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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

Our Song...


The unaccustomed solitude of this past pandemic year has many of us yearning for what we term "community," meaning the company of other humans. That, we believe, is our natural element.

Viewed in a different perspective, our year of relative isolation has also been an opportunity to broaden our sense and experience of community. Most of the souls that populate our days are other than human. Once we get out under the sky and step off the pavement, we are awash in a sea of life, plants, animals, creatures and spirits as mysterious and facinating to us as would be angels or dragons.

Our habitual business over the years has narrowed our lives to focus on the expected and controlled, fostered the illusion that our days are all about us. Most of the creatures of this world take little or no notice at all of all our human doings. To them, our hustle and bustle seems as mindless and unintentional as the scurry of an ant seems to us.

But all the other-than-human world is speaking to us continually, singing to us the never-ending Story in which we all move and breathe and have our being. Before the Big Rush resumes and we get immersed again in the mindless and unintentional, pray that we be still, while we still have some quiet to be in, and listen to our Song.

 

Henry's books.

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