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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

My favorite things...


I received two presents on my eightieth birthday. My old friend, Wayseeker, gave me a book that I'd heard good things about but never gotten around to reading. I'll tell you more about it later.

 The Main Muse, my wife and partner in my life-long project to subvert Western Civilization, gave me this blue spruce named Wendl to join my wee grove out back of the kitchen.

Books and trees are my favorite things for presents, so I count my birthday haul as successful. As for friends and wives, they make the best company. Those who keep you are priceless treasures. I'm rich, already.


Henry's books.

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