Timothy Stoddard’s “Bluestone Folklore” is LIVE & we have fun facts, an excerpt & a fun giveaway!

Bluestone Folklore <— “…an homage to the sacred feminine, religious stories and myths, and the supernatural undertow of the natural realm…” IT IS LIVE and the author is today’s newsletter sponsor and we’re celebrating with fun facts!

So what’s it about?

Bluestone Folklore is the debut novel of classical tenor (or operatic tenor, or classical musician) Timothy Stoddard. We could also include some of the text from the back of the book:

All life pivots around the sacred apple tree in the Bluestone Woodland. Its roots anchor the foundation of the Old Man’s acreage. But now the world is stricken by fire, drought, and flooding, and all the while, the deer of the Bluestone Woodland are being slaughtered by the Man with the Crooked Finger and his sycophants.

Born in a coyote’s den not far from the sacred apple tree, the white-faced Yearling was the first fawn to emerge after many barren springs. She and the doe clan to which she belongs have always relied on the protection of the Old Man and his acreage. When a mysterious sound begins to haunt the Yearling and twilight descends on their Eden, she and the others–including the revenant Buck—set their sights on the North Territory: a haven rumored to be high in the mountains and untouched by man. Can they escape the Man with the Crooked Finger’s Thin the Herd crusade?

Move in the shadow of the falcon and race along the rattlesnake’s back— for the old devil is in the woods, and in the end, a sacrifice must be made.

BLUESTONE FOLKLORE is an homage to the sacred feminine, religious stories and myths, and the supernatural undertow of the natural realm. Its cloak is woven with sheer yarn to reveal an exploration of toxic masculinity, shame, and the painful intersection where intrinsic trauma meets destruction.

FIVE FUN FACTS:

1. I grew up in Idaho, and we spent a lot of time outdoors. My dad is a retired Fish and Game officer and both my folks enjoy hunting, fishing, camping, and wildlife watching. Needless to say, I grew up with an appreciation for nature which has only intensified with age. Aside from my folks, my grandmothers were both a huge part of my life. One told me ghost stories. The other, religious tales. I think Bluestone Folklore is in many ways rooted in my childhood origins (sans the staggering destruction and abuse).

2. When I started writing the book, I began to notice nature getting closer, principally deer. As the book became clearer to me over the many drafts, deer began to visit me. When I was on a musical theater gig in Boise, ID, I awoke to a mule deer at the window of the house I was staying in. Even here in Pittsburgh, we have had whitetails come into the front yard feasting in my garden, which they had never done before. It felt very much like my book coming to life. “If you write it, they will come.” 🙂

3. While writing was my first love as a child (although, I thought I would be a marine biologist—even though we didn’t live near an ocean—or a priest, a storm chaser, a doctor, or a journalist like Carrie Bradshaw at one point), I did discover singing as a boy soprano and opera found its way to me. As for being a priest, I was inspired by the drama and ritual of the mass—so likewise, I was drawn to the drama and ritual of stagecraft and opera. I am now a freelance tenor. I have sung all the way from the Imperial Hotel in Tokyo to Madison Square Garden in NYC, in works ranging from opera, musical theater, oratorio, film scores, and chamber music. My debut album TAROT (Navona Records) was released this spring.

4. People are surprised to learn that I am also a writer, but being in the classical music world has always put me at the edge where disciplines overlap. For example, I was in the premier of the opera Chunky in Heat with Experiments in Opera in NYC. The great author A.M. Homes was the librettist (who also gave me some good advice while writing my novel), and I remember Joyce Carol Oates coming to the show and tweeting her strong praises of the production and performance. I find these intersections of worlds so compelling, like cosmos touching tip to tip.

5. Obviously, I am inspired by symbols, especially with a debut album entitled TAROT. I spent a lot of time crafting Bluestone Folklore not just with a cohesive plot in mind, but as a sort of quilt that is sewn together with many different types of tropes and archetypes. From Bible stories and mythology to the Hero’s Journey and even Jungian thought, I endeavored to create layers of meaning and metaphor while also telling a linear tale. Alexis Marino, the superlative illustrator of the chapter headings, also worked in a similar way, but visually. I hope readers may take time to discover some of these hidden details throughout—for if nothing else, Bluestone Folklore is a dark parable rich in symbolism and imagery.

AN EXCERPT:

From Chapter III:

The Buck was immobile, and the Elder Doe refused to leave him to die alone. Danger crept along the service road with a rifle and a hacksaw, quick footed and crooked fingered. They could do nothing but lie together and wait. Soon, their combined blood would swell about them and pollute the nearby stream.

Overhead, a call to action sounded. It was the cry of the falcon. It spread its angel wings across the sun and looked to the earth. Its cigarette-cherry eyes blistered from its face. It carried with it a soul in migration from the land of man. There was no real death, only reassignment. A precious spirit swaddled in falcon feathers needed its next dwelling place. The tresses of fate had yet to be fully braided. High sun then enveloped the Doe and Buck in healing warmth.

A current, hot and damp, began to eddy about the Doe. It released her musk into the wet atmosphere. It deadened their pain and aroused their lust. For a moment, they abandoned fear of the impending shooter and obeyed their primal desire.

The Buck gathered all his strength and raised himself in a tremendous motion. The Doe stood about him readying herself to support his weight against her wide haunches. He staggered behind her rubbing alongside her flank to keep himself stable. At last, groaning, he threw himself on her hips and mounted her. He caped her back with blood as fine as mulberry silk. With a swift and powerful thrust, the Buck planted his seed in the Elder Doe. He then collapsed back to the ground gasping.

High above, the angel song spun in circles from out the falcon’s beak. It dove toward the Elder Doe tucking its wings against its sides. She feared the bird would impale her, but at the last moment, it shifted course and flew directly across her. It fanned her coat with its torpedo-shaped body and rocketed back into the sky. The spiritual transaction was complete. New life stirred in the Elder Doe.

Now tree branches cracked. The Doe squinched down peeking about the undergrowth. The Buck’s breathing had softened, but it still had an audible friction. It crackled like campfire. She tried to pacify him as she would a fawn. The woods rustled as if by a wind, but the air remained static. It was so quiet. All the forest concealed itself in the presence of such evil. Even the angel feared to sing.