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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

Every time...

Every time a friend dies who's younger than I am, it's another reminder that I'm in the last chapter of my little hike through the world. Long-range planning doesn't take up a lot of my time these days. 

I'm still digging up dirt to plant a garden this spring, though. I have hopes yet of being above ground when my next novel comes out in February. I feel pretty good. I think I can keep on keeping on for another year, at least.

Just in case I do a little better than that, I've started writing another book. If I'm not around to finish it, I will have at least had some fun on my way out.

Henry's books. 


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