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Merlin Book 3
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Labor of Love: The Birth of Compassionate Intelligence

In 1998, I wrote this piece for Aurora Rising Magazine as a reflection on an idea that has guided much of my life and work � compassionate intelligence. It’s the belief that true wisdom comes not just from intellect, but from a blend of heart and mind.

Though the world has changed in many ways since then, the need for compassionate intelligence is more important now than ever. In these times of rapid change and challenge, it’s not enough to solve problems � we must also approach them with empathy and care, creating solutions that uplift both people and the planet.

As you read, I invite you to reflect on how this blend of thoughtfulness and compassion might shape your own life. I hope it inspires you as much as it did me while writing it all those years ago.

Labor of Love: The Birth of Compassionate Intelligence

The closest I will ever get to giving birth, I often feel, is in delivering a new novel. The whole process, from the initial conception to the final contractions, takes a bit longer than the usual nine months � and it’s definitely not as difficult and painful as the real thing. And while the labor of writing is arduous, sometimes grueling, it is also joyous. Deeply so.

In this way, writing novels has brought me just a little closer to that truly phenomenal, beyond-awesome aspect of feminine power: the capacity to give birth. To nurture, sustain, and finally set free a child of one’s own. To grow an inspired idea into an infant-in-arms.

At the same time, writing novels has allowed me to develop an array of strong female characters (in many cases, the key protagonists of my books). Even after their books have been published, these characters regularly stop by my writing desk � unannounced, of course � to remind me of important things. The roads we have traveled together. The places we may someday discover in future books. Or simply the sounds of their voices. In the process, they have given me a much fuller appreciation for the feminine voices within myself.

So what if I’m a man in his mid-forties? Of all the doors that writing has opened for me, the door leading to those feminine voices is among the most precious. Having walked through it once, I am changed forever.

The feminine miracle goes well beyond the capacity for birth. Still, that capacity alone is miraculous enough. Having witnessed the births of our own five children � and having tried as hard as I could, with my bumbling hands, to assist my wife � I have a profound sense of the sheer magic of that moment. And of the sheer strength of spirit, mind, and body that it demands of a woman. It is a moment of immense depth for the present � and poignant possibility for the future.

Yet long after that moment has passed, other feminine capacities live on. They shape the world dramatically, whether or not they are ever celebrated, or even given names of their own. One such capacity embraces a remarkable kind of wisdom. It is made partly of spirit, partly of intelligence, and partly of feeling. And I do give it a name: Compassionate Intelligence.

Compassionate Intelligence requires the true bonding of head and heart. It allows someone to see beyond things that are visible, into the realm of things more elusive � and more lasting. Compassionate Intelligence is, therefore, a special kind of awareness. It is the Knowing embedded in Feeling; it is the Feeling underlying Knowing.

, my first published novel, features a teenage girl named Kate Gordon who sets out to try to save the life of her grandfather, a world-famous astrophysicist. In the course of her quest, despite her own struggles and vulnerabilities, she ends up saving far more than that person she loves. She does, quite literally, change the course of the stars. That is why Heartlight, really, is about the ability of one person � even a young, uncertain person � to make an enduring difference.

How does Kate accomplish such a thing? Because her basic emotional wisdom � her Compassionate Intelligence � is more important than all the vast stores of scientific knowledge that her grandfather has amassed during six decades as an astrophysicist. It is Kate’s ability to see more with her heart than with her eyes that carries the day.

The initial inspiration for this intrepid girl (who is also the heroic figure in two other novels, The Ancient One and The Merlin Effect) came from our first child, Denali. While I wanted her to enjoy a few stories featuring a girl like herself, I wanted even more for the stories to assure her that every life matters. That her life matters. That she, too, could one day change the course of the stars.

Now, almost a decade after Heartlight was published, our daughter retains a healthy self-concept. (This year, for her homemade Halloween costume, she is considering being the Empire State Building.) Whether or not the books about Kate Gordon’s adventures have contributed to her development, I can’t be certain � but I am positive they have contributed to my own. They have challenged me to hear my own feminine voices, my own Compassionate Intelligence.

My most recent books, The Lost Years of Merlin and The Seven Songs of Merlin, are the first two volumes of a five-book epic about the formative years of Merlin � the great enchanter who figures prominently in the grand cycle of tales we call Camelot. How did Merlin gain his wisdom, his humor, his sense of both human frailty and human possibility? That is the central mystery of his lost years � and of the epic that will, I hope, give us a new and deeper understanding of his character.

� at least, the Merlin I am writing about in The Lost Years of Merlin epic � is a real human being. He has struggles, sorrows, joys, and aspirations. And, hidden deep within himself, a remarkable talent. Or gift. Or magic. In this way, he is no different from all of us � burdened by the human experience while at the very same time exalted by it.

For just like the child who washes ashore, half drowned and alone, on page one of the epic, all of us feel lost at some point in our lives. All of us bear hidden struggles � and hidden potentials. And all of us, like the great wizard that child will one day become, possess our own deep magic.

In the young Merlin’s travels, he encounters a number of strong female characters. They include his mother, Elen, who dares to combine the healing arts and faiths of peoples as diverse as the ancient Druids, the Jews, and the early Celtic Christians; Rhia, who is Merlin’s own lost sister; Domnu, who possesses magic so ancient that even the oldest spirits can lay no claim to it; the Grand Elusa, whose power � and whose appetite � strikes terror into anyone she encounters; and Hallia, a deer-girl, who helps Merlin come to know his own deepest passions. Each of these characters contributes something essential to Merlin’s growth, and, ultimately, to his discovery of the wizard within himself.

That discovery would not be possible if Merlin did not, at some point along the way, find his own feminine voice � his own feminine wisdom. It is no accident, therefore, that his final challenge in The Seven Songs of Merlin requires him to take the spirit of his sister into his very self. This is the most difficult challenge he has ever faced. In the story, he believes that this is the only chance he might have of saving his sister’s life. But the underlying metaphor of this experience is, truly, about saving himself.

As Merlin inhales Rhia’s spirit, he breathes in her wisdom, as well. And when, at last, he exhales, some of that wisdom remains with him. An abridged version of that scene follows:

I hesitated, fearing that releasing her spirit would surely mean losing her forever. Yet…the time had come.

Ìý

I exhaled. Deep within, I could feel her spirit stirring subtly. Then it began to flow out of me, at first like a trickle of water, gathering strength, until finally it felt like a river bursting through a dam. My eyes brimmed with tears, for I knew that whether or not Rhia survived in mortal form, she and I would never be so utterly close again.

Ìý

Slowly, very slowly, my breath wove into the shreds of mist around us, creating a shimmering bridge linking my chest and hers. The bridge hovered, glowing, for barely an instant, before fading away completely.

Ìý

Rhia’s forefinger trembled. Her neck straightened. Then, at last, her eyes opened, and her bell-like laughter rang out. I realized, in that moment, that I could still feel, deep within me, a touch of her spirit. A bit of my sister had remained with me. And, I knew, always would.

Merlin, in the course of these books, also learns from another voice that challenges him to align his heart and mind, his feelings and thoughts: the voice often called Mother Earth. Through listening to that voice, he comes to understand that even as nature can change from a violent storm to rain-washed serenity, so can he. That nature’s powers of metamorphosis and transformation mirror his very own.

Why, across so many cultures and so many ages, is that voice deemed to be feminine? It is a reflection of Mother Earth’s power of birth and rebirth. Of her wondrous rhythms, her perfect patterns, her circular seasons. Of her unbounded richness, wholly sensuous and wholly alive.

Recently, in a speech about the importance of protecting our last remaining wild places, I described wilderness as more than just natural, unspoiled landscape. Wilderness, I declared, is “the wellspring, the watershed, the womb, of our very souls.� That womb continues to nourish us, to offer us refuge, even when � as too often happens � we fail to appreciate its fundamental importance.

Kate Gordon discovers this for herself in The Ancient One. She finds herself trapped in the distant past, with a tribe of Native Americans who lived in the Pacific Northwest hundreds of years ago. Her only hope of ever returning home, to her own time, is to do the most difficult thing she has ever done. She must merge her own life with the life of the only living thing old enough to reach across the centuries to her own time: a great redwood known as the Ancient One. In other words, she must become a tree.

Ducking her head, Kate entered the cavern in the trunk of the great redwood, gouged out by fire centuries before. Slowly, very slowly, she discerned a sound vibrating in the hollow of the tree. It was a rushing, coursing sound, like the surging of several rivers. She realized with a start that it must be the sound of resins moving through the trunk and limbs of the tree. And, strangely, through her own self as well.

Ìý

Then she heard something more. With all her concentration, she listened to a distant gurgling sound. It came from far below her, rising from the deepest roots of the tree. They were drinking, drawing sustenance from the soil.

Ìý

Another sound joined with the rest, completing the pattern. Like an intricate fugue, it ran from the tips of the remotest needles all the way down the massive column of heartwood. Back and forth, in and out, always changing, always the same. This was the sound, Kate realized at last, of the tree itself breathing. The sound of life being exchanged for life, breath for breath.

Ìý

“Great tree,� she said in wonder. “I feel so young, and you are so very, very old.�

Ìý

A full, resonant laughter filled the air, stirring even the sturdiest branches. “I am not so young as you, perhaps, but old I surely am not. The mountains, they are old. The oceans, they are old. The sun is older still, as are the stars. And how old is the cloud, whose body is made from the vapors of an earlier cloud that once watered the soil, then flowed to the river, then rose again into the sky? I am part of the very first seed, planted in the light of the earliest dawn. And so are you. So perhaps we are neither older nor younger, but truly the same age.�

Ìý

As she listened to the rhythmic breathing of the tree, Kate felt herself beginning to breathe in unison. A sense of her body was slowly returning, a body that bent and swayed with the fragrant wind. Every element of her being stretched upward and downward, pulling taller and straighter without end. Her arms became supple, sinewy limbs; her feet drove deeply into the soil and anchored there.

Ìý

A sweep of time swirled past, seconds into hours, days into seasons, years into centuries. Spring: azaleas blossoming and pink sorrel flowering. Summer: bright light scattering through the morning mist, scents of wild ginger and licorice fern. Autumn: harsh winds shaking branches, gentle winds bearing geese. Winter: ceaseless rains, frosty gales, more rains brewing. Again and again, again and again. Seasons without end, years beyond count.

Ìý

Fire! Flames scar her outer bark, charring even her heartwood. But she outlasts it, just as she does the winds, the white rot, and the earthquake that follow. In time, five-finger fern takes root at her base, mingling with the mosses and maidenhair. A doe and her spotted fawn step serenely into the glade, nibbling at the ferns.

Ìý

Then, suddenly: A sound unlike any other sound ever heard fills the forest. Piercing, screeching, banishing forever the centuries of stillness. A shudder, a scream of pain erupts from her whole being. Stop! Stop, please. Go away, leave in peace. But the pain only deepens. The sound grows louder.

Ìý

It is the sound of chain saws.

Judging from the people who attend my book readings, and from the letters I receive, my books are read � and, I hope, enjoyed � as much by boys and men as by girls and women. This pleases me greatly, for I believe that all of us, regardless of gender, can benefit from hearing both our masculine and our feminine voices. The wisest people I know have learned to hear those inner voices, to balance them, and to integrate them into their own lives.

That is why I feel so fortunate to have heard the whisperings of characters like Kate Gordon, Elen, and Rhia. For they have enabled me to discover some of the Compassionate Intelligence within myself � a capacity that all of us share. And they have convinced me that in finding that inner wisdom, we may also find the capacity to give birth.

Give birth to what? To an endless array of new possibilities within ourselves. And, in the process, to an entirely new world.

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Merlin Book 3
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Alaska � Land of Immensity

This article was originally written for a of which I am a board member, The Nature Conservancy, in February 1999.

Alaska � land of immensity. Both in its realities and its possibilities, Alaska can stir our hearts and minds like no other place on the planet. Where else can bears roam freely, and people roam freely, often on the very same terrain? Where else can we touch the depth and vastness of Creation � not just as observers, but as participants? Where else can the limitless landscape match the greatest reach of our spirits?

Because Alaska remains so wild � home for the bear and the caribou and the eagle, as well as for people who have retained their true respect for other animals � it connects all living creatures in powerful ways. And not just within the wide boundaries of Alaska itself. For the reach of those connections is even greater than that.

Some of the very same geese who settle on the northern slopes of the Brooks Range, far above the Arctic Circle, fly across the Yukon, over western Canada, down the Rockies, all the way to the Gulf of Mexico � and back � each and every year. So by the very beating of their wings, those geese connect some of the most wild and remarkable places on our continent. And, at the same time, those geese connect every person fortunate enough to see or hear them with those very same places. That means the boy in southern Utah who hears their whooshing wings is tied, in a wondrous way, to Alaska. As is the girl, in downtown Chicago, who spies that unmistakable V-formation overhead.

Aldo Leopold, a wonderful writer as well as a dedicated conservationist, was so moved by the flight of migrating geese that he wrote this passage in his journal: “The wind has gone with the geese. And so would I, were I the wind.�

Such wonderful words! Just as we can almost hear those wings, we can almost be in Alaska even when we are thousands of miles distant.

That will only stay true, of course, as long as Alaska stays wild. The flight of geese also brings to mind another passage � a sadder one that contains a sober warning. An old English proverb, penned centuries ago, laments: “They jail the thief who steals the goose from the common. Yet they let loose the greater thief who steals the common from the goose.�

That is the paradox, isn’t it? With the unending power of wild places comes their unending fragility. With their infinite gift comes their infinite peril. And our work, the work of The Nature Conservancy, is to protect those places. Not for just another season, or another session of Congress, but for all time.

Thanks to the work of The Nature Conservancy, brown bear may continue to shamble across the tundra, geese may continue to fly through the skies � -and people may be able to live among them and know the utter immensity of Alaska. And, in the process, of all Creation.

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Life Lessons I’ve Learned From Trees

What advice would a tree offer if it could speak? Would it whisper words of patience and wisdom gained through centuries of standing tall, weathering storms, and watching the world change around it? Or might it share the secrets of its roots � buried deep and intertwined with the earth � connecting it to the pulse of the world?

Throughout my life and my books, trees have been more than just natural features; they have been companions, muses, and teachers. Each time I encounter a towering oak, a slender willow, or an ancient redwood, I am reminded that these silent beings are among our planet’s greatest storytellers.

Ìý

Roots of a Lifelong Bond

My bond with trees began in childhood. I spent hours under the shade of a grand old ponderosa pine on my parents� ranch in Colorado. I’d sit and wonder what tales it could tell � stories of Ute tribes who once roamed the land, fierce forest fires, or the pure joy of hearing a meadowlark’s trill. These musings rooted in me a love of trees that would grow deeper over the years.

I also remember a snow-covered day when I was very young. My mother, a geologist and a pantheist, patted a towering snowdrift and said, “Believe it or not, there are flowers under there. You won’t see them until springtime, but it’s true.� That moment held a lesson not just about the seasons, but about hope and resilience. The thought of delicate flowers thriving beneath heavy snow—hidden yet still alive—reminds me of trees and their unshakeable strength.

Years later, when I stood inside a redwood tree in Muir Woods, I felt the presence of something ancient and wise. Its hollowed trunk created a natural chamber that seemed to amplify my voice and surround me with its resonating vibrations. It felt like a big, encompassing hug—one that inspired The Ancient One, a novel that explores the mystical connection between trees and time.

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The Wisdom Found in Stillness

When I’m in the wilderness, I am amazed by how nature invites us to feel both small and large at the same time. We can be humbled by the vastness of a star-strewn sky or the towering heights of a forest canopy. Yet, we are also part of that grand pattern. Being in nature connects us to something much larger than ourselves � to the cycles of growth and renewal, the changing colors of the seasons, and the whispers of creation that exist in every leaf and branch.

In nature, we find silence—true silence—that allows us to hear voices other than our own. The sigh of the wind, the rustling of leaves, and the creaking of a tree swaying in the breeze are reminders that life’s deepest lessons are often spoken softly. Listening closely, we can hear the ongoing dialogue of the world around us.

Trees possess a centeredness that we, as humans, often struggle to find. While we’re creatures of movement and change, trees remain firmly planted in one spot for decades, or even centuries. To be a sentient tree would mean being utterly present in every moment � rooted deeply in the earth, yet stretching toward the sky. This is a state of being that calls for a profound sense of place, not just physically but spiritually as well.

I often think of the patience trees embody. How they witness the passing of seasons, endure powerful storms, and still stand tall. They don’t rush or hurry; instead, they embrace time, allowing it to shape them into a greater version of themselves. That’s a lesson we could all learn—about staying grounded even amid turmoil and embracing the changes that life brings.

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A Guide to Growth

Trees have taught me to slow down, breathe deeply, and find solace in stillness. Their branches reach out like open arms, inviting us to reconnect with the essence of life. They have also taught me to have hope and patience, like those unseen flowers buried beneath winter’s snow.

Every tree has a story, and every forest holds a wisdom that can inspire and guide us. Whether it’s the Tree of Avalon in The Merlin Saga or the mighty arboreal beings in The Ancient One, I try to weave these lessons into my stories. For trees, with their deep roots and reaching branches, remind us that to truly grow, we must be willing to stand strong, endure challenges, and reach toward the light.

So, the next time you find yourself near a tree, pause for a moment. Lean against its trunk or gaze up at its branches. Feel its quiet strength and let its silent advice speak to your soul. You might just find the answers you’ve been seeking � or perhaps, a reminder of the things you’ve always known.

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Seeing Through the Eyes of a Whale

In this essay from 1995, originally written for Children’s Book Review magazine, I explored what it means for a story to feel true and how the threads of truth and imagination are woven together. Whether I’m delving into the mythical world of Merlin or capturing the mystery of the sea in The Merlin Effect, the goal remains the same: to create stories that resonate deeply and connect us to something larger than ourselves. With a focus on the vividness of nature � whether on land or at sea � this essay touches on my journey to make the sea feel real and what I learned from an unforgettable encounter with a whale.

Seeing Through the Eyes of a Whale

What makes a story true? As I write (or try to write) in the attic of our pandemonious home, surrounded by four children under the age of seven, my thoughts often turn to that question.

The greatest challenge of writing my most recent novel, The Merlin Effect, was to weave several widely varied threads together into a single, seamless whole. Into something true. Those threads included a new twist on the legend of Merlin, a twelve-year-old girl’s relationship with her father, a sunken Spanish galleon, a mysterious prophecy, a magical drinking horn, and a bit of genetic theory. If any one of these threads did not feel completely true, the whole tapestry would suffer.

As the weaving progressed, I realized that one thread would be more challenging for me than all the rest: the sea. The sounds and smells, the rhythms and mysteries of the sea. In particular, I needed to bring to life my book’s setting, a mysterious whirlpool off the coast of Baja California. It is a dangerous place, shrouded with mist. The local villagers call it the place where the sea begins, the womb where the waters are born. What’s more, the whirlpool is surrounded by a strange group of whales � gray whales � who are ever circling, ever singing. No one knows why.

Having lived much of my life in Colorado, the mountains and alpine meadows are in my blood. But the sea is not. The only solution was to go there. So I spent some time camping on the Baja coast, armed with snorkel and sea kayak.

Gradually, the screech of gulls and the smell of kelp became familiar. I learned a little about life under the waves, as well as the waves themselves, and introduced myself to an assortment of crabs and plovers. The sea was starting to feel true for me, so I grew hopeful that I could make it also feel true for my readers. Yet one important aspect of this thread continued to elude me.

The whales. I needed closer contact with whales than could be provided by the dozens of books I had read on marine life or the occasional fluked tail I had seen from a distance.

On the final day of my final trip to Baja, I put in my kayak before sunrise. There was no moon, no starlight. The lagoon was utterly black. All I could hear was the whooshah, whooshah of whales breathing somewhere out there. I could not see them. I could only hope that they could somehow see me � since my kayak sat only eight feet long, and an adult gray whale could reach forty-five feet long.

I paddled quietly, toward the open ocean. Slowly the sun began to rise, turning the sky and the water creamy crimson. I caught sight of one whale lifting its tail above the waves, close enough that I could see streams of water cascading off the flukes. Then, almost as if my legendary whirlpool were coming to life before my eyes, the water began to swirl just off the bow of my kayak.

Like an island emerging, a hulking gray form rose out of the water. In a moment so vivid that I have relived it many times, the whale and I drifted together. I reached out my hand and touched its barnacled back. Best of all, for a brief instant, I looked straight into its dark, round eye.

At that moment, I knew that my story could be true. The sea, the whirlpool, and the whales could feel as convincing to others as they now felt to me. Right down to that great round eye.

Truth in literature is not found in complicated formulas or lengthy sermons. It is found through basic, simple experiences. The feel of a face you love. The crunch of a spruce bough underfoot. The peculiar glow in the wings of a living butterfly that seems to vanish after it dies. The laughter of a child.

And no stories have greater need to be built on a foundation of truth and experience than stories attempting to travel beyond our collective experience. That kind of voyage will occur only if the author has won the reader’s trust. Such trust is earned, not given. Earned by the truth of each individual detail, each individual thread. Then and only then can a glorious tapestry be woven.

I have always loved a good story. Not just a brief romance that may tickle my fancy for an hour or two. A truly touching, gripping tale. One that stays with me for months and years after I close the covers. One that contains a character I care about, a place I know with all five of my senses, a situation that tears at my emotions, and—most elusive of all—an idea. An idea that runs deeper and wider than my own brief life but still says something important to me as a person.

Character. Place. Situation. Idea. Each of these elements comes alive, comes true, through the honesty of the details.

Heartlight, my first novel, is the tale of a remarkable friendship between a twelve-year-old girl and her grandfather. It asks a question: What is one life worth? Or, put another way, does every individual matter somehow? But readers must first believe in the friendship, in the details of the picnic in the garden, before trusting me to take them to other galaxies—whether they be physical or metaphysical.

The Ancient One springs out of my interest in Native American lore and my love of the great redwoods of the Pacific Northwest. It too asks a question: Are we all connected somehow? Are all living things part of a web that reaches across time, across culture, across even species? Once again, to ask such a question successfully, I must deliver on the details. You must truly believe that you are entering the ancient forest of Lost Crater, smelling the very resins in the air, or you will not follow me any further.

Sometimes I imagine my favorite bookshelf as a country lane. On that dirt track with grass growing up the middle live Merlin, Arthur and Morgaine, just a few paces away from Bilbo Baggins, Mole, and the Count of Monte Cristo. Nearby, a girl named Anne Frank writes solemnly in near-darkness, a boy named Caspian listens eagerly to tales of Old Narnia, a man named Zhivago snuggles with the tides of love and war, and a spider named Charlotte spins an impeccable web.

The lane is fabulously diverse. It is lined with doorways labeled Tree and Leaf, Time of Wonder, My Antonia, A Wrinkle in Time, Taran Wanderer, and A Field Guide to Snow Crystals. Albert Einstein’s letters, Dorothy Wordsworth’s journals, and John Muir’s travel notes can be found there. Charles Dickens has been known to stop by, as have Ursula Le Guin, Prometheus, and Kokopelli, flute in hand.

What binds them all together is that each of the books on that shelf has touched me somehow. Each of them says something I’d like to savor for my whole life. Each of them is true.

As true as the eye of a whale.

Looking back on this essay, I realize how much these thoughts have shaped my writing journey. My love for the natural world � whether the majestic forests of The Ancient One or the tumultuous waters of The Merlin Effect � continues to inspire me. I hope you enjoy this reflection from the past, and that it brings you a sense of connection to the stories that are rooted in nature and truth.

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Congratulations to the 2024 Barron Prize Winners! One of the greatest joys in my life is seeing the remarkable ways that young people are making a positive difference in the world. Since founding the more than two decades ago, I’ve had the privilege of witnessing countless inspiring stories of leadership, innovation, and compassion. Each year, I’m reminded of the power young people have to spark change � and this year is no different.

It’s my honor to introduce the winners and finalists of the , a spectacular group of incredible young leaders dedicated to helping others and protecting the planet. Their work gives me hope for the future, and I know their stories will inspire you as well.

I invite you to take a moment to read through this year’s list of marvelous, accomplished young people, visit their project sites, and learn more about them!

2024 Barron Prize Winners

Adeline S., age 17, of Idaho, who co-founded , a nonprofit that creates math and science programs for students in 14 underserved Idaho schools.Ìý

Artash N., age 18, of Canada, who created to investigate, analyze, and display changes in human-caused ocean noise, which disrupts whalesâ€� communication.ÌýÌý

Arya G., age 15, of Texas, who to improve upon the Bionic Leaf technology, a solar-powered device that mimics photosynthesis to create a highly efficient, alcohol-based fuel from just water, sunlight, and bacteria.ÌýÌý

., age 14, of Tennessee, who has removed more than 35,000 pounds of trash from the Tennessee River and has placed 150 fishing line collection bins across his state.ÌýÌý

Charlotte R., age 17, of California, whose has organized young photographers to hold more than 550 donation-based photoshoots to raise over $40,000 for global causes that are often overlooked.Ìý

Clelia P., age 17, of Illinois, who founded and with her team of volunteers, has prepared and served over 8,000 meals and desserts from scratch for those in need.ÌýÌý

Ekansh M., age 17, of Oregon, who has responsible for resistance to cancer-fighting drugs and has created a novel 3D model to validate the effectiveness of targeting these genes.Ìý

Elizabeth D., age 18, of Alaska, who helps protect Pacific salmon through metabarcoding and leads the student arm of the Alaska Science and EngineeringÌý Fair, supporting STEM education for youth.Ìý

Esther B., age 17, of Maryland, who founded to protect biodiversity through education and native plant giveaways, where she has distributed more than 47,000 native seedlings.Ìý

Genshu P., age 16, of Hawaii, who created , a nonprofit that helps protect theÌý environment by recycling cans and bottles and uses the proceeds to provide college scholarships for Hawaii students.Ìý

Heman B., age 15, of Virginia, who has developed an helps treat skin cancer, providing an affordable alternative to traditional skin cancer treatments.Ìý

Nirbhuy A. and Alexis N., ages 9 and 10, of Washington, who co-founded , which has helped plant more than 300 trees at schools, parks, and low-income housing complexes in Eastern Washington.Ìý

Sebastian T., age 16, of Pennsylvania, who founded , an online hiring platform that has matched more than 10,000 previously imprisoned individuals with jobs that fit their skills and aspirations.Ìý

Varin S., age 16, of California, who invented AirCat, a Direct Air Capture system that removes carbon dioxide from the air on a large scale and holds the potential to significantly mitigate climate change.Ìý

William C., age 18, of Tennessee, who makes and sells pure vanilla extract through his nonprofit, , and has donated more than $210,000 in profits to his community’s regional food bank.

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2024 Barron Prize Finalists

Aaryan D., age 17, of California, who created to educate young people about moving from our take-make-waste linear economy to a more sustainable circular one that promotes the reuse of products.Ìý

Adyant B., age 13, of California, who has developed a reliable and cost-effective that converts mechanical energy into electricity, specifically designed to power low-voltage devices.

Andrew L., age 16, of California, who created , an AI-driven system that improves bee colony health monitoring for beekeepers by running bees� appearances and sounds through neural networks to provide real-time livestreams of beehives and accurate assessments of hive health.

Chase H., age 18, of Florida, who co-founded , a nonprofit that promotes literacy, education equity, and conservation, raising more than $165,000 to buy thousands of new books and redirecting hundreds of thousands of gently used books from landfills to students in need.Ìý

Elana K., age 16, of New York, who founded (KCCF) and has raised more than $1.5 million to help over 3,500 children and their families battling cancer.

Henry L., age 18, of California, who founded to provide free chess lessons to underserved youth and has taught, along with his team, more than 1,000 students.Ìý

Legacy J., age 15, of Missouri, who founded at age 7 to provide opportunities for young people to serve their communities, leading more than 200 youth volunteers in completing over 100 projects to help people in Saint Louis and beyond.

Ìý., age 17, of Michigan, who has raised $1,000,000 to provide water filters to people living with elevated levels of lead in their tap water, many of them residents of low-income and minority neighborhoods.Ìý

Mia L., age 18, of California, who founded , a nonprofit that provides free language classes for refugees, indigenous communities, and low-income students in 136 countries across six continents.

Rohan K. and Jack R., age 18, of Pennsylvania, who developed the , a novel solution to reduce vehiclesâ€� carbon emissions through a filter clamped inside the exhaust pipe.Ìý

These extraordinary young heroes� stories remind us all that no matter our age, each of us has the power to make a difference � whether it’s protecting the environment, helping those in need, or standing up for what we believe in. I’m proud to celebrate these 2024 Barron Prize winners and finalists, and I am endlessly inspired by their courage and kindness. Their actions light the way for all of us, showing that with enough passion and perseverance, we can truly change the world.

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Why Heroism Deserves Our Attention Today (and Always)

The concept of heroism has always fascinated me. The hero’s journey, whether through the enchanting realms of Avalon and Atlantis or the real-world paths traversed by inspiring young people, reveals the remarkable potential that lies within each of us.

But what does it really mean to be a hero, especially for young people who are just beginning to navigate the intricate trails of their own lives?

Understanding Heroism

When it comes to knowing the difference between a hero and a celebrity, our society is confused. Massively, profoundly confused.

Somewhere along the way, we have lost track of the key distinction between celebrity and heroism. In our media-obsessed culture, we spend far more time discussing the latest celebrity scandal than the crucial values and events that shape our society. But true heroism is about character, not fame and glory. This distinction is crucial � especially for young people.

For starters, a hero is not about fame. Or money. Or Grammy awards. A hero is about just one thing, and that’s character. That’s right � qualities such as courage, compassion, hope, perseverance, humility, and faith. Qualities with deep value and lasting importance.

My own heroes are people who sought no recognition and only wanted to make a positive difference in the world. My mother and father would top this list, as would my sister Winnie (who founded an orphanage in Africa for children with AIDS).

Gloria Barron, the woman I was lucky enough to know as my mother, never sought fame. She simply lived the life of a teacher who cared deeply about her children and her community. She was always learning: The day before she died, at age ninety-two, she delighted in learning a new word origin! And she never lost her childlike sense of wonder.

I also greatly admire Abraham Lincoln, Anne Frank, Gandhi, Eleanor Roosevelt, Martin Luther King, Albert Einstein, Wilma Rudolph, and Jane Goodall. Add to that list Ben Franklin, Helen Keller, Leonardo da Vinci, Beethoven, Stephen Hawking, Rachel Carson, John Muir, and the Dalai Lama. And let’s not forget that wonderful writer and wise woman, Madeleine L’Engle.
Why did I list Lincoln first? Besides my mother, he was my first hero � I couldn’t get over his courage, faith, humor, and humility. As well as his gracious spirit � which enabled him to urge a war-torn nation to remake itself “with malice toward none, with charity for all.�

True heroism is defined by character, the choices we make, and how we impact others. There are everyday heroes and traditional heroes, but the core qualities—courage, selflessness, perseverance—remain the same.

The Potential Within

� a package of positive energy that could help the world in some way. They may not believe that. They may think it’s the craziest idea ever. But it’s true. Deeply true.

How do young people make that discovery? Not by lectures or sermons. No, the very best way is by sharing examples:stories about young people who faced difficult challenges and somehow triumphed. Nothing is more powerful than stories of heroic people, whether they are fiction (like the ones I’ve written about Merlin, Kate, and other characters) or nonfiction (as you’ll find in The Hero’s Trail).

All of us have an amazing power, the power to make 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.

Heroism in Stories

When I talk with kids from all walks of life, I’m struck by how many of them feel powerless in their own lives and in the world around them. This problem partly comes from America’s confusion between heroes and celebrities. A hero is about inner qualities of character, while a celebrity is just about fame.

Another part of the problem is our society’s focus on materialism. The mass media bombards our kids with negative messages, telling them their self-worth comes from what they wear, drink, or drive, instead of who they truly are inside.

I realized that these kids needed to hear stories about . Not just fictional heroes, such as the girls and boys in my novels, but real young people who have faced terrible obstacles and triumphed through their own courage, perseverance, compassion, and wisdom.

These young heroes come in all descriptions � every gender, race, age, color, culture, or economic background. Some are well-known, such as Anne Frank or Wilma Rudolph or Stephen Hawking, but many more are largely unknown. So I packed my book, , with dozens of examples of amazing young people, both historical and contemporary. The result, I hope, is that any young reader will gain a sense of his or her own heroic potential.

Why did I use the idea of walking on a trail? Because life is a journey through uncharted terrain. Often arduous, often wondrous, and full of surprises � life resembles the long hikes I’ve taken through the mountains of Colorado, Nepal, or Patagonia.

The older I get, with more creases on my hiking boots as well as my brow, the more potent this analogy seems. And in every journey, we need our guides � heroes who have walked this trail before, who show us how high we can climb.

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The Importance of Creativity

Creativity is like a magical spark that brightens the hearts and minds of everyone it touches. It’s a force that taps into our hopes, dreams, and fears for humanity.

Part of being a storyteller is allowing a story to come to life on its own. There are moments when I sit down to write, and the words just pour from my pen as if they come from a mysterious, unseen source.

In those moments, it feels like magic.

During the creative process big ideas flow through me into the story. These ideas come in the form of images, metaphors, and language, making the story something that feels both a part of me� and a part of something even larger.

Writing gives me the freedom as a storyteller to talk about deep and subtle things and to enter into the minds of my characters. For instance, when I wrote , I felt Merlin’s journey so deeply it was as if his trials and triumphs were my own.

Connection Through Creativity

The importance of creativity lies not only in individual expression but also in its ability to foster connection. This connection allows us to understand each other more deeply and share our personal journeys � a vital step in helping us learn, grow, and come together in meaningful ways.

When you , you’re giving a piece of your soul to the world. Readers see the world from your perspective, which can build sensitivity, compassion, and awareness. The bonds you cultivate through your creativity help teach others how to exist harmoniously on this planet � not just with our fellow humans, but with all living creatures.

As an example, when I was writing my book , I wanted readers to experience the ancient wisdom of the redwoods and understand their significance in the world. I hope that this awareness, this connection, will in turn inspire others to have compassion and sensitivity toward nature.

The Magic of Creativity

Think about the last time you read a book, heard a song, or saw a painting that moved you. The artist shared their world with you, and for a little while, you felt what they felt and saw what they saw.

That’s the magic of creativity.

It bridges gaps between people, cultures, and generations. It makes us realize that despite our differences, we share common hopes, dreams, and fears.

Oftentimes, I feel that my stories are like little boats that I spend time crafting until they’re finally shipworthy and ready to sail. Then I lovingly set them free upon the great ocean that connects all people across distances, cultures, languages, and times. Those “story boats� sail away to have their own journeys, their own adventures, touching the lives of people on faraway shores, people I will probably never meet.

And though I don’t know where those boats have landed, I trust that they have brought something meaningful in their holds � a new idea, perhaps, or a good reason for hope, or a small source of inspiration.

Encouraging Creativity in Children

My favorite part of being an author is seeing how creativity multiplies � my books inspire the imagination of a smart and caring reader, and then that reader creates something truly wonderful. That’s what it’s all about.

I often receive artwork and stories from readers, and each piece holds a special place in my heart, especially those created by children. After all, children are natural creators.

Children are effortless in their ability to think creatively and tell stories that are pure and unfiltered. When you encourage a child to , you help them develop a skill and, perhaps more importantly, you help them find their voice. You teach them that their ideas matter � and by extension, they matter � and that they can make a difference in the world. Every story they tell, every picture they draw, is a step toward building a better future.

Nurturing Creativity

So, how can we nurture creativity in ourselves and others? Here are a few simple tips to embrace the importance of creativity:

Make time for creativity: In our busy lives, it’s easy to push creativity to the side. Make it a priority. Set aside time each day to write, draw, or simply daydream.Encourage curiosity: Ask questions and explore new ideas. Don’t be afraid to wonder “what if� and see where it takes you.Embrace mistakes: Creativity often involves trial and error. Don’t be afraid of making mistakes. They’re a valuable part of the learning process.Collaborate with others: Share your ideas with others and be open to their input. Collaboration can spark new ideas and take your creativity to new heights.Stay inspired: Surround yourself with things that inspire you. Read books, listen to music, visit museums, or spend time in nature.

On my website, I have a special section dedicated to spreading . Especially useful to writers is “� � and I hope you’ll laugh with me at the completely bizarre story of how I got started as a writer. You’ll also enjoy the many episodes from my podcast, , devoted to the agony and ecstasy of writing and the mystery and power of creativity.

We are the ideas we have. We are the dreams we cherish. We are the gifts we share. These are all facets of our creativity. I hope these resources will encourage you to find your own unique voice, create what you love, and share your ideas with the world.

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Merlin and the Magic of Nature

In the heart of the enchanting world of , nature is more than a mere backdrop; it is a living, breathing character that shapes and influences the journey of Merlin, the wizard we all know and love. In my storytelling, I’ve woven together the interconnectedness of all life forms and the magic that binds them to create a universe where nature is integral to both the story and the growth of our favorite wizard.

Merlin and the Elements of Nature

The elements play a vital role in Merlin’s magical tales and the mythical landscape of The Merlin Saga. Each element � earth, air, fire, and water � holds significant power, shaping the journey of Merlin and the world around him.

The rich, fertile lands of Fincayra and Avalon are teeming with magical plants and ancient trees, with the nurturing and grounding power of earth always present. The wind spirit Aela, the Wind Sister, has a way of surrounding Merlin with a gentle breeze, guiding and communicating with him in subtle ways and the breezes and winds often carry messages and signs to Merlin.

Many characters in Fincayra and Avalon are deeply connected to fire, from the fiery dragons like Balor to the wise and glorious fire angels. Fire is a force used for both hope and destruction in Merlin’s worlds. And Merlin’s own inner fire � his passion and determination are ever-present.

The enchanted waters of Fincayra, with their ability to heal and transform, underscore this element’s significance within The Merlin Saga. Merlin’s journey often involves rivers, lakes, and seas � each playing a crucial role in his adventures and his growth, beginning with that young boy who is washed ashore.

Merlin and Nature as a Teacher

Nature is Merlin’s greatest teacher � a source of wisdom, healing, and inspiration. To him, the language of the river or the tree isn’t so far from his own and the echoing call of a wolf is full of wisdom. Humanity has always yearned to connect with the cosmos and to learn its secrets, to belong to the universe as wholly as light belongs to the stars. Merlin reminds us of that yearning, and inspires us to explore it.

In The Merlin Saga, the land itself is constantly guiding Merlin and helping him understand the deeper connections between magic and nature. The ancient trees, the flowing rivers, and the mystical creatures all play a crucial role in Merlin’s growth, reflecting my deep appreciation for the natural world.

Merlin and His Bond with Animals

Merlin’s connection to nature is also evident in his bond with animals. Throughout the series, he communicates with many different creatures, from delicate songbirds to noble wolves and even majestic dragons. His ability to understand and empathize with animals shows . He doesn’t see animals as mere beasts but as fellow beings with their own thoughts, feelings, and wisdom.

One of the most touching relationships is between Merlin and his falcon, Trouble. Trouble is not just a pet but a friend and guide. He helps Merlin navigate his challenges and provides insights that only a creature of the sky can offer. This bond highlights the theme of interconnectedness between humans and nature, showing that we are all part of a larger, intricate web of life.

Merlin and the Healing Power of Nature

In The Merlin Saga, nature is a source of healing and renewal. Merlin often turns to the natural world for solace and strength. When he is injured or weary, it is the healing herbs, the soothing sound of a babbling brook, or the sheltering embrace of a tree that restores him.

In (Book 4 of The Merlin Saga), Merlin is gravely injured and seeks refuge in the Crystal Cave � a natural formation that provides him with a place to heal and regain his strength. Here, nature has the power to heal both physical wounds and emotional scars.

Merlin’s connection to nature’s healing power teaches us that nature is not just something to be used or exploited, but is a vital part of our well-being and survival.

Merlin’s Magical Connection to Nature

As Merlin’s journey continues, he eventually finds his way to Avalon, a place where the connection between nature and magic is even more profound. Avalon is a realm of unparalleled beauty and wonder, where the natural world and the mystical are seamlessly intertwined. The island itself is a living entity, with its own moods, histories, and characteristics that can be bizarre, humorous, tragic, mysterious, and inspiring.

In Avalon, Merlin’s bond with nature grows even deeper. He learns that every action he takes affects the balance of the world around him. The trees, rivers, and mountains of Avalon are not just passive elements but active participants in the story. They respond to Merlin’s presence and actions, guiding him, challenging him, and helping him grow as a wizard and a person.

Merlin’s bond with nature in Avalon culminates with his creation of the Great Tree, a living symbol of the island’s connection to nature and magic. It serves as a powerful message on how we must maintain harmony with the natural world and protect it from harm.

Nature’s role in The Merlin Saga goes far beyond scenery � it is the lifeblood of Merlin’s journey, a source of wisdom, strength, and profound connection. From the grounding power of the earth to the transformative force of fire, the gentle guidance of the wind, and the healing embrace of water, the natural elements shape and define Merlin’s path. As Merlin learns and grows, so too do we, reminded of our intrinsic bond with the natural world. In every tree, river, and creature, there is a story waiting to be told, a lesson waiting to be learned. How might our lives change if we, like Merlin, listened a little closer to the world around us?

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