A Vivid Memory

This blog post is the first of five documenting my journey from musician to novelist.

When I was a child, singing was my outlet. It afforded me the opportunity to express deep emotions, both positive and negative. Singing was a vehicle for praising God and witnessing to my faith, but it was satisfying on a personal level, too. I was blessed with a good instrument; I received positive feedback when I sang; and I felt compelled to develop my God-given talent. My goal was to become an opera singer.

Majoring in Voice in college was not only the next logical step after high school, but also the fulfillment of a lifelong dream. Finally, the time came to prepare my senior recital. I loved every minute of it, and it consumed every waking hour that I wasn’t studying Music History, Music Theory, Vocal Pedagogy, Piano, Chorus, and Conducting.

In addition to practicing piano, I spent five to six hours singing daily. I’d get up before anyone in my dorm began to stir, walk to the music building and practice until the cafeteria opened for breakfast. Between classes, I’d slip into a practice room and vocalize. On the weekends, when my suitemates played bridge, watched TV, or went on dates, I was holed up in a practice room, singing and studying my recital repertoire. There was nowhere else I wanted to be and no activity I found more satisfying.

When recital day arrived, my Voice professor declared me ready, and my parents, sister, and grandmother drove some 600 miles from Central New York to Greensboro, North Carolina to attend. I didn’t feel the least bit nervous. Rather I felt excited. I had managed to stay healthy through the winter months (a miracle in itself), the dress rehearsal had gone smoothly, and my voice was in peak condition.

Other than our wedding and the births of our children, no event in life stands out more vividly. For that one euphoric hour, performing Corelli, Brahms, Debussy, Saint Saens and Britten, I was transported to a realm beyond my earthly existence. It was an out-of-body experience that had little to do with the standing ovation or the A my professor gave me. Today, 51 years later, the memory remains as vivid as the moment I stepped onto that stage.

By the second semester, I was immersed in student teaching. I suppose majoring in Music Education—as opposed to Music Performance—was my insurance policy against future unemployment. If I didn’t make it as a professional singer, I could still teach music . . . and I did for 45 years. But, it was by choice, not by default.

So, how did a singer/teacher/choir director become an author? That’s a story for another blog.

Cindy L. Freeman is the author of two award-winning short stories, and three published novels: Diary in the Attic, Unrevealed (second edition now released) and The Dark Room (Don't let the title scare you. It has a happy ending). Website: www.cindylfreeman.com