Yes. You've found me out. It's about me.

I was born, obviously, (although I readily admit that my mom deserves all the credit
for that achievement), and when the happy years of innnocence and sunshine drew
to a close, I abruptly decided that I was not only born, but born to become a great
violin player. Something like Yehudi Menuhin, I imagined, for I've always felt that
modesty has no business poking about in dreams. Years of hard work followed,
and in the herculean struggle to achieve this goal I somehow managed to mess up my
left shoulder so thoroughly that I was forced to leave it to others to climb this summit
of glory.

If the harsh gods that look down on us from proud Olympus were satisfied that this setback was enough to humble my ego, they were wrong. Like any other artist, musicians are not made, as you and I well know; they are born, and there's nothing anyone can change about that. If I was not meant to play music, then I was going to write it. Music. Music theatre, for that has been my passion ever since, as a youth, I went to see Mozart's "Magic Flute". 

This was a decision I never regretted, but it did bring up another problem: the words. The scripts, the books, the lyrics. Music theatre without the words just wouldn't do, would it? So, unable to find an author with whom I could work for more than five minutes without feeling an urge to bash his head in, I started to write my own, confident that I could hardly go wrong there because, as Beaumarchais once wrote: "anything not worth to be said is sung".

Thank you for visiting my site. I hope you'll have a few agreeable moments here.

                                                                                                                                                     Marcel Wick                                                                                                                                                    February 2012.