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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  púka, 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

Loci in the time of Covid...


The year ends at least with a good beginning. This new garden project should keep me out of trouble for the coming year if I last that long. Gardening has become more nourishing to my soul than writing of late. I think my garden might be remembered longer than my books.

That said, I hope to fill my ever briefer future with lots of both. When I was young, it was my joy to wander. Post covid, my own little house and yard is getting bigger and bigger. Soon, I think, it might be the whole world.

Henry's Books.

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