Sing Your Song Studios

Helping Students Find Their Creative Voice, One Class At A Time

NaNoWriMo ... My inspiration (kick in the pants) when I need it the most!

 Do you like to write? Have you attempted the NaNoWriMo event before? Am I speaking a foreign language? Fear not, I’ll take a moment to explain! 


NaNoWriMo is short for National Novel Writing Month. It is a wonderful, FREE, global event hosted online each November. The goal is to write every day for thirty days in a row, and to have a complete first draft by the end of the month. In order to “win”, you must complete 50,000 words between November 1stand 30th. For some of you, this may sound simple. For others, it may sound downright impossible. Either way, anything that assists writers in daily practice is a wonderful (and much needed) thing.


When broken down, the word count goal amounts to roughly 1,667 words per day as a target. In his book On Writing, (a must have for any aspiring novelist) Stephen King claims to write an average of 2,000 words per day. Not only that, King also states he writes every day of the year: birthdays, statutory holidays and vacations included. For many of us who still require a day job, this may not be sustainable year-round. It’s worth a try nonetheless. And during the month of November, hundreds of thousands of us often succeed.


I have always loved creative writing. But it’s only been in recent years that I’ve come to believe it may be a part of my calling. And not because of recognition, praise or publishing deals. Nope. One of my biggest ‘aha’ moments came just last month when I attended a writer’s workshop. 


First, I should acknowledge that all the stars had to align in order for me to be present that day. I live on Vancouver Island. The workshop was in Vancouver. And though the class itself was free, it costs a small fortune for me to travel to the mainland. I asked for a little help in the form of an early Christmas present, and I was able to raise enough funds to afford the trip. 


The event was hosted at the Vancouver Public Library by a writer in residence. I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect when I arrived. And while we may not have covered all the topics I’d hoped for, I discovered something far more valuable. 


Initially I was captivated by the pleasant hum of creative minds all congregating in the same room. But as our workshop carried on, I realized why the energy felt great. I finally understood why I couldn’t stop smiling.


We – the creative minded people: artists, writers, musicians, dancers, you name it – we often see the world differently. Take for example, our host and facilitator, Stella Maclean …


To begin with, we were discussing the Central Vancouver Public Library, located downtown. The magnificent nine-story building is comprised of stunning architectural features including bridges, skylights and an exterior wall modeled after the Amphitheatre in Rome. But none of its beauty detracts from the functionality of its various rooms: the offices, meeting places, theatres, resource centers or gardens. Beyond having an artist’s appreciation for the structure itself, Stella kept imagining the stories she could write there. Stories of intrigue, mystery … murder. 


We all chimed in on characters we’d love to place in that setting, as well as all the ways we would devastate their lives. As you can imagine, these are not the kinds of conversations one can simply have in a doctor’s waiting room or on a crowded airplane. No. Non-writers are likely to think you’re an escaped convict or a total nutter.


But writers? Writers thrive on this stuff. As I sat there, listening, chatting and grinning from ear to ear, all I could think was … I’m among my people. Finally, I’ve found my tribe! 


I may never be a New York Time’s Bestselling author. I may never win writing awards, prizes or accolades. My soul may speak a different language than the average person. But I’ve found many other souls that speak this same language. And many of them are gearing up to speak non-stop for the next thirty days.


So if these crazy ideas make sense to you … if you march to the beat of a different drum … why don’t you give NaNoWriMo a chance this November? You’ve got absolutely nothing to lose.


And about 50,000 words to gain!


Happy Writing My Friends!

Happy Birthday Mom ... and Thanks!

I’m grateful this morning. I’m up and writing before 5am. I’ve been woken up the last couple of nights in the wee hours of the morning, without really knowing why. But it is reminiscent of another time in my life. And the memory is bitter-sweet.

Ten years ago, shortly after my mom passed away, I began to suffer from insomnia. It was grief, no doubt, but I hadn’t named it yet. Like clock-work, I would wake – most often at 3:33 am. Without fail, I would seek out my music studio. Filled with angst, I hummed with the injustice of my mother’s premature death. I was left with millions of things to say to her. Words she would never get to hear.

That same sensation - of bubbling over with a desire to say something - is what has always driven my songwriting process. But there were two rather important reasons why I couldn’t write music. The first, you’ve probably guessed. Three o’clock in the morning is not the right time to play piano or lament at the top of your lungs. And I had so much to say, it physically hurt to silence myself. I knew there would be no such thing as quiet musical expression.

But the second reason I couldn’t write songs, is because it reminded me of my mom. Music was far, far too close to her. Mom was an amazing musician. She was my first piano teacher, and she and I performed many times together. She played for every wedding and every funeral for hundreds of miles. She was sought after: a hidden gem in the vast prairie. And every time I brought myself to the keyboard, I cried. Every time I opened my mouth to sing the words I should have said, I howled. 

I couldn’t write music. 

I was lost.

Every night I went to sleep, hoping for peaceful, uninterrupted slumber. And each morning, against my wishes, I would rise while the rest of the world slept around me. Like a zombie, I would amble the short distance to my studio in the basement. And, not knowing what else to do with the bubbling lava of emotion that had nowhere to go … I started to type.

It was a beautiful release! A perfect stream of consciousness and exactly the escape I needed. I didn’t know what I was doing. I had no map, no pre-conceived notion. All I had was the satisfaction of relief.

My story began with a woman who suffered from insomnia (go figure). And as the floorboards creaked and the furnace groaned around me, my heroine feared that which went bump in the night. And she was grieving too … although it took me a long time to figure out why. Her story had yet to reveal itself to me.

It’s quite funny now – as I look back on it all. I was a 30 year old woman, writing a story about a female lead with more experience. I told her story with as much conviction as I could, imagining what a 35 year old woman would feel like in her circumstances. I admired her. I thought she lived an extraordinary life. And after about 100,000 words, I had a complete novel. 

Oh, but it needed work! It’s much easier to write a book when you know at the onset that’s the goal. In particular, the beginning chapters were all aimless meanderings, taking forever to get to their destination. So I had to do what most first time writers do: put the book on the butcher’s block and chop, chop, chop!

I had help. I had a friend with a lot of writing and teaching experience. She was firm, but kind in her feedback. I enlisted beta readers, and I was really proud of the story. I had created something out of nothing. And that in and of itself was pretty cool. And honestly, I thought the story was good. I knew it was good. But I also knew it wasn’t good enough.

I put the book down. I moved on. I wrote dozens of short stories and two more novels. And just recently, I returned to my first book. I’ve tried a few times over the years to get back to it. I’ve started and stopped the revision process more times than I can count. Sometimes I was too bored to continue. Sometimes it was too painful. Sometimes life got in the way.

But this time, I started and just kept going. As it turns out, it is a pretty great story. But I also understand why it needed so much time to gestate. When I began writing, I was only imagining the life my heroine would lead. I used my love of reading, music and movies to propel my main character’s actions and to understand her reactions. But now, as I approach 40, I’ve actually lived many of these life events and their consequences. In a surprising display of life imitating art, I’ve experienced similar emotions to that of my main character. Not verbatim of course, but comparable, nonetheless.

So this time, when I sat down to edit, revise and rewrite … it just flowed. The right words came and the wrong ones were cut without attachment. I know my heroine now. She’s come to life and she is a fully formed person with a lot of depth behind her.

And how fitting is it, that I should have finished this revision on my mother’s birthday? How beautiful and serendipitous that the tenth birthday since her passing should see the fulfillment of what started all those years ago? 

I’ve thought many times since she passed in 2008, that my insomnia was the effort of my mom, calling me to action. It’s probably silly or superstitious, but it brought me comfort. My mom isn’t here to watch me fulfill my destiny or achieve my best life. But it’s beautiful to imagine her pushing me ever forward in the right direction. She always was my biggest cheerleader.

Thanks Mom! Thanks for giving me a gift on your birthday. Thanks for the love. Thanks for the push. 

When it comes right down to it … thanks for everything. 

2018: This is the year that I conquer fear.

It is far too early for me to be up. Not because it's 5:23 in the morning as I begin this, but because I've been awake since around 2:30 this morning. I woke up to a phone call. The call was from a colleague advising us there was a Tsunami warning for our area. We are a few kilometres from the inlet here on Vancouver Island, but I don't know if that's far enough away to be considered high ground. Either way, the warning has since been lifted. My husband is fast asleep. But my wonderful brain? CAN. NOT. STOP.

Don't get me wrong, I agonized for a while, but I am not awake because I am afraid. I am awake because the initial fear put me on high alert. The phone call woke up not just my body, but also my brain. And now I can't get it to shut off. But I've been thinking a lot about fear lately. If you haven't already seen it and / or listened to it, you should check out Jim Carrey's full commencement address to the 2014 Maharishi University of Management class here ... There are a lot of pearls of wisdom on love and fear and what it means to choose love. I listen to an abbreviated version every time I feel pulled off course.

But I can't really talk about my own fears without talking about where they come from. Hold on to your hat, because it's about to get REAL up in here. Let me preface this by stating that I am lucky. I am happy and healthy and I am fortunate to have people that I love in my life. Even more fortunate they seem to love me back! I come from a great family. A family that endured a lot of struggle, but a great family nonetheless. My parents made so many sacrifices when my brother and I were younger. They worked their butts off so we could have the best opportunities our Saskatchewan grain farm could provide. We had swimming lessons and music lessons. My brother played hockey and volleyball and I was involved in plays and musicals. My dad routinely held off purchasing newer, better farm equipment so he could afford to take us on family vacations. We went to Disneyland, Disneyworld and Expo '86. We drove everywhere in our '78 Thunderbird and sometimes we even slept in the car. We couldn't afford to fly the family anywhere, so we drove. My parents some how managed to afford a cabin at the lake and a boat. I believe the boat was also a '78, maybe a '79. And they kept finding ways to take us to the lake every summer for waterskiing, swimming and hot dog roasting.

Grain farmers. Who have time during the summer to frolic at the lake. How on earth did they pull that off?

But these are the memories my childhood is built on. These are the moments that keep me grounded when the world threatens to sweep me off my feet. I have a vivid recollection of how my parents used to hold hands in the front seat of those long drives. My dad did the majority of the driving and my mother did the majority of the "sharp intakes of breath" and "audible gasps" that let us know she didn't approve of my dad's driving. But the way I remember it, they held hands for the entire drive. It's hard to say why that had such a profound impact on me. But I think it's because I could feel their love. I felt their contentment. I knew they had love for one another, they had love for us, and they were happy. Roughly translated through the eyes of a child, that meant we were safe.

But here's where things turn ... well ... crazy. When I was all of about 11 years old, it became apparent that my mom was no longer herself. While I can tell you what happened, I can never really explain the way it rocked our family's world. I guess the next closest comparison I have (in my lifetime) is when the twin towers were hit. Do you remember where you were when that news story broke? Do you remember what you were doing, who you were with, who told you? Do you remember waiting on pins and needles to discover if this was truly "the end of the world as we know it?" (Sorry, the musician in me had to quote a song!)

I'm grateful not to have lived through war in my country in my lifetime. But when the twin towers were hit on September 11, 2001, I was pretty sure that was about to change. That's the only remotely comparable feeling I have to describe being 11 or so years old, and watching my mother develop a mental illness.

I was terrified.

I felt out of control.

It was the end of my world as I knew it.

More on all of that in future posts, I am sure. But the real nugget I want to get to is fear. Where did my fear come from and how have I fed it all these years? Well, I think the answer to that is multifaceted. I feel the need to reiterate here ... I love my parents. They are both amazing people. Unfortunately, my mom is no longer with us. But I've had a hell of a good life, blessed with so many beautiful moments and amazing opportunities. None of which would have been possible without my parents. Both of them.

Okay, now that my disclaimer is out of the way - in case my father reads this - (I doubt it, he doesn't read much) I feel as though I can drop some truth bombs.

My dad is an awesome person. If you know him, you probably like him. However, my dad has a couple of ... let's just call them colourful quirks ... that make him the great man that he is. First of all, I'm pretty sure he's a pyromaniac. I'm kind of joking, but also not really. As evidenced by the several out buildings on our farm that no longer exist, I think the local fire department in "Hometown Saskatchewan" might just back me up on that. Another one of my dad's idiosyncrasies is that he is an interrogator. Have you ever read the Celestine Prophecy by James Redfield? It's an interesting story with some interesting themes. It's been years since I read it, so I'm going to give a personal summary based on recollection here. If you want an accurate representation of his words, please read the book!!! There is an interesting summary here on how the "control dramas" are used in relationships here ...

However, for the purposes of our discussion, the Celestine Prophecy theorizes that, based on our childhood experiences, each person will grow up to exhibit qualities of one of the following control dramas: The Intimidators (which is essentially another word for bully). These people try to control you via threat. The Interrogators (my dad and my brother - bless their little hearts). These folks control you by asking you questions for the explicit purpose of finding fault with your answers. Another way to think of this personality type is "The best defence is a good offence". Aloof people (self-admittedly, my ex-husband), who draw people's energy and attention to themselves by acting withdrawn and reserved. The personality type that forces you to engage and give energy to determine the aloof persons state of well being. And finally the fourth control drama is the Poor Me. (My mother and perhaps through modelling her behaviour, myself). These personalty types tend to relive past traumas for attention, or focus on the hurting rather than the healing. The control aspect comes in by making others feel guilty or responsible toward them. Keep in mind, these are just principles from a book. None of these personality types are particularly flattering, but it's interesting to see which one could apply to ourselves. 

So now try to picture, if you will, my father ... the interrogator, and my mother ... the paranoid poor me in a loving marital relationship. (And I assure you, it was loving!). But can you see any potential pitfalls? I should also mention, that long before my mom became ill, she was prone to worrying. Not the usual cases of anxiety and fear that we all go through. I mean she was a worry wart! Like a super power, she could leap to the worst possible conclusion in a single bound! If my dad didn't come home from the field in the usual time, it meant he was in a ditch. (Although, this is perhaps a reflection of my dad's driving). If Dad set a fire to burn stubble in the field, it meant he hadn't set a fire guard around the perimeter and the entire country side would go up in flames. (Er ... once again, not out of the realm of possibilities here). 

Do you see the problem? My dad's confident carelessness (that lucky horseshoe thing, where he keeps tempting fate by doing slightly unsafe things, but totally gets away with it somehow leading him to believe he's invinceable) and my mom's overanxious spirit (anything that can go wrong, not only will go wrong, it already has!) were not an ideal combination. Of course that was only one aspect of their relationship. They had a lot going for them that was good and loving and wonderful. But I get anxious just thinking about how my mom felt every time my dad lit a fire on the farm. My heart rate has actually increased by simply recalling memories of my dad's several injuries spurred on by confident carelessness.  Broken bones from driving the ATV too fast, second or third degree burns from opening a radiator cap when it was still too hot ... the list goes on. (And on, and on).

But my mom worried about everything. I swear, if worrying was a full time job, she could have easily supported our family. And likely yours as well. But here's the thing:

I am a highly sensitive person. In recent years, there's been more recognition for people like myself. Have you heard of empaths? Well, you can believe in it or not believe in it. But I am definitely an empath! I have spent my entire life as a human sponge. It took me YEARS as a child to figure out that a ton of what I felt on a day to day basis wasn't actually my own. This perhaps affected me so much because I grew up on acres and acres of land. I grew up with nature, not people. And so anytime I found myself in crowds of people (at school, at social gatherings, at church) I was BOMBARDED with emotion. Have you ever walked into a room and felt immediately put off? Have you ever wondered why? Like, you came to this party to have a good time, and there's lots of people here that you know and like, and you bought a new dress and you look really pretty but ... nah. I don't want to be here. This is the story of my life. (Well, I don't always have a new dress or a good hair day, but you get the point).  It took a long time for me to process that maybe I was picking up on someone else's bad mood. Perhaps there was someone else at the party who really didn't want to be there. Perhaps that person was dragged there somewhat unwillingly by a friend or spouse.  But I felt those emotions exactly the same as if they were my own.

So, if you're still with me ... holy cow, thanks! But I promise you I'm about to bring this home. Can you imagine what it felt like to grow up in a house with my father the interrogator, critic, confidently careless wonderful man that he is, and my mother, the poor me, worry wart, paranoid schizophrenic with a huge heart?



I'm a right bit messed up! But I am learning to recognize that all this fear is learned. It's not actually mine, so I don't want to hang on to it anymore. I used to agonize over the nature vs nurture aspects of my mom's illness. Like, was I destined to get it because it's hereditary? I mean these things are common among family members, just like cancer, diabetes and heart disease. Or ... was it more likely that I'd model that behaviour anyway, because that's how I grew up? I was nurtured with fear and raised on worry. By my father I was nurtured with criticism, which basically makes a person afraid he or she will never be good enough.

Well I've had enough of this! This is the year that I conquer fear. And I will do so by realizing that none of the fears I have are my own. These are things I borrowed from parents, teachers and friends. These fears aren't mine. These worries aren't real. They are possibilities in an unforeseen future, but they are not reality. They aren't real. They're not mine.

Everyone in my family (my husband and my step-kids) are terrified of spiders. I am the spider killer at my house, although our youngest is getting pretty brave in this department as well. But honestly, if I can wear my big girl pants and save my family from spiders, then I'm going to wear my big girl pants and save myself from a lifetime of unnecessary worry and fear. 

And you should too!



The Artist's Way: A Twelve Week Self-Guided Course to Unlocking your Creativity

Are you a creative person who simply cannot find the time to devote to your craft? Are you a closet creative, with ambitions you haven’t told anyone about? Do you fear how people will react or receive your work? Are you currently producing creative work, but limited to waiting for inspiration to strike first? Do you wish your Muse would show up more often?


If any of the above resonates with you, please join us! This Winter at Sing Your Song Studios, we are excited to offer a different kind of creative experience. Join us online or in person as we meet weekly to discuss our self-guided progress through Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way.  One of her many beloved books on the Creative Process, The Artist’s Way is a twelve week, self-guided journey to help you unleash your creative potential. The book uses simple techniques and exercises to help prompt creativity and overcome any obstacles that may currently lay in your path.


And best of all, it’s FREE! That’s right! This twelve-week program will cost you nothing but a time commitment plus the cost of Cameron’s book (available for purchase online through Amazon or Chapter’s Indigo).


You may be asking yourself, why would I attend a weekly gathering if it’s a self-guided workbook? That’s an excellent question, and the answer is simple: strength in numbers. Have you committed to anything before by using the buddy system? A healthy diet or exercise regime? A pledge to spend less money or eat out less often? I have no doubt that you are a strong and committed person. But the commitments we make to ourselves are the easiest to break. There is a myth that it is okay to let ourselves down, just as long as we don’t let others down. So why not commit to yourself and to others?


Register online today. Start by ordering your book, or putting it on your Christmas Wish List. Commit to yourself, and commit to our group.  Let 2017 be your year. The year of Creativity!

Do it for Johnny

"Do it for Johnny!"

I've often been inspired by that line from SE Hinton's masterpiece, The Outsiders. It's a kind of Carpe Diem sentiment, and yet it's much more. It's the idea that we not only seize the day, but that we seize the day for ourselves as well as those who are no longer with us.

At the beginning of June, I lost my brother-in-law in a tragic car accident that also could have claimed the life of my husband. My brother-in-law, Matthew, was only 33.

Once upon a time that was considered a ripe old age. But of course, in a modern context, Matthew's life had really just begun. He had just found a new life he loved in the Yukon. He was finally earning decent money, learning new things, and exploring the great outdoors after leading a comparably sheltered life. Like many of us, Matthew had struggled to find a lasting, well paid, year round career in the Okanagan.

Among his many gifts, Matthew had a great ear for music. He and I chatted away excitedly on several occasions about working on new piano compositions together. Matt was very inspired by the music of film and had a naturally orchestral ear. Despite all our talk, we never got the chance to make it happen.

It's such a small thing really, in the grand scheme of all that Matthew will miss out on. Who am I to even think of what experiences I am missing with Matt? His entire family and all his friends have been stripped of his bright light. What about his parents? His sister and brother? How much will they miss? What about his buddies, his colleagues, and the girls who imagined themselves as his future wife?

So once again, who the hell am I to feel cheated of my future musical endeavours with Matthew? 

Except that, it has forced me to think about time. Time is a conundrum most of us never solve. There are days it drives us mad by passing so slowly it seems to go in reverse.

How many of us have had that paradoxical experience of watching the time drag on so slowly: second by second, minute by minute, hour by hour? Some days seem to go on forever, and yet when we look back over the week, the month or the year ... We have no idea how we got there.

Where on earth did the time go? Why haven't I accomplished all I set out to do? 

It's that age old balancing act: setting priorities according to our families, our finances and an endless list of obligations that only ever seems to grow, no matter how many things we check off the list.

Well, I'm not proud to say I've always had difficulty setting my priorities. My heart's desire has always sung loud and clear to me, and yet I find myself spending most of my days pursuing things unrelated to my passions. How exactly is one supposed to earn a living, make time for family, friends and community obligations and also selfishly pursue his or her dream?

Frankly? I have no idea.

But the purpose of this post, and all future related posts, is to figure that out. I feel robbed of my time with Matt. I feel robbed on his behalf.... Such a bright and shiny light with so much potential and so many gifts and talents to unleash on the world. The fruits of which, we'll never get to see.

But all my wishing, hoping and dreaming cannot bring Matt back to us. We have to move forward and except the fact that while he is gone, our lives go on. In particular, my husband is lucky to be alive. Any little change in that day's tragic events could have also turned me into a widow.

So what the hell do we do now?

I'll tell you exactly what we do. We have a choice, every single day to live the best possible life we can live. We have a choice every single day to let the small things go, to prioritize what is important, to cherish our loved ones and pursue the things that make our hearts sing.

I feel a responsibility now, not just to live all the life that I can possibly cram in, but to live enough for Matt to get his fair share too. 

I don't understand the way the world works sometimes. I don't know why some people are taken from us far too soon. 

All I truly know is that for some reason, I'm still here. I'm still breathing. And so I plan to live everyday with the kind of zeal that Matt had. 

And I'm gonna "Do it for Matthew!"

Introducing a Master Class Series for Fiction Writers from Novice to Advanced

Sing Your Song Studios is proud to present this fun and informative series hosted by Dr. Cathi Shaw.  If you want to write … Read on!

Do you have a story inside you that is just waiting to be told? Have you always dreamed of writing a book but just not known where to start? Or do you have a manuscript you’ve started but really would like some direction finishing?

This Master Class series might be just what you are looking for. Aimed to take you from initial idea to polished manuscript in five sessions over five months, writers are invited to bring ideas for projects in any genre they are comfortable with (short story, poetry, novel, narrative non-fiction, etc.).

Cathi Shaw is a published author and an academic writing instructor who can help you pitch your story to publishers by the end of this series. Pick and chose from the classes below or sign up for the whole series,

Writers who chose to sign up for the whole series will receive detailed written feedback and suggestions on their manuscript from Cathi at the end of the series. Throughout the series Cathi will be available to give some feedback and ongoing support to every writer who attends.


Session 1: Finding Your Spark (January 10, 2016)

Perhaps you’ve always loved writing but just don’t know what to write about. Or maybe you have an idea for your story but just don’t know how to frame it. Whatever category you fall into, our initial meeting will go over the basics: character development, plotlines, dialogue, developing an efficient writing practice and first drafts.


Session 2: Getting It Down on Paper (February 7, 2016)

Whether you’ve written a lot or just a little, this session will help you get your manuscript on track. We will explore strategies for getting your first draft finished, when to ask for feedback, how to overcome writer’s block, and explore avenues of research needed for your work.


Session 3: Where to Go With Your First Draft (March 6, 2016)

You’ve finished your first draft! Yay! This is a great accomplishment but I’m sorry to tell you this is only the beginning. Writing is rewriting. We will talk about how to rewrite effectively, when to get feedback, how to ask for feedback and when you have to start all over again.


Session 4: Editing Your Work (April 17, 2016)

Editing is different that rewriting. In this session we will go over the different kinds of editing the writer engages in, talk about strategies for editing your own work, discuss when to hire a professional editor and move toward polishing your manuscript.


Session 5: Publishing Your Work (May 22, 2016)

We will explore different avenues for publication including self-publishing, working with an agent, the editorial process and marketing your work. Part of this session will include a working session where each writer will draft a pitch of their project and share it with the larger group.


Each Masterclass is a fully self-contained workshop. These sessions will be two hours each, and are $75 when purchased separately. Sign up for the entire series for only $250.00.


Questions about which masterclass is right for you? Call or write today!



Welcome to Sing Your Song Studios!

Hello and welcome to Sing Your Song Studios. A place where creative minds meet ...

This is about finding your singing voice, sure. But it's about so much more than that. It's about finding your creative voice, in whatever artistic medium you choose. What inspires you? When are you most connected to your muse? Whether your passion lies in music, writing, dance, drama, visual arts or somewhere else along the creativity spectrum, Sing Your Song Studios can help. Not only do we offer private and group instruction in the musical realm, we bring the professionals: teachers, artists, performers, mentors and inspirational gurus in your field of study right here to the Okanagan and to you.

What forms of creative guidance do you find lacking in the Okanagan? Are you performing at a high level within your medium already, but wish you had just a bit more guidance? Maybe you could use one or two more tools to add to your tool box. We believe in bringing top industry professionals to the Okanagan to provide you with the education and inspiration you're looking for … without having to move, travel across the continent or re-enlist in a University style program. 

Tell us what your artistic needs are and we'll find a way to help you forge your own path … with a little help from the experts.

Sign up for our newsletter and stay tuned for a schedule of workshops, masterclasses, interviews and special performances.