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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


 Richard Rohr writes of action and contemplation as a unified circle, each arising from and giving rise to the other. In my recent gardening reading, I ran into a parallel thought from Annie Martin in her book, The Magical World of Moss Gardening, where she discusses the temple gardens of Japan-

"These tranquil retreats certainly provide inviting visual spaces for contemplation. Yet meditation is an internal experience with no requirement of external stimuli. In Zen philosophy, it is the creative process of gardening and the ongoing labor of maintaining garden grandeur that facilitates one's journey on the path to enlightenment."


Henry's books.


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