The Story Behind the Story

This week, I went to see Rush.

I’d bought the tickets months ago, and by the time the concert arrived, I was honestly more stressed than excited. Crowds. Traffic. Staying out late. You know the feeling.

Then the lights went down.

The second half opened with 2112. Anika Nilles absolutely owned the drums. They played Freewill, Tom Sawyer, The Trees, Closer to the Heart, Xanadu…

It was everything I’d hoped it would be.

But the real surprise didn’t happen at the concert. It happened the next morning.

While talking about the show, I remembered something I hadn’t thought about in years.

When I was teen, I became fascinated with the cover art for Hemispheres. I “borrowed” my older brother’s album (he eventually got it back… I think), because I wanted to know what kind of music belonged with artwork like that.

The artwork hooked me. Then the music did.

As we kept talking, something clicked. I realized I wasn’t just captivated by the painting. I was captivated by the promise that there was a story inside.

That realization sent me back to my childhood.

My parents met in 1955 at a movie theater. My mom worked the concession stand. My dad ran the projector.

I grew up taking classical ballet. I grew up with older siblings introducing me to music that spanned generations—from Mozart to The Beatles to Rush.

I love classic movies. I love mythology. I love fairy tales. I love anything that hinted there was another world waiting to be discovered.

Looking back now, I don’t think I became a writer simply because I loved books. I think I became a writer because I was always looking for the story hiding behind things.

Behind an album cover. Behind a castle in the Scottish Highlands. Behind a fairy tale everyone thought they already knew. Behind a legend. Behind a Bible verse.

I’ve spent years creating magical worlds for readers, but maybe I’ve been doing the same thing I was doing as a teenager holding that Rush album.

Looking for the story.

Maybe that’s what every storyteller does.

We spend our lives chasing that feeling—that quiet whisper that says, There’s something more here.

Sometimes we find it. Sometimes we get to create it for someone else. And maybe that’s the greatest privilege of all.