I’m staring at a page that’s about three quarters written,
and the heading says “Chapter 27.” But I’m wondering if this book is ever going
to be finished. This is first draft, and I feel like I’ve been swimming through
a river of mud and driftwood during the last few chapters. I’m supposed to
enjoy writing. I want to enjoy writing. I have enjoyed writing.
Right now, though, it feels more like an arduous chore.
I heard my first opera in the fall of 1952. I was fourteen, listening
to a Saturday Metropolitan Opera broadcast of Claude Debussy’s Pelleas et
Melisande (sung in French, of course). It was love at first…well, hearing.
In the fall of 1955, I became a freshman at the Cincinnati College-Conservatory
of Music, thrilled beyond belief to have been accepted as a vocal performance
major.
This is a preamble to the book I’m attempting to write at
this point in my second career as a writer, which began nine years ago at the
age of seventy-five. I’ve written fifteen books, much to my astonishment. All
of them include music. Music has been my life since even before that
fourteen-year-old impressionable child became enamored of opera, thanks to a
father who loved classical music (though opera wasn’t his thing). Even my
eight-book cozy mystery series overflows with music. Some people love these
books (it would be nice if there were more readers, but I think my protagonist
Augusta McKee—singer/teacher/amateur sleuth—has a small but loyal following).
My years at CCM were a dream come true. As a freshman, I
realized fairly early on that my voice was one of those described thusly: “she
has a small voice, but it’s pretty” (any singer will know exactly what I’m
saying…at least it wasn’t “small, but ugly”). It was a real eye-opener to hear
some of my schoolmates—indeed, some of my classmates, who had large, mature,
thrilling voices. Wisely, I realized singing at the Met was not going to happen
for this soprano. That was okay, I still loved opera and wanted to somehow be
part of that world. Then I met this tenor.
Yes, I fell madly in fatuation (I just made that up)
and fairly soon we were married. He had a true talent, and for about a decade
managed to sing professionally. I did everything I could to support his dream.
Or what I thought was his dream. After those ten years, he decided the life of
an opera singer wasn’t for him, and instead established himself as an
independent notesetter for music publishing companies. He liked his new career,
and I accepted it. He loved to sing, but he never truly loved singing opera. (His
acting ability was not on a par with his singing ability, but that didn’t
prevent him from continuing to sing right up until his death fourteen years
ago.)
Three children later, we left Cincinnati to move to
Northeastern Pennsylvania so the notesetter could be close to his primary
customer. He then suggested I establishing a private vocal studio, and that’s
when I realized my true calling. Because of that “small, but pretty” voice I
had worked hard to develop my own instrument. While my voice was never suited
for opera, I had become a decent singer, thanks to the three excellent teachers
I worked with. What I learned, I loved teaching to young singers, and it turns
out I communicated vocal technique to them well, along with my passion for
classical vocal music. I believe in the past forty-three years nearly every
student who came into my studio left with a better understanding of their
voice, and some continued their music studies in college. Some even built
careers, which was tremendously gratifying for this teacher.
So, the book I’m attempting is about a young aspiring opera
singer, beginning with her graduation from “the Conservatory” (translation:
CCM) in 1996. It should be easy, right? I’ve been on the fringes of “Opera
World” for decades, and even lived there with the tenor for a time back in the
sixties. Not so. The “landscape” of opera in the United States changed
dramatically beginning sometime in the sixties, and while at that time there
were two major opera houses in this country (the Met and San Francisco) and
three regional opera houses…that adds up to five…these days the organization
Opera America has a list of ONE HUNDRED FORTY-NINE major and regional opera
companies on their list. And there could be even more.
This showed me that my protagonist, Lindsey, has a lot of decisions
ahead of her, so I needed to learn all about the growth of my favorite art form
over the past five or six decades. How does an aspiring opera singer build a
career in more recent years? She has many paths, but also much competition.
On top of that, because of a trauma in her young life,
Lindsey becomes aware of music therapy, the Bonny method of Guided Imagery with
Music in particular. Something else I’m researching because until I started
writing this book, I had never heard of GIM music therapy.
So. Here I am, up to the first draft of Chapter 27 and my
outline shows potentially 32 chapters (it could be one or two more). You’d
think the finish line would be in sight. And yet, lots of logs and debris in
this river as I thrash and splash my way through.
Opera in America is as much of a production offstage as it
is on. Those who love the art and try to make it happen face challenges,
sometimes traumatic, that can change them. This next story shows how people
react to what a life fraught with trials in opera can bring, seen through the
eyes and experiences of my soprano Lindsey.
Am I having fun yet?
Well…I am. In a weird sort of way. Which only means I’m a
writer. Right?
