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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

Enough is enough...


Everybody must be somewhere, and I'm glad and grateful to be right here.

It's a snug little house, big enough for two. After being cooped up all winter we got a bee in our bonnet to add on another room. When two contractors had backed out of the project, we began wondering if we were being given some time to reflect.

Reflect we did, and concluded that it is a little late in our season to be building a bigger barn. We have enough house, just too much stuff. We can fix that.

Enough is always enough.

Henry's books.

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