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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

Kind and ruthless...

I've never met Rosemary J. Kind in person. Never even talked with her on the phone. She was my publisher and editor through five books, three novels and two collections of short stories. Though we kept an ocean between us, we sent lots of emails back and forth.

She took a chance on my stuff when nobody else would, and Alfie Dog Fiction remained my sole publisher for eight years. Ros Kind is a ruthless editor, and she, more than anyone else, taught me to write fiction. She read the manuscript for The Winged Child  before anyone on this side of the Big Water saw it, and informed me with her accustomed candor, "You need a genre publisher for this one." 

She was right, as usual. I've landed in a good place. But a wanderer always remembers the home he left. Rosemary, thanks for all of it.

Henry's books.

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