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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

Three more...

Only three more weeks of winter now and I can see spring from here. Most of my gardening over the past season has been confined to this space. You can see the little tsubo niwa (pocket garden) on the left, tucked into the corner between the kitchen and the writer's lair. The herb bed, at upper center, has already been spread with compost from last summer's kitchen and garden scraps. We'll work that into the soil as soon as the ground dries a bit from recent rains. That's the asparagus bed on the right, waiting to be composted. In another month, we'll be seeing some green in there.

On the hill above (where I was standing when I took this photo) are a couple dozen blueberry plants. Over the spring, we'll be planting veggie beds between the bushes. Pictures to follow.

And, yes, I still make time to write.

Henry's books.


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