True Heroes: V for Violins and...

True heroes are all around us, in our every day lives, but some people stand out. During this A-Z Challenge I hope to share several of my real life heroes, and invite you to share yours in the comments.

ivalidi, Antonio Lucio. Perhaps you've heard me talk a little about my love affair with orchestral music composition. Yeah.

So we all have those who inspire us, right? --Those people whose work is so incredible, it lights or fuels our own fire? Antonio Vivialdi was that for me.

He was a child musician who suffered from asthma. At fifteen he decided he was going to be a priest and obtained that aspiration at 25. But, his true calling was music, and he spent the next thirty years, while working at an orphanage, composing vocal and orchestral works for the children he taught.

I suppose part of what inspires me about him is that his works were written to help orphans whose chances of survival were minimal outside the orphanage unless they could find employment based on their skills.

Vivaldi did eventually rise in popularity with royalty and nobility, but at the end of his life he was buried a pauper. I suppose this is a sign of how fleeting the fame can be.

The first time I heard Vivaldi's four seasons, I couldn't get it out of my head. I was in love. I'd always adored violins, but this cemented my love. I knew I'd never be that talented in composing for strings, but he made me want to try.

Five more days to get MOONLESS at $1.99.

Jane Eyre meets Supernatural

An excerpt: 

The study door stood closed. Alexia neared, shaking. Pressing cautiously against it, she expected the mahogany to burn her.

Father’s voice boomed through the wood. “No! And that is final!”

The barrier lurched. She leapt back as it swung open.

He halted before her. Boots, not stylish, but entirely practical and worn; breeches, a sturdy gray, modestly hugging a trim form; waist coat concealed by a subtly weathered coat; shirt, fitted and simple . . . 

Her jaw fell.

Ginger locks framed his clean-shaven face with a straight nose, high cheekbones, expressive brows and enigmatic blue eyes. He was a perfect paramour of twenty years, except for a jagged white scar cutting from below one eye down his cheek. A sheen of beauty hung over his whole being. He verily glowed.

Like Bellezza. Like herself!

She gasped. Sweet pollen and rustic oak tickled her nose, transporting her to a grove of wooded mystery so deep mankind would never comprehend the fullness. Those consuming eyes met hers and flickers of heat burst in her cheeks, spreading across the back of her neck. His pupils widened, nearly eclipsing the night sky. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to fall into the blackness of his gaze.

A grunt from the den brought her back to the hall.

He bowed, movements excruciatingly slow, eyes never leaving her face. His lips parted as if he might speak, but with a dark glance toward the room he’d abandoned, his mouth sealed in a grim line. The corners of his eyes crinkled, pain glinting in his hypnotic stare. He nodded and stepped around her.

A breath of fresh-cut tinder and summer blooms pulled her eyelids closed, like the farewell kiss of a faerie nightmare.

Is there any composer or music that really motivates you creatively? Who is your favorite composer/artist? What's you favorite instrument? Do you play?