera and Military Science Fiction should not be a circle. I thought there should be stories about people living in interstellar civilizations that didn’t involve massive wars across unimaginable distances, resulting in untold misery and suffering. So, I wrote some, starting with Quarter Share. Each of these books shows mostly normal people trying to get by in a galaxy far, far away.