I’ve always been drawn to music. Ever since I was old enough to understand anything that was going on in the world, music has been one of the driving forces in my life. I wore out more VHS tapes of Disney’s Sing-Along Songs than I’d care to admit. The first movie I ever watched straight through was Mary Poppins, closely followed by The Sound of Music (some part of me thought Julie Andrews was just supposed to show up in every movie at that point). I loved to sing along, even when my voice couldn’t manage that. It’s a thing that’s true about all kids, to some extent, and it’s a shame that external voices silence so many enthusiastic young ones. Passion for the arts in all its forms should be encouraged.

I remember being four years old and my dad putting a new VHS tape in the VCR (aging myself, I know). As the studio logos and a line of blue text appeared on the screen, I asked him, “Are there any songs in this one?”

“No,” he replied, “but the music is really good.”

Two seconds later:

Yeah, you can hear that “BWAAAAAAAM” just by looking at this image, can’t you?

That was my first exposure to John Williams, and my first exposure to orchestral music that wasn’t accompanied by a cartoon rabbit. It began a love that’s stayed with me for the rest of my life.

(Not that I don’t still love singing, though. I’m a mainstay at karaoke nights, and I know all the words to… let’s be honest, probably far too many musicals.)

Yes, this is a related image of my as the Phantom of the Opera, a Halloween costume I was far too vocal while wearing. As it turns out, just shouting out “SING FOR ME!” usually is less likely to summon an adoring soprano than it is to draw judgmental stares.

When I went to middle school, I had the opportunity to join band as an elective, which I pounced on with aplomb. Years of listening to John Williams scores and what was apparently a well-muscled embouchure for an 11 year old led me to play the French Horn, still my choice for the most regal of all the instruments. I was pretty good, though nowhere near the best in the area, and the bands and orchestras I joined were pretty good as well. You can actually buy a recording of my high school’s symphony orchestra, where I’m playing horn on our rendition of “Die Fledermaus Overture”:

Music has never been far from me. It stirs my emotions, and it consumed my teenage years to the point where there was little room for anything else. For years among my friend group, I was “the French Horn guy” or “the guy who sings all the time.” It’s a love I can’t shake.

All of which is a long-winded way of explaining why there will always be music in my books. In Rapscallion, there’s Julian Wildsong with his ever-changing verses about Lucas Mollifer (yes, I can hum the melody), to say nothing of the music that accompanies the balls over the course of the novel. It was inspired by a piece of music, and I wrote and revised the book while listening to a steady stream of classical music and film scores (I’m still partial to John Williams, although Hans Zimmer’s, Klaus Badelt’s, and Geoff Zanelli’s Pirates of the Caribbean scores provide a good backdrop for writing some of the more action-heavy sequences. That use of music and songs isn’t going away anytime soon, because I can’t change who I still am at heart: that earnest high schooler with a French Horn tucked under his arm and a love for what it can do.

Rapscallion is available now.