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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

Strange unwinding...

A strange tale is unwinding itself in my notebook during these shortening days, about a woman who has lost hope and a man who has lost faith, two old lovers apart for forty years and some, reunited at last.

They are private people, our Doreen Sharp and Simon Catherwood. We don’t learn much about them until an accident threatens to separate them again. As each grapples with their own personal regret and guilt, remembering or denying the irretrievable past, they reveal to us bit by bit why they parted and what has compelled them to this late and last encounter.

I look in on them every morning to learn any new secret they might divulge to one another and to their author. Whatever they tell me, I promise to pass on to you readers – eventually.

The story is titled Angels Unawares, at least for now. It began as a short story that turned into a novella and seems to have aspirations to grow up into a novel. You’ll know when I know.


Henry's books.


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