It starts as these things sometimes do. Just a whisper at first. A rumor, really.  Yet overtime it grows to an inconsolable wailing. A gnawing compulsion.

It refuses to be ignored. I try; I really do. I humor it at first, feed it some crumbs, then hurry to bury it, pretend it doesn’t exist lest someone find me out. Until one day I realize I’m being summoned by a figment that feels more real than any place found on a map.

And so, I stop hiding and making excuses. I start listening, then writing. Cliche though it may be, I have a tale begging to be told.

From the mythic landscape of my imagination, perhaps from the depths of some ancestral memory, Kaliarxi emerges–an enigmatic Cretan town that’s found only by those meant to be there. It beckons with secrets whispered in the wind, with music that echoes over verdant valleys and across craggy cliffs, and with lore and legends that hint at ancient mysteries waiting to be unearthed. It is home to a people every bit as mysterious and enthralling as the town.

The Many Voices of the Wind is their story. It’s the tale of a place older than time, of a lost way of life, and of a community at the crossroads of myth and madness.

Some might argue that taking years out of my life to write a book is itself a form of madness. Perhaps that’s so, but I would argue it’s a merry madness and a gateway to adventure. An adventure I’d love to share with you, my fellow travelers… those of you who also hearken to the siren call of the voices in the wind.

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