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The Timeless Wisdom of Nature

When I was a boy growing up in Colorado, my favorite place wasn’t inside a cozy house or even the bustling streets of town �� it was outside, beneath the open sky. Whether I was climbing a rugged mountain trail, wandering through a forest of whispering aspens, or lying flat on my back in a field of wildflowers gazing up at the clouds, I felt at home. But beyond that, I felt alive.

Nature, with all its infinite variety and wonder, became my first and greatest teacher. And as I’ve grown older, written stories, and delved into the mysteries of life, I’ve come to understand that the wisdom offered by nature is timeless and universal. It speaks to all of us, no matter who we are or where we come from, if only we take the time to listen.

The Language of the Land

There is a particular kind of quiet you can only find in the wilderness. It isn’t silence exactly �� it’s the rustle of leaves in the wind, the call of a bird in the distance, the bubbling of a stream over smooth stones. This “quiet�� is filled with life, and it invites us to slow down, to pay attention.

I often think back to a moment I shared with my father when I was very young. We sat by a stream on our ranch, listening to its many voices. At first, I only heard one sound �� the rushing of water. But as I focused, I began to notice subtleties: the high, tinkling notes of water splashing over pebbles, the deep gurgles of a submerged current, and even the faint hum of the stream moving through its banks.

That moment taught me that nature speaks in layers, offering us more than we initially perceive. It also taught me that the land has its own language �� a language of change and connection, beauty and resilience.

Lessons from the Great Tree

In my , the Great Tree of Avalon serves as a powerful symbol of interconnectedness. Its roots anchor the realms, and its branches stretch toward the stars. This isn’t just a fantasy construct; it’s a reflection of the truths I’ve seen in nature.

Every tree, no matter how solitary it may appear, is part of a vast, unseen network. Beneath the soil, roots intertwine and communicate, sharing nutrients and warnings about potential threats. Scientists call this the “wood wide web,�� but to me, it feels like an echo of something profound: the idea that we are all connected.

When we look at a towering redwood or a gnarled oak, we’re not just seeing a single organism. We’re witnessing a participant in a much larger story �� one that spans time and space, uniting countless lives in a complex and beautiful dance.

Nature’s Timeless Cycles

One of the greatest lessons nature teaches is the importance of cycles. The changing seasons, the phases of the moon, the migrations of animals �� all these rhythms remind us that life is not a straight line but a circle.

This cyclical nature of life is something I often explore in my writing. In , a massive redwood tree becomes a portal through time, its rings holding the secrets of countless generations. That story was inspired by my own awe when standing inside a hollowed-out redwood in California. Touching its ancient bark, I felt the weight of centuries and the persistence of life.

Nature shows us that endings are never truly endings. A fallen tree becomes nourishment for the soil. A burned forest eventually gives rise to new growth. Even the stars above us, those symbols of eternity, are part of a cosmic cycle �� burning, fading, and being reborn.

The Importance of Wonder

If there’s one thing I hope to pass on to my readers, it’s the importance of wonder. In a world increasingly dominated by screens and schedules, wonder can feel like a rare and fleeting thing. But it’s also one of the most vital forces we have.

Wonder is what drives a scientist to peer through a telescope or a microscope, seeking to understand the mysteries of the universe. It’s what leads an artist to pick up a brush or a writer to put pen to paper, striving to capture the beauty they see. And it’s what brings a child to their knees, marveling at the intricate pattern on a butterfly’s wing or the sparkle of dew on a spider’s web.

Nature is the ultimate source of wonder. It reminds us that we are part of something vast and miraculous. And it challenges us to step outside our routines, to open our eyes and hearts to the extraordinary world around us.

Protecting Our Wild Heritage

With all that nature gives us �� wisdom, inspiration, connection �� it’s only right that we give something back. Protecting the natural world isn’t just an environmental issue; it’s a human one. The health of our planet is directly tied to our own well-being and the future of all life.

Through my work with conservation organizations and the , I’ve had the privilege of meeting so many people, especially young people, who are making a difference. They remind me that each of us has the power to be a steward of this Earth, whether by planting a tree, reducing waste, or simply sharing our love of nature with others.

Finding Your Own Connection

As I write this, I’m looking out at the snow-dusted peaks of the Rocky Mountains, a place that has shaped me in countless ways. But you don’t need a mountain vista or an ancient forest to connect with nature. It can be as simple as sitting beneath a tree in your backyard, watching the clouds drift by, or listening to the chirp of crickets on a summer night.

Wherever you are, I encourage you to take a moment to pause, to notice, and to wonder. Let nature be your teacher, your companion, and your inspiration. And remember, the stories we create �� both on the page and in our lives �� are richer when they are rooted in the timeless wisdom of the natural world.

What lessons has nature taught you? I’d love to hear your thoughts. After all, the conversation between humans and the Earth is one that should never end.

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The Hero in Every Child

All of us �� and students, in particular �� need our heroes, and today more than ever. They give us an idea of our own potential. They show us just how far we can go, just how high we can climb.

And heroes are all around us. Inquiet ways,people are holding theworld together by their courage, compassion, perseverance, and hope �� all the qualities of a hero.

On top of that, there is a hero in every child �� a force, a positive energy with the capacity to help the world in some way. Every child, regardless of gender, age, race, or background, can make a positive difference.

The trouble is kids don’t believe that. They would say that whole idea is crazy. They view themselves as powerless.

To make matters worse, our society is horribly confused about the difference between a hero and a celebrity. And there is a world of difference! We often mistake the celebrity of someone we know from television, movies, or sports as heroism. We spend much more time talking about celebrities than heroes.

So how do we help young people discover their potential heroism? How do we help them understand they have the power to help the world in some meaningful way?

Here are three suggestions:

1) Share examples of heroic people.

There’s simply no more powerful way to convey an ethic of helping others than by sharing stories of heroic people �� people who have made a genuine difference to our world. These are people whose character has enabled them to triumph over great obstacles, and to leave a lasting mark on the world. There are countless examples for students �� from literature, from history, and from their own lives.

As a writer, I build each of my fictional stories around a hero or heroine �� a young person who must dig deep within him or herself in order to triumph over life’s challenges. Characters like young Merlin, who goes on to become the greatest wizard of all time, or young Kate, who must save a magnificent tree �� and her community �� from destruction.

And, of course, there are countless examples from history �� figures like Wilma Rudolph, who triumphed over childhood polio,poverty, and racism to become the fastest woman sprinter in the world. Or Abe Lincoln, who had the wisdom and grace to put the nation’s good above his own. Or Anne Frank, who showed such courage in the Holocaust that her diary has inspired millions of people.

Most compelling of all, however, are stories of contemporary young people �� students from all sorts of diverse backgrounds who have made a significant, positive difference to the world. Young people who have used courage, creativity, and commitment to improve the lives of others.

These are the sorts of young people honored by the , an award I founded with one simple goal �� to turn the spotlight on amazing kids. are Michaella, age 16, who organized a rodeo for disabled kids; Ryan, age 12, who helped provide clean drinking water to more than 70 African villages; and Katie, age 10, who plants massive vegetable gardens in order to help feed the hungry.

These real-life young heroes may never be famous, but they clearly make a difference to our lives. Partly because their actions directly touch other people and make the world a better place. And partly because their examples have great power to inspire. By celebrating the everyday heroes in our midst, we are celebrating our own potential to make a difference to the world.

2) Lead by example.

Our actions truly do speak louder than our words.

My mother, Gloria Barren, lived the life of a teacher who cared deeply about all children. She believed passionately in the power of one person to make a difference to the world. And she didn’t sermonize; she just lived her own life that way �� and hoped that her own children and others would, as well.

Her love of children and nature combined to create a remarkable project. For over twenty years, she worked hard to create a unique nature museum at the Colorado School for the Deaf and the Blind �� a museum where everything can be touched. Blind kids can experience the grandeur of an eagle by touching its wide wings, just as they can feel a hummingbird’s delicate nest or a polar bear’s rich, soft fur. She never sought any credit for this accomplishment, and the only reward she wanted was the satisfaction of knowing that these kids could now experience some of the wonder and beauty of the natural world.

My mother wasn’t unique in her commitment to helping others. In fact, her work was the sort of quiet heroism that countless teachers, parents, and kids demonstrate every day. And all of us have the power to make similar choices. What we do with our time, what we care about, how we treat others�� all these are choices we make daily. And every choice we make says something about who we are. In this way, our choices become our footsteps on the trail of life, and our footsteps become our journey. And who knows? Maybe the trail we walk will become a .

3) Challenge students to identify the qualities they want to live by.

I have the pleasure of speaking with thousands of young people across the country each year. I always ask them: What choices will you make? What qualities will you try to live by?

In my non-fiction book for young adults, , there are seven key qualities I identify with heroism: courage, perseverance, faith, adaptability, moral direction, hope, and humor.

There are others, of course, that teachers and students can add to the list. to identify what character qualities matter most to them. Ask them who they most admire �� who are their true heroes. Then ask them what kind of people they want to be, and what sort of mark they want to make on the world. Have them research people �� the historical and well-known, as well as the young and unsung �� who embody those qualities.

Remind students of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s wise words: “What lies behind you and what lies in front of you pales in comparison to what lies inside of you.��

There is a hero in every child �� a force for good that has the capacity to make a meaningful difference to the lives of others. And by nature of his or her humanity, every child carries within qualities of character such as courage, perseverance, and hope. Our job as teachers is to believe passionately in the potential and power of young people. We must show them �� by turning the spotlight on real-life, heroic people and by encouraging young people to believe in themselves �� that we all can make a difference.

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A Whole New World

People often ask me why I love to write about imaginary worlds. Is it because I don’t like this one? Or because I’ve explored it so completely it’s not so interesting any more?

The truth is, I love our world. Much of it, at least. For despite the darkness of the time we are now living through—rife with hatred and violence, bigotry and greed—this world remains full of natural wonders, human kindness, spiritual wisdom, and heroic qualities.

As to exploring our world, I will never tire of doing that. My beat-up old hiking boots, which hang from a hook in our farmhouse in Colorado, have trekked on every continent except Antarctica. (And I’m working on plans to go there before long.) I have climbed mountains in the Himalayas, camped in Africa, hiked in Patagonia, rafted north of the Arctic Circle, swum in the Great Barrier Reef, and ridden a rickety old bus in Uzbekistan. Yet I am still eager to explore, to deepen my limited understanding of our remarkable planet.

No, the reason I enjoy creating imaginary worlds is, quite simply, there is no better way to travel. Just in the realms of space and time alone, there are no limits, no boundaries whatsoever. One can travel back in time, forward in time, or sideways in time (which my characters will do in Book Three of my trilogy, .)

Yet space and time, as we know, are not the only contexts of travel. There is also travel in the realm of ideas—and that is where the greatest excitement can be found. In writing a novel—let alone a trilogy such as The Great Tree of Avalon (or, indeed, a “five-book trilogy�� such as )—I get to create a landscape, a mix of characters, and a society in which they interact. But the aspect of all this that really gels my creative juices flowing is wrestling with a set of ideas. Big ideas, the sort that thoughtful people have always wrestled with.

Who are we? What is mortal life about? Does it have any intrinsic meaning, or only that which we give it? What does it mean to be human? To possess free will? To act as responsible stewards for the planet that sustains us?

Those are some of the questions that enliven me as a human being; they are also some of the questions that inspire me as a writer. Every story I write, at its core, is an effort to explore such ideas.

Take, for example, The Great Tree of Avalon. The entire world of Avalon has sprouted from a magical seed planted long ago, a seed that beat like a heart. It grew so enormous that it became a world-tree, with roots the size of continents. Each of those roots is created around an element: fire, air, stone, water, light, darkness, and mystery. The trunk of this tree is full of surprising peoples and places—some wondrous, some terrifying, some simply bizarre. And the branches of the tree are pathways leading to the stars.

The stars of Avalon have always been a source of profound mystery. What they really are, what they truly mean, I will leave for readers of the trilogy to discover. But on the very first page of the first book, all the stars have suddenly gone dark. A terrible Year of Darkness has struck Avalon. And no one doubts that this signals the final doom of this world—as well as other worlds, too, for Avalon lies between all places mortal and immortal.

Now come the heroes of the tale. The only way Avalon might still be saved is on the extremely unlikely chance that three young people can find the solution to the darkened stars. They are: Tamwyn, a wandering wilderness guide with a clumsy streak; Elli, an escaped slave who has become the most young (and most unruly) priestess in the order that guides Avalon; and Scree, an eagleman who can fly at will—and who guards a deep secret. By the time Book Two begins, there are five separate plots running, for each of these characters takes on a dangerous quest. And several more characters are determined to stop them. Not until the very last page of the last book will it become clear whether they have prevailed—and what things must be lost so that other things might be saved.

I go into such detail to make the point that, no matter how complex and fantastic the imagined world one writes about, it still comes down to a simple human story. There must be a person, or people, we care about as readers. What makes the imaginary world believable—what makes it true—is the combination of three qualities: sensuous details, meaningful ideas, and heroic individuals who must struggle to prevail in their time and place.

The bedraggled boy who washes ashore on the first page of was so weak and dazed that he had no idea who he was or where he came from. And he certainly had no idea that he would one day become Merlin: the mage of Camelot and the greatest wizard of all times.

Each of us, at some point in life, has felt washed ashore. I know that I have. And yet, just like that boy, each of us possesses surprising qualities down inside. Heroic qualities. We can reach down into our deepest selves and find courage, perseverance, hope, humor, compassion, and generosity.

Those are remarkable qualities. They are enough to create a whole new world, whether real or imagined. And they might just be enough to create, in every one of us, a wizard.

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Walking the Hero’s Trail

The world is full of heroes. Not celebrities, but heroes. And we need those heroes �� today more than ever.�� 

What’s the difference between a hero and a celebrity? That’s simple. A celebrity is just someone who has won our attention, for whatever reason. A famous face or name or number on a jersey. In the deeper context of human life and struggles, a celebrity is merely a flash in the pan.��

A hero, by contrast, is a real meal in the pan. For a hero, to my mind, is someone who faces a tough challenge and responds by reaching down inside to find the courage, persistence, or wisdom to triumph. A hero could be someone of any gender, any size or shape or color of skin, any background or culture or economic circumstance. Anyone �� literally anyone �� can be a hero.��

That’s because a hero is not defined by any such demographic factors. Instead, a hero is defined by inner qualities of character. Who that person is down inside. That is why heroes are often unheralded. And why the close examination of their character qualities can prove highly useful �� even inspirational �� to us all.

Let me back up a step. As someone who grew up in Colorado, and who never misses a chance to lace up my hiking boots and go prowling in the mountains, I tend to think of things in hiking terms. So I often consider life as a journey �� as our time on the trail.

Whatever hike you may be contemplating �� whether it’s in mountains, marshes, desert, or jungle �� the single most important piece of equipment you can bring along is not inside your backpack. It’s not your sleeping bag, water bottle, or map. No…it’s you, yourself! For the hiker’s most essential gear is what he or she carries down inside: that person’s head, heart, and soul.

Lao-Tzu, the Chinese philosopher, said long ago that even the greatest journey begins with a single step. That is true, and worth remembering. But frankly, I would have said it differently: Every journey begins with a single person. A hiker �� and whatever inner qualities he or she brings to the trail.

How do those inner qualities show themselves? By our choices. For every choice we make says something about who we are. So our individual character shapes our choices; our choices become our footsteps on the trail of life; and our footsteps become our journey.��

In my book, , I describe several distinct kinds of hero �� ranging from someone who makes a split-second decision to save another person’s life, to someone who prevails over disease or disability, to someone who enriches the community of humanity in a profound way. And in the course of studying these heroes, I take a hard look at what qualities of character make each kind of hero possible.

Seven key qualities rise to the top: Courage . Whether it’s Melinda Clark, a thirteen-year-old Pennsylvania girl who plunged into her family’s burning house to save her little brother; or Ruben Ortega, who bravely protected his classmates from a gunman at his San Gabriel, California high school; or Itzhak Perlman, who fought his way through childhood polio to become the virtuoso violinist he is today �� courage made all the difference. As Winston Churchill defiantly declared sixty years ago during the worst Nazi bombing raids on London: “Never, never, never give up.”�� Perseverance . This quality is about not just being committed, but about staying committed. For as long as it takes. Michaella Gallina, a teenager from Pueblo, Colorado, was troubled that children with severe physical disabilities weren’t experiencing the fun and challenge of horseback riding. So she decided to do something about it. After many false starts, and years of trying, she finally succeeded in organizing the state’s first Exceptional Rodeo. Faith . Whether it’s faith in God, in a higher ideal, or in one’s own self �� this particular quality is often crucial. It certainly was for Prateep Hata, who grew up in one of the worst slums of Bangkok, Thailand. Prateep struggled against enormous obstacles �� poverty, bigotry, and bureaucracy among them �� to create a school for other children of the slums. Her reason? She had an unwavering faith in the idea that everyone, even the poorest child, deserves an education. Adaptability . A century ago, a six-year-old boy named Ben MacDonald wandered off his family’s farm on the plains of Alberta. A severe storm erupted…and he didn’t come back. Months went by, and Ben was given up for dead, even by his devoted parents. But it turned out that he had indeed survived �� by living in a badger’s den and learning to communicate and hunt with the badger. Ben showed extraordinary adaptability, a quality that can help any of us survive the sudden storms of life. Moral direction . This amounts to a compass of the soul �� a sense of what’s worth defending, and what’s worth seeking. You can find this quality in mythic figures such as Prometheus (who sacrificed his own freedom and happiness, the ancient Greeks believed, to give fire to humanity). And you can find it also in real life figures. One of my favorite examples is young Ruby Bridges, whose one principled act of conscience �� walking straight past an angry mob and up the steps of her newly-integrated school �� gave a major boost to the Civil Rights movement of the 1960’s. Hope . Now here is a precious quality �� so precious it can literally transform a major crisis into an opportunity. That’s what happened for young Stephen Hawking, who never stopped hoping that he could somehow explore theoretical physics…even if he could barely blink his eyelids because of his degenerative nervous disease. Today, he explores the far reaches of the universe as the Isaac Newton Professor at Cambridge University. Humor . Too often underrated, this quality can be essential to survive a difficult time. Just ask Abraham Lincoln. Once, during the Civil War, when Lincoln was laboring mightily to hold together the Union, a political opponent called him “two-faced.�� Without missing a beat, Lincoln replied with a wry grin: “Oh, come now. If I really did have two faces, do you think I’d still go around wearing this one?��

Thanks to all the biographies I read as a kid (as well as all the time I spent outdoors), I’ve long been fascinated with heroic people. What really makes them tick. No doubt that interest has also led me to write so many books about heroic young people �� whether it’s Kate Gordon trying to save a redwood tree in The Ancient One or the helpless boy who washes ashore at the start of The Lost Years of Merlin and ultimately becomes the greatest wizard of all time. But the very best examples of heroism, I’ve concluded, are not fictional. They are entirely real.

Consider these three examples:

Wilma Rudolph .��

This girl was born the twentieth kid of a very poor, African- American family in Tennessee. It was the 1940’s; racial discrimination was still the norm. Her mother supported everyone by washing white people’s clothes. Then Wilma was struck by polio. And on top of that, pneumonia. She lived, but her legs were limp and nearly useless. The doctor said she’s never walk again, and gave her some heavy wooden braces just so she could get around.

Now, Wilma Rudolph had every reason to call herself a victim. But she refused. She really wanted to walk! She practiced, often pushing herself so hard that she collapsed and had to be carried back into the house by her mother. But one day, when she was ten, Wilma unstrapped those braces and threw them away. And more: She started to run�� and even began to win races. And in the 1960 Olympics, she won the gold medal in the 100 meter dash. Wilma Rudolph, the kid with polio, had become the fastest woman in the world.

When asked afterward how she did it, she answered simply: “My doctor told me I’d never walk again. My mama told me I would. I chose to believe Mama.��

Anne Frank.��

In the midst of some of the worst horrors of World War II, Anne’s whole family hid like frightened animals in their secret rooms in Amsterdam. They scrounged for food, fearful day and night of betrayal or capture by the Nazis �� which likely meant torture, slavery, and death. And yet, even so…this girl had the courage to write this simple, ringing sentence in her diary: “In spite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart.��

Good at heart! Ultimately, Anne Frank’s words have long outlived Hitler and all his death camps. Her diary has been published in more than fifty languages, and remains one of the best-selling books of all time. All because one young person was brave enough to keep her hope alive.

Ryan Hreljac .��

A few years ago, when this boy was just six years old, he learned that children in Africa were dying because they couldn’t get clean drinking water. So he worked all summer long trying to raise the $200 that he’d been told was needed to build a water well. He washed windows, mowed lawns, raked leaves �� whatever it took. And by summer’s end, Ryan had earned his $200. He marched down to the local African relief agency and dumped his money jar on the table. Then he learned some bad news: His numbers were wrong. A new well cost $2,000 dollars! All his hard work had earned him just ten percent of the total.

What did Ryan do? He went right back to work. It took him another year �� and lots of window cleaner �� but this boy earned the full $2,000. And thanks to him, a village in Uganda got its first clean water well.

Today, Ryan is a mature nine years old. When I spoke with him about what he’d done, he summed it up this way: “I keep telling people that if you really work hard, and you really want something, you can do anything. My mom and dad didn’t believe me before…but they sure do now.��

Ryan Hreljac (just like Michaella Gallina) is a winner of the national prize that I have founded to honor today’s heroic kids. Named after my mother, it’s called the , and seeks to celebrate kids who have truly made a difference through their choices. There is a marvelous diversity among the winners, who range in age from eight to eighteen. And some remarkable character qualities.

Why did I name this prize after my mother? For starters, she spent twenty years creating a touchable nature museum at the Colorado School for the Deaf and Blind, so that kids who couldn’t see could still feel the size of an eagle’s wing �� or touch the thick fur of a timber wolf. For her own children, watching her do that was a genuine inspiration.

But perhaps the most important reason is that few people have ever heard of Gloria Barron. I wanted this prize to be named after a woman who is neither famous nor has any desire to be famous �� because most heroes fit that description. They are people most of us would not recognize on the street. But they have shown the courage or compassion to give someone else a hand �� or a hug �� when it’s most needed.

Any person, no matter what age or background or description, can be a hero. For every single one of us can make important choices �� for ourselves, our homes, and our communities. And here is the key point: If our choices matter, then we ourselves matter.

Back before I began writing books, I managed a business. During those years, I heard an awful lot about the people economists like to call “consumers.�� Trouble was, I never liked that term. For if you call people consumers, you imply that all they do (at least for the economy) is consume things: devour products, take services, and use up resources. Now that is partly true, of course �� even for the most frugal and least materialistic people among us.

But that is not all that people do. Not even close! People also create things, build things, and give things to others. They invent, protect, save, celebrate, share, nurture, and inspire. And lots more, as well.

The truth is, we are more than just consumers. Much, much more. Let’s think of ourselves, instead, as creators. Of our own lives. Our own communities. And yes, our own world.

That is truly the essence of heroism. To take ourselves �� our lives �� seriously enough to make a mark. To leave a footprint on the trail.�� And by doing that, to change the trail for those who may come after.

When we examine the heroic lives of others, we may �� or may not �� hear the echoes of our own aspirations. Yet this much is certain: We will hear an invitation. For a life that is a bit more thoughtful, a touch more bold. Or, you might say, for a hike �� a walk on the hero’s trail.

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Merlin Books 1 & 2
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Sacred Play
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A Good Talk with the Land

The following is a piece I wrote for NPR’s in January 2000.

Once, when I was small, my dad led me down to the tumbling stream that flowed through our Colorado ranch. We sat on the roots of an old ponderosa pine, listening to the rushing water for several minutes before he spoke.

“Hear the water?�� he asked. “Hear its voice?�� Seeing my nod, he continued: “Well, if you sit here long enough, and listen well enough, you’ll hear it hasn’t just one voice, but many �� like an orchestra.��

Despite my doubts, I turned back to the stream. For several minutes I listened, but heard nothing new. Then, very slowly, I began to detect different sounds. High ones, like piccolos piping; low ones, like bass drums pounding. I heard gurgles, splashes, rumbles, whistles, slaps, and more. And then I heard my own voice, laughing heartily.

“There’s nothing,�� my dad observed, “like having a good talk with the land.��

It took me another twenty years before I realized he didn’t just mean appreciating the sounds of nature. He meant truly connecting with the land, learning some of its many mysterious languages, some of which are heard not with our ears �� but with our very bones. For through that process, landscapes �� especially wild landscapes �� can truly speak to our souls.

When the time came for my dad to die, I thought I was prepared. After watching that once-vigorous man struggle through several years of cancer, I had already done most of my grieving. Or so I thought. When the day actually arrived, I felt stricken. Lost.

As I came home, our last moments together so fresh that I could still feel the warmth of his hand inside my own, I said nothing. My wife and our three young children were waiting for me, knowing without words that he had finally died. Stiffly, we sat down at the supper table and passed around a bowl of cold spaghetti.

At last, my five-year-old daughter broke the silence. “Daddy,�� she asked, “do you want to hear something?��

Numbly, I nodded.

“I want to tell you my favorite thing that I ever did with Grandpa.��

I winced, but nodded again.

“He took me down to the stream,�� she explained. “We sat for awhile by the water, then he showed me something special.��

Without knowing why, I started listening more closely.

“He showed me,�� she continued, “that the stream has lots of voices. As many as an orchestra. And then he said if you listen to those voices, listen your very best, the stream will tell you all the places it has ever been. And all the places it might someday go.��

All the places it might someday go.

In that instant, I realized how much that place, and that shared memory, meant to me. And how a particular piece of land �� whether it be a forested stream, a slot canyon, a stretch of open prairie, or a tranquil lagoon �� can help us understand where in life we really are. Or where, indeed, we might someday go.

For ages and ages �� hundreds of generations �� humanity saw itself as truly connected to the land. Wild animals were our familiars, as were the winds, storms, rocks, and rivers �� all those things some people now call “inanimate�� (which, from the Latin root of anima, means calling those beings “devoid of soul��). But for the greater part of human existence, the land held soul aplenty. It was our wellspring, our watershed, and our womb.

As we have lost our bonds to the land �� insulating ourselves with pavement, cellular phones, electronic imaging and all-terrain vehicles �� we have also lost the basic humility those bonds fostered. And the ability to see ourselves in context: part of the wide universe, a connection by which we are both dwarfed and exalted. We are important because of our unique individual gifts, yes �� but even more so because of our oneness with things much greater than ourselves.

So let us come home. Our goal should be, as Aldo Leopold wrote in A Sand County Almanac, to enlarge “the boundaries of community to include soils, waters, plants, and animals�� in addition to ourselves. The more we reconnect with the land, the more we gain in health, wisdom, and glory of the spirit. This is especially true of the places where wilderness abounds, where the natural tapestry remains most true �� the places still wild enough to stretch our bodies, awe our minds, and inspire our dreams.

Among the many gifts of the land, one of my favorites is just plain silence. To sit upon a stone, weathered by ages and ages of geologic time, and hear nothing but the occasional stirrings of the wind or wings on high �� now that is a blessing. A moment to remember. Or, as my dad would say, a mighty good talk with the land.

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Great Tree of Avalon Maps- Merlin Books 9, 10, 11
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An Author’s Reflections on the Writer’s Journey

Writing is a journey �� one full of discovery, resilience�� and maybe just a touch of magic. As a storyteller, I’ve learned that creating characters and weaving plots goes beyond technical skill; it’s about tapping into the deeper connections that bind us all. Each writer’s path is unique, yet the heartbeat of storytelling is universal. As you set out to create or even refine your own stories, may these reflections serve as a lantern to light your way.

Finding the Heart of a Story

The essence of storytelling lies in truth. I don’t mean literal truth, but an emotional authenticity that connects us to readers. Stories that deeply resonate offer more than entertainment �� they contain a sense of truth that feels genuine, even if the world is entirely magical.

My former longtime editor, Patricia Lee Gauch, has been a trusted guide in finding this heart. She once told me to ��,�� urging me to reach deeper into the emotional terrain of my characters and themes. These words stayed with me, reminding me that creating a character is like getting to know a friend. You must listen closely to understand their fears, dreams, and motivations.

Just as a compass guides us through unexplored lands, this emotional truth can guide us through storytelling, helping us find �� and convey �� a story’s heart.

Drawing Inspiration from Nature

For me, the natural world is an endless source of wonder. Nature’s rhythms and mysteries offer profound lessons, revealing patterns that have long shaped my writing. One of my most as an author was my research journey to Baja California for The Merlin Effect. There, I paddled into the Pacific at dawn. Just as the sun rose, a gray whale surfaced nearby, close enough to touch. That quiet encounter deepened my commitment to convey nature’s majesty in my stories.

In my writing, I often look to nature to ground my stories. A tree isn’t merely a tree; it’s a character, with roots that delve deep, branches that reach for light, and a presence that stands through the seasons. Nature teaches us patience, resilience, and interconnectedness �� qualities that enrich storytelling. I encourage every writer to find moments of stillness and wonder outdoors, as these moments often lead to unexpected insights.

Embracing Character and Place as Equals

In my writing, the setting is more than a backdrop �� it’s a character in its own right. When I first imagined the world of I envisioned the wild landscapes of Fincayra and Avalon as living entities. These places have personalities and moods, just like the characters who inhabit them.

Creating vivid settings is essential to immersing readers in the story, but so is the commitment to bringing each character to life. I often spend hours fleshing out a character’s background, quirks, and motivations before they make it onto the page. When I finally hear their voice clearly and see them come alive, I know I’m on the right track. Writers, I encourage you to spend time not only developing your characters but also bringing depth to the places they inhabit. These worlds, filled with intricate details and histories, make a story richer and more immersive.

Overcoming Self-Doubt and Embracing the Process

Writing, like nature’s cycles, involves resilience. Rejection is common on this path. My first novel was rejected by 32 publishers, but instead of giving up, I refined my voice and tried again. Perseverance is key, as success rarely arrives overnight. Those who push through are often the ones who achieve their goals.

Over the years, I’ve learned to trust the writing process. Stories rarely follow a straight line and often take unexpected turns. Some of the most fulfilling moments arise when a story unfolds in surprising ways. If you’re in the middle of a draft and find yourself struggling, remember that twists and turns are part of the journey. Trust that you’ll find your way.

Trusting Your Unique Voice

The best stories come from a place of authenticity. As writers, we often grapple with self-doubt, wondering if our words will resonate. My advice? Trust in your unique voice. The world doesn’t need another story that sounds just like the last bestseller �� it needs your story, told in your voice.

Every writer brings something distinctive to the table. I’ve always believed that a story truly comes to life when it reflects the writer’s own spirit and experiences. Writing The Ancient One, for instance, allowed me to combine my love for nature and my fascination with time. Melding these passions into a narrative helped me tell a story that felt deeply personal and, I hope, universal. So, let your interests and values shape your work; it’s the best way to connect with readers.

The Power of Connection

One of the most fulfilling parts of being an author is the connection that forms between me and readers, as well as with other writers. Storytelling is, at its core, a shared experience �� a conversation that flows across time and space, reaching people we may never meet, yet who somehow feel familiar.

Oftentimes, I feel that my stories are like little boats, lovingly crafted over time, built strong enough to carry a bit of my heart and spirit inside. When they’re finally seaworthy, I release them upon the vast ocean that connects all people. And as those “story boats�� set sail, they embark on journeys far beyond my reach, journeys that might take them to distant shores and readers I’ll never know.

Yet, just like any vessel venturing across the sea, each story carries something of value in its hold �� a new idea, a source of hope, or a spark of inspiration. I like to think that, when those boats arrive on far-off shores, they offer their treasures to the people who receive them, no matter their language or culture. They bring a small reminder that we’re not so different after all, that we’re all connected by the same desires for understanding, love, and meaning.

Somewhere, a young reader may discover the magic of Fincayra for the first time, or feel the courage of Merlin or the strength of a towering tree. Another reader may see themselves in the struggles and triumphs of a character, or simply find comfort in knowing that someone else has felt the same questions, fears, and dreams.

And so, even though I may never meet most of those readers, there’s a deep and abiding connection between us. It is this invisible thread of understanding that, to me, is the true magic of storytelling �� a reminder that while each story is unique, it also belongs to everyone, bridging distances, inspiring kindness, and, in some way, weaving us all together.

The Gift of Storytelling

Storytelling is, in many ways, a gift. It allows us to share our truths, explore deep, meaningful questions, and connect with others. Whether a child is reading about Merlin’s adventures or an adult is finding solace in nature’s rhythms, stories offer us moments of escape, wisdom, and connection. I am endlessly grateful for the opportunity to share my stories and for the readers who breathe life into them.

I encourage you to embrace both the challenges and the joys of storytelling. Write boldly, dig deeply, and remember that every story has the potential to change a life �� including your own.

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Merlin Book 5
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