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Writing Wendl...

I really did want to write a light-hearted tale in case this one turns out to be my last novel (assuming it yet becomes a novel), but it's headed currently toward the shadows. I thought I knew Wendl Von Trier pretty well, having trekked with him through my previous book, The Winged Child .   There, Wendl presents as an elusive solitary, moving above all worldly fray while at the same time nudging events and characters toward a satisfactory conclusion. Sharp and intimidating on the outside and tender and motherly on the inside. A friend to the world, something of a trickster, but in all things working for good outcomes.  That is how I saw Wendl VonTrier. A  p├║ka, mischievous, but essentially harmless, even benevolent, capable of presenting in whatever form or gender the moment required. Wendl seemed the ideal candidate to carry readers off into the literary sunset in good spirits after an exhilarating romp through a fantastical fiction. But all along, it seems, there were depths to

Looking back...

Looking back over the past year's Drovers Gap posts reminds me that this time last summer, I was reading from Slick Rock Creek to area book clubs, to any group, in fact, who would sit still for it. This summer there have been no readings at all for Early Dark. Even the launch party was canceled due to the pandemic. In spite of all that, Early Dark has managed to sell more copies.

Readings, though, are not really about selling books. Most folks who show up at a book reading already have their copy in hand to be signed. Readings are about readers, whether they bring kind praise or hard questions, or just feel they need a little extra to get the dollars worth they paid for their book.

I miss them now. I write first for myself but last, I write for the readers. They remind me why I really keep doing this.

Henry's books.


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