T.A. Barron's Blog

Physics, Magic, and the Power of Curiosity: The Origins of Kate Gordon

Before Merlin ever washed ashore on Fincayra, there was a brave, curious girl named Kate Gordon.

She wasn’t the first character I brought to life, but she was the first to find her way into the hands of readers. And she became the pivotal character of my Heartlight saga: Heartlight, The Ancient One, and The Merlin Effect. These stories may span distant galaxies and ancient forests, but at their core, they’re about one girl’s journey to ask big questions and seek out meaningful truths.

Kate remains one of the most personally important characters I’ve ever written. Her curiosity, resilience, and compassion not only shaped the worlds I was building, but also shaped me as a writer… and as a person.

A Character Born of Curiosity and a Newborn Daughter

When I started writing Heartlight, I didn’t know if the main character would be a boy or a girl. I only knew the story would center around a young person who finds themselves at the edge of the known universe, and discovers that even the smallest choices can have cosmic consequences.

Around the same time, my wife and I welcomed our first child — our daughter, Denali. That experience made something click. I wanted this story, this journey of personal power and discovery, to speak to her one day. And I wanted the main character to be someone who reflected that strength. So, Kate became a girl.

That decision was the easy part. The hard part? Writing her voice.

As a man in my late 30s, I had to dig deep to find the inner voice of a 12-year-old girl… and do it in a way that felt authentic. In those early days, I’ll admit, Kate didn’t sound quite right. My first attempt felt like a boy with a braid.

So I stopped. I started over.

I interviewed my wife, my nieces, and my cousins about their lives at that age. I asked questions, but more importantly, I listened. Then I set aside the manuscript and wrote an entire biography of Kate: who she was, what she feared, what she loved. Only after that did I return to the story. And when I did, something had shifted. I could finally hear her voice.

That voice would go on to shape three full novels, and many of the characters I would write in the years to come.

Science, Magic, and the Spaces In Between

Kate begins Heartlight as a curious young girl fascinated by science, especially physics. But when her grandfather, a physicist working on a mysterious project, disappears, Kate finds herself pulled into an interstellar journey that challenges her view of reality.

Throughout her adventures, she discovers something profound: science and magic aren’t opposites. They’re both languages we use to understand the universe.

Some truths are revealed through equations. Others come through wonder. But both require one essential quality: curiosity.

That’s something I’ve always believed. I grew up inspired by naturalists like John Muir and Rachel Carson, and then, in college, discovered great fantasy storytellers like Tolkien and Le Guin. For me, storytelling has always lived in the space between data and dreams. Kate lives in that space, too.

The Tree That Told a Story

Of all Kate’s adventures, The Ancient One is perhaps the most personal for me.

That book was born from a real experience: a solo hike in the redwoods of California, where I encountered the largest, most awe-inspiring tree I had ever seen. I was so moved, I stayed the night with that tree — no tent, no food, just me and the towering stillness of the forest.

I remember wondering, “What stories could this tree tell?” What had it witnessed over two thousand years of existing on this planet of ours?

That question became the seed from which The Ancient One grew, where Kate discovers a hidden grove and journeys back in time to an ancient tribe whose way of life is deeply entwined with the natural world. She comes to understand the redwoods not as scenery, but as characters — wise, breathing, and connected to everything.

Nature, in that book, isn’t just the backdrop. It’s the teacher. The keeper of memory. The guide.

And Kate? She listens.

A Hero in Her Own Right

When I wrote these stories in the early 1990s, female protagonists in fantasy were often relegated to supporting roles — the sidekick, the love interest, or the damsel to be rescued.

Kate was none of those things. She was the hero.

She wasn’t perfect, and didn’t have superpowers. But she was smart. Brave. Vulnerable. Determined to do the right thing, even when it was hard.

I’ve been honored over the years to receive letters and emails from readers who connected with Kate — some as children, some as parents sharing the books with their own kids. I’ve even seen artwork inspired by her journeys. But what moves me most is the reminder that stories connect us — reader and writer — in a journey we take together.

In many ways, Kate exists not just on the page, but in the shared space between imagination and memory. She lives in both our minds — yours and mine. And that, to me, is real magic.

What Kate Taught Me (and Still Teaches Me Today)

In writing Kate, I learned that the most important thing a writer can do is listen. To the world, to nature, to people whose experiences are different from our own — and to the quiet voice of the character waiting to emerge.

I also learned how hard, and how essential, it is to write characters who feel true. Not idealized or polished, but real and as full of contradiction as the rest of us.

Kate taught me how to do that. And she paved the way for many more characters in my books, including Rhia, Hallia, Ellie, Atlanta — and yes, even Merlin himself.

Kate may not be a wizard. She doesn’t hold a staff or recite ancient spells. But she’s every bit as magical.

Her magic is in her questions. Her empathy. Her belief that the universe, in all its vastness, can still be understood — and loved.

If I could offer just one takeaway from her adventures, it would be this:
Curiosity is its own kind of light. It can lead you to the stars… and right back to the roots of an ancient tree.

And sometimes, if you’re really listening, you might just hear the tree speak back.

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The Secret to Writing Characters That Feel Real

If you’ve ever lost yourself in a book, you know the power of a well-written character. Not just the ones who slay dragons or save worlds, but the ones who whisper their fears, wrestle with impossible choices, and somehow feel like they’re sitting beside you, telling their story.

Over the years, I’ve written hundreds of characters: some brave, some flawed, some magical, and some achingly human. And if there’s one truth I’ve learned about how to write characters that feel real, it’s this: you don’t just invent them… you discover them.

They live inside you already, waiting to be found.

And once you find them — really find them — they’ll begin to breathe, speak, and even surprise you.

Realistic Characters Matter More Than Perfect Ones

Characters are the emotional heartbeat of a story. Without that pulse, everything else — even the most epic fantasy battle or sweeping romance — falls flat.

Why? Because a good character reflects us. Our hopes. Our struggles. Our dreams. Our humanity.

A story can have dazzling settings and clever plot twists… but if the characters don’t feel alive, the reader won’t care what happens to them.

Perfect characters tend to fade. But real ones — messy, conflicted, kind, uncertain, brave, broken, resilient — are the ones who stay with you.

So… How Do You Write Characters That Feel Real?

Let me share something I’ve learned along the way:

For a character to truly come alive, they must rise up and speak to me. They need to share their innermost secrets: their fears, their hopes, and even their flaws. Only then can I stop guiding the process and let that character meet you, the intelligent reader, in full authenticity and on their own terms.

It’s not a technical exercise. It’s a layered, intuitive process. But when it works, it’s nothing short of magic. I come to know these wondrous beings not as inventions, but as companions. And my job, as the storyteller, is simply to listen… and then get out of their way so they can show us who they really are.

Here are a few of my tips for how to write characters that feel real:

 

1. Know Their Wounds, Not Just Their Wants

Every character wants something. That’s Storytelling 101.

But here’s Storytelling 202: every character is carrying something. A wound. A regret. A fear. A secret.

When you write from that deeper place — when you let their pain shape their choices — suddenly your character begins to move with a life of their own.

Take Merlin, for example. Sure, he’s powerful. But what truly defines him isn’t his magic. It’s his yearning to understand who he is, and where he belongs. That emotional wound becomes the compass of his journey.

So ask your characters: What hurts? What haunts them? What haven’t they told anyone… not even themselves?

That’s where the soul of your story lives.

 

2. Let Them Surprise You

Your job isn’t to control your characters or chart their destinies. Your job is to trust them and let them lead the way.

You might think your character will make one decision — but then, suddenly, they veer off course and choose something else entirely. That’s not a mistake. That’s discovery.

Characters are like rivers. They find their own paths. Let them.

And when they reveal something unexpected — a hidden strength, a buried fear, a quiet moment of grace — lean into it. Those are the moments that stay with readers long after the final page.

 

3. Give Them Contradictions

Real people are contradictions. We can be brave and terrified at the same time. Loyal and selfish. Optimistic and heartbroken.

So should your characters.

Don’t just write the loyal friend or the ruthless villain. Instead, write the friend who’s loyal… but terrified of being abandoned, and the villain who’s ruthless… but secretly longs to be seen.

These contradictions aren’t weaknesses; they’re what make characters human.

 

4. Anchor Them in the Senses

Want to make a character unforgettable? Let readers experience the world through the characters’ senses. Hear what they hear. Smell the rain-soaked earth after a storm. Feel the ache in their chest when they lose someone.

The more sensory and specific you are, the more your characters will step off the page and into the reader’s world.

It’s one thing to say your character is nervous. It’s another to show the quiet ways that nervousness shows up — a restless hand, a wandering gaze, or a breath that’s held just a second too long.

Those small, concrete details build trust with your reader. They send a subtle message: This character is real.

 

5. Ask Yourself: Would I Follow This Person Into the Unknown?

At the heart of every great story is a journey. And the question readers subconsciously ask on page one is: Am I drawn to this person enough to follow them into the unknown?

That doesn’t mean your character has to be likable. But they do need to be compelling. Complex. Worth the time.

Whether your character is saving a kingdom or just trying to survive middle school, your reader needs a reason to care about them.

So give your characters stakes. Give them dreams. Give them someone to love. And above all, give them the courage to grow.

 

Where Do These Characters Come From?

Here’s the funny thing: you’re not actually making them up. You’re remembering them.

Sometimes they’re pieces of people you’ve met: a friend’s laugh, a stranger’s kindness, your mother’s curiosity.

Other times, they’re pieces of yourself. The parts you’ve hidden, the parts you’ve healed, and the parts still finding their way.

That’s why writing characters can feel so vulnerable — and so powerful.

Readers don’t just want a story — they want to feel something true. Something that reminds them they’re not alone.

Writing With Courage (and Heart)

Writing characters that feel real takes courage.

It means being honest. Being open. Letting yourself feel everything your character feels: the joy, the grief, the doubt.

But when you do, something remarkable happens.

A reader, maybe halfway around the world, picks up your story. And in the quiet of their room, something clicks.

They think, “I know this person.”

Not because your character is perfect, but because they’re real.

And in that moment, you’ve done something extraordinary. You’ve reached across time and space and made a connection that’s as magical as anything I could conjure in the Merlin Saga.

So write bravely. Write with your whole heart. And most of all, write characters who remind us what it means to be beautifully, imperfectly, gloriously human.

Want More Tips on Storytelling?

If you’d like to hear more about crafting unforgettable characters (including an inspiring conversation I had with the brilliant author and editor Jill Santopolo), I invite you to listen to Season 2, Episode 6 of my podcast, Magic & Mountains.

Until next time, fellow storytellers… keep writing with wonder.

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Public Land Goes Back on the Chopping Block, Needs Our Continued Support

This article was published by many newspapers around the country, including The Denver Post.
Original Article

The radical notion of selling off public lands is back. And this time it seems that only the Congress can stop the giveaway of America’s heritage to private interests—if its representatives listen to widespread public sentiment. 

Last week, the Senate Energy and Natural Resources Committee updated its budget bill to include making over 250 million acres of public lands in 11 western states eligible for disposal, including recreation areas, wilderness study areas, inventoried roadless areas, critical wildlife habitat and big game migration corridors, according to analysis by The Wilderness Society. 

At the same time, Trump’s Interior Department is aggressively pursuing ways to industrialize, privatize and monetize the public lands. But these places, rich with ecological values, are held in trust for us to conserve and deliver intact to future generations.

Despite the administration’s rhetoric about wanting to reduce the deficit, its goal is to dispose of these lands—to remove them permanently from the public domain. This serves an ideology that reflexively favors private ownership over public enjoyment, whether by diminishing long-term protections on public lands, promoting their immediate development or selling them outright.

What are the effects of this wrongheaded policy?

First, once it’s gone, it’s gone forever.Any land pulled out of the public domain for development will never be returned. As a result, wild places will no longer offer open space for people to hike, hunt or fish, wildlife to thrive, waterways to flow unimpeded and much more.

Second, it’s a slippery slope. We lose environmental protections not by a one-time tsunami of destruction, but by nibbles. If we lose a piece of land today for an appealing idea (for example, deficit reduction, space for housing), then tomorrow we will hear an equally appealing idea to develop the neighboring piece. Then the next day, even more land will be needed for another reason. And so on. The process of destruction by nibbling will never end until there is nothing left to devour. 

Third, there’s one upside: It’s an excellent opportunity for conservationists to expand public support for nature.The current attack on public land is enabling conservationists of different stripes to come together and build alliances. Think of hunters and fishers, farmers and ranchers, mountain bikers and horseback riders, campers and birders who all cherish open lands—whatever their politics.

Fourth, we need to make the case for urgency. If public land advocates don’t stand strong now to protect nature, who will?Right now, we need to defend the water, the trees, and the wildlife on the public lands for generations to come. We need to tell our representatives in Congress that their duty is to never sell out the public estate.

Fifth, standing up for nature brings out the best of humanity. The framing of the “debate” in Congress and the public is always human-centric, the same approach that has caused so much environmental destruction throughout the world. Ignored is what would be lost, from water storage and wetlands to places for wildlife to live out their lives. We must tell the story of what nature brings us just by being left alone.

Compared to most developed countries, America is extraordinarily rich in public lands that everyone can enjoy, no matter their income or their background. Thanks to those who came before us who knew their value, Congress set aside these unique places as designated wilderness, national parks and monuments, and other special types of land, not to mention national forests and Bureau of Land Management lands that serve multiple purposes. That means all of us can roam land that has no fences or “No Trespassing” signs.

Humility and restraint, not privatization and exploitation, are the words that unite us as we fight to preserve our public lands. This is the public’s land, and let’s keep it that way forever.

T. A. Barron is a contributor to Writers on the Range, writersontherange.org, an independent nonprofit dedicated to spurring lively conversation about the West. He is a board member of the World Wildlife Fund and the Wilderness Society, and the author of more than 30 books.

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Why Save Our Public Lands?

America’s public lands deserve protection — not destruction. Yet destruction is their likely fate under the radical policies of the Trump administration.

For over a century, these lands — our national parks, wilderness areas, wildlife refuges, monuments, and the last undeveloped lands in the National Forests and Bureau of Land Management — have been national treasures to people of all descriptions. As such, they’ve been protected as a great gift to future generations.

Until now.

Last week, the Senate Energy and Natural Resources Committee updated its budget bill to include making over 250 million acres of public lands in 11 western states eligible for disposal, including recreation areas, wilderness study areas, inventoried roadless areas, critical wildlife habitat and big game migration corridors, according to analysis by The Wilderness Society.

At the same time, Trump’s Interior Department is aggressively pursuing ways to industrialize, privatize, and monetize the public lands. But these places, rich with ecological values, are held in trust for us to conserve and deliver intact to future generations. If our public lands are now mined for coal or drilled for oil and gas, forms of energy production whose environmental harm is well understood, their natural values will be permanently degraded or destroyed. This policy amounts to theft from coming generations.

Despite the administration’s rhetoric about wanting to reduce the deficit, their actual goal is to dispose of these lands — to remove them permanently from the public domain. This serves an ideology that reflexively favors private ownership over public. Whether by diminishing long term protections on the public lands, promoting their immediate development, or selling them outright, that goal is achieved.

What’s wrong with this policy?

First — once it’s gone, it’s gone forever. Any land pulled out of the public domain for development will never be returned. As a result, whatever natural gifts that place provided — open space for people to roam, wildlife to thrive, birds to sing, trees to grow, waterways to flow, and much more — will be lost, stolen from the future.

Second — it’s a slippery slope. We lose environmental protections not by a single onslaught, by a one-time tsunami of destruction, but by small, continuous nibbles. If we lose a piece of land today for an appealing idea (for example, deficit reduction), then tomorrow we will hear an equally appealing idea to develop the neighboring piece. Then the next day, even more land will be needed for another reason. And so on. The process of destruction by nibbling will never end — until there is nothing left to devour.

Third — this crisis is an excellent opportunity for conservationists to expand support for nature. Let’s use the current threats to build new alliances with the many hunters and fishers, farmers and ranchers, campers and birders who cherish open lands. As well as people who want healthy lives for themselves and their children — folks who will join the fight for clean air, good water, and places for all people to enjoy the wonders of nature.

Fourth — if wise and caring people don’t stand strong now to protect nature, who will? We need to defend the water, the trees, and the wildlife of the public lands. To protect all those forests, rivers, canyons, meadows, oceans, and wetlands for the future.

Fifth — nature has no voice in this debate. This is, alas, the tragedy of how most people think about nature. The whole framing of the debate is human-centric — the very same approach that has caused so much environmental destruction on this planet. Questions like “Shall we sell off public lands? What current purposes do they serve? What resources can they provide?” are driven entirely by human desires of the moment. Lost in that conversation are the needs of other creatures, the enduring values of places, and the essential and inspiring songs of nature.

Moreover, when we discuss these issues narrowly, we are missing an enormous opportunity in our evolution as a species — a species that calls itself sapiens, the Latin word for “wise”. Let’s view this challenging time as an invitation to raise our awareness to include our fellow creatures and the whole world we share. To become our highest and best selves. To live on Earth more sustainably, more ethically, and more graciously.

Note: A condensed version of this piece was published by many newspapers around the country, including The Denver Post.

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What It Truly Means to Be a Hero Today

When you hear the word hero, what comes to mind?

A caped figure soaring across the sky? A knight in shining armor? A person with a famous name and a headline-worthy act?

Those may be the popular images. But in my experience, both as a writer of stories and a seeker of real-life inspiration, true heroism looks quite different. And it’s much closer to home.

I’ve spent most of my life exploring the question: What does it mean to be a hero? It’s a theme at the heart of my books, from MERLIN: The Lost Years to The Hero’s Trail, and a question that inspired me to create the Gloria Barron Prize for Young Heroes — an award that honors outstanding young people making a real difference in the world.

Through it all, I’ve discovered something quietly powerful: Real heroes aren’t mythical or unreachable. They’re all around us. And they remind us of the magic that lives in every human heart.

Heroism Begins with the Heart

To me, the essence of heroism is not strength or fame. It’s caring.

Every true hero I’ve ever known, whether fictional or real, has cared deeply about something bigger than themselves. That could be the natural world, a vulnerable person, a fragile community, or an idea worth defending.

They don’t act because they have to. They act because they choose to.

That’s one of the first things I tell readers when they ask me about the heroes in my books. Merlin, in his youth, is lost and unsure of who he’s meant to be. But through struggle and self-discovery, he finds purpose, not in his magic, but in his compassion. He learns that the truest kind of power is not what you can do with your hands, but what you hold in your heart.

A Lesson Learned

Let me share a personal story.

I was on a book tour, stopping in Ohio, several years ago. After my talk at a high school, I spoke with the usual gaggle of kids who wanted to talk about epic fantasy, heroes, and writing. But one young woman waited until everyone else had gone before she came up to say what was on her mind. And what she said changed me forever.

“Your books are fine,” she said, “but I know the truth about how life really works.”

Jokingly, I said, “Well, I’m in my forties and I have no clue how life really works.” But she didn’t crack a smile. Instead, she looked at me with a cynical expression and said:

“People like you write these stories about young people who do something amazing. They save the people they love — or maybe even their whole world. But the truth is…that only happens in fairytales. Not in real life.”

Then she looked me straight in the eye and said, “In real life, kids don’t matter. Kids just don’t mean squat.”

She turned and walked off. Which, in that moment, was probably for the best — because I didn’t have any words to say. I was just stunned by how defeated and hopeless she sounded. Yet I wondered, underneath, whether that was because she really wanted to matter — to make a difference somehow.

The whole rest of my book tour, I thought about that young woman. And asked myself what I could do to give her a sense of hope about her own possibilities…or even help her believe that she really does matter. And I realized that, for all the fictional heroes in my stories, they just aren’t strong enough to accomplish that. What that young woman (and so many more like her) really needed was to hear stories of real, live young people who had made a difference.

That’s when I made up my mind to delay writing my next novel — and instead, to start a prize that would turn the spotlight on real young people from diverse backgrounds who had faced enormous obstacles and still managed to triumph — and to make a difference. I named the prize after my mother, who was always a quiet hero in my life, and that began the journey of the Gloria Barron Prize for Young Heroes.

What Does It Mean to Be a Hero in Today’s World?

We live in an era that’s both extraordinary and uncertain. Climate change. Conflict. Inequality. And yet, also — a rising generation full of empathy, ideas, and incredible resilience.

So, what does it mean to be a hero today?

It means standing up when it’s easier to stay silent. It means choosing kindness, especially when it’s not convenient. It means looking around, seeing something that needs doing, and saying, “I can help.”

That’s the common thread I see in all of the young people honored by the Barron Prize. These are kids and teens who’ve created clean water systems, saved endangered species, championed mental health, and led campaigns against injustice. Some have started nonprofit organizations before they could even drive a car.

Their stories remind me that age doesn’t define a hero — heart does.

Ordinary People, Extraordinary Courage

I often think of heroism as a trail. A path anyone can walk, regardless of where they come from or what they’ve been through.

In my nonfiction book The Hero’s Trail, I share stories of young people — some famous, most not — who overcame incredible odds to make the world better. Their courage didn’t come from the absence of fear. It came from caring so deeply that they acted despite their fear.

That, to me, is the core of heroism. And the world needs more of it — now more than ever.

The Hero in All of Us

If there’s one message I hope my stories and my life’s work convey, it’s this: You don’t need magical powers to be a hero. You just need the courage to care…and the willingness to act on it.

Whether you’re planting a tree, speaking out for someone who’s been silenced, or lifting up a cause that needs a champion, you are answering the call of heroism.

You are stepping onto the hero’s trail.

And that trail? It’s open to everyone. No matter your age, your background, or your doubts.

A Call to Action

So, what does it mean to be a hero?

It means recognizing that even small acts can spark big change. It means embracing empathy, showing up with courage, and daring to believe that your voice matters.

It means choosing, again and again, to care.

I encourage you to reflect on your own journey and to look for the heroes around you. They’re often the quietest ones. The ones who work behind the scenes. The ones who don’t seek recognition, but leave the world better than they found it.

And who knows? As you walk your own path with courage and heart… you just might become someone else’s hero.

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Save Our Public Lands

America’s public lands deserve protection — not destruction. Yet destruction is their likely fate under the radical policies of the Trump administration.

For over a century, these lands — our national parks, wilderness areas, wildlife refuges, monuments, and the last undeveloped lands in the National Forests and Bureau of Land Management — have been national treasures to people of all descriptions. As such, they’ve been protected as a great gift to future generations.

Until now.

For starters, this administration and Republicans in Congress have moved recently to sell off vast chunks to private interests. On April 4, Republican Senators voted down an amendment to the budget reconciliation bill that would have prohibited selling off public lands. Then, on May 7, Republicans on the House Natural Resources Committee passed an amendment to the budget bill approving the sale of over 600,000 acres in Utah and Nevada — a huge and unprecedented giveaway to extractive industries, who will mine or drill that acreage, and to the ultra-wealthy, who will buy it for vacation homes.

At the same time, Trump’s Interior Department is aggressively pursuing ways to industrialize, privatize, and monetize the public lands. But these places, rich with ecological values, are held in trust for us to conserve and deliver intact to future generations. If our public lands are now mined for coal or drilled for oil and gas, forms of energy production whose environmental harm is well understood, their natural values will be permanently degraded or destroyed. This policy amounts to theft from coming generations.

Despite the administration’s rhetoric about wanting to reduce the deficit, their actual goal is to dispose of these lands — to remove them permanently from the public domain. This serves an ideology that reflexively favors private ownership over public. Whether by diminishing long term protections on the public lands, promoting their immediate development, or selling them outright, that goal is achieved.

What’s wrong with this policy?

First — once it’s gone, it’s gone forever. Any land pulled out of the public domain for development will never be returned. As a result, whatever natural gifts that place provided — open space for people to roam, wildlife to thrive, birds to sing, trees to grow, waterways to flow, and much more — will be lost, stolen from the future.

Second — it’s a slippery slope. We lose environmental protections not by a single onslaught, by a one-time tsunami of destruction, but by small, continuous nibbles. If we lose a piece of land today for an appealing idea (for example, deficit reduction), then tomorrow we will hear an equally appealing idea to develop the neighboring piece. Then the next day, even more land will be needed for another reason. And so on. The process of destruction by nibbling will never end — until there is nothing left to devour.

Third — this crisis is an excellent opportunity for conservationists to expand support for nature. Let’s use the current threats to build new alliances with the many hunters and fishers, farmers and ranchers, campers and birders who cherish open lands. As well as people who want healthy lives for themselves and their children — folks who will join the fight for clean air, good water, and places for all people to enjoy the wonders of nature.

Fourth — if wise and caring people don’t stand strong now to protect nature, who will? We need to defend the water, the trees, and the wildlife of the public lands. To protect all those forests, rivers, canyons, meadows, oceans, and wetlands for the future.

Fifth — nature has no voice in this debate. This is, alas, the tragedy of how most people think about nature. The whole framing of the debate is human-centric — the very same approach that has caused so much environmental destruction on this planet. Questions like “Shall we sell off public lands? What current purposes do they serve? What resources can they provide?” are driven entirely by human desires of the moment. Lost in that conversation are the needs of other creatures, the enduring values of places, and the essential and inspiring songs of nature.

Moreover, when we discuss these issues narrowly, we are missing an enormous opportunity in our evolution as a species — a species that calls itself sapiens, the Latin word for “wise”. Let’s view this challenging time as an invitation to raise our awareness to include our fellow creatures and the whole world we share. To become our highest and best selves. To live on Earth more sustainably, more ethically, and more graciously.

Recent Posts Save Our Public Lands Why I Wrote “The Lost Years of Merlin” Love Letter to Colorado The Sacredness of Nature Why I Still Believe in Happy Endings (Even in a Troubled World)

The post Save Our Public Lands appeared first on TABarron.com.

Why I Wrote “The Lost Years of Merlin”

If I had to name one story that has shaped my life more than any other, it would be The Lost Years of Merlin.

That may sound surprising — especially for a character who has been woven into myth for more than fifteen centuries. But when I sat down to imagine Merlin not as the legendary wizard of Camelot, but as a lost, lonely boy who washed ashore with no name and no memory, I found myself stepping into a tale I didn’t yet know… but one I felt deeply called to tell.

Did You Know? Merlin Book 1: The Lost Years was previously published as The Lost Years of Merlin Books 1 – 5 of the Merlin Saga are known as The Lost Years of Merlin epic and can be read as a stand-alone series The Inspiration Behind The Lost Years of Merlin

Long before I ever wrote a word of The Lost Years of Merlin, I was a student at Oxford, exploring the English countryside. On one of my favorite runs through the hills of Oxfordshire, I discovered a magnificent old oak tree — at least 300 years old — perched at the edge of a farm field. Beneath its vast canopy, I would sit with a book from my backpack and read in the late afternoon light, gazing down at the pink granite rooftops of Oxford.

The very first book I read under that tree? The Once and Future King by T. H. White.

And that’s when it happened: I completely fell in love with the character of Merlin. He wasn’t just a wise wizard. He was a blend of humor and wisdom, mischief and compassion. I never imagined that years later, I would be the one adding new threads to his story — but that ancient oak, and that book, planted a seed.

A Dream That Changed Everything

Fast forward nearly 20 years, and I had long since returned to Colorado and begun my path as a writer. One night, I had a dream so vivid I still remember it clearly to this day.

In the dream, a boy was drowning — swept away by waves, desperate and afraid. With all his strength, he reached upward, only for the sea to finally spit him out onto a rocky shore. As he gasped for breath, gulls screeched overhead. He was alive… but everything was gone. He had no memory of his past, no clue of his identity — not even a name.

And I woke up knowing: That boy is Merlin.

That boy would one day become the most powerful wizard of legend… but not before he faced hardship, loneliness, and enormous questions about who he was and where he belonged.

That dream became the very first scene in The Lost Years of Merlin — and launched what would become a 13-book saga.

Filling in the Gaps of Merlin’s Youth

When I began researching Merlin’s legends, I was amazed by the richness of the tapestry: the Welsh Mabinogion, the works of Geoffrey of Monmouth, Mary Stewart, Shakespeare, even Tolstoy. Yet despite all that had been written, there was a gaping hole — no one had explored Merlin’s youth.

How did he become a wizard? When did he first discover magic? Who helped shape him into the wise, compassionate mentor we know from Arthurian lore?
That gap was daunting… but also irresistible.

As a storyteller, I knew this was my opportunity to ask deeper questions: What were Merlin’s greatest fears? His secret dreams? How did he learn about humility, courage, and love? How did he come to understand the sacredness of nature — and how did that connection shape his magic?

That’s the heart of The Lost Years of Merlin. Not just grand adventures, but an inner journey of self-discovery — one that mirrors our own struggles to understand who we are and how we can make a difference.

A World of Wonders

To bring Merlin’s youth to life, I created the magical isle of Fincayra — a place suspended between earth and sky, history and myth. From the mysterious Haunted Marsh to the enchanted Druma Woods, every root and stone carries meaning. Fincayra became more than a setting — it became a character, and a reflection of Merlin’s growth.

Along the way, Merlin meets unforgettable companions: brave Rhia, tiny but mighty Shim (who may or may not be a giant), and wise creatures like the living stones or the ancient trees of Arbassa. Their friendships, trials, and triumphs helped shape Merlin — and, I hope, resonate with readers, too.

Why Merlin Still Matters

People sometimes ask me: Why Merlin? Why do his stories still matter?

For me, there are three answers:

Merlin reminds us that we all have a spark of magic inside. Even at our lowest moments — washed ashore, uncertain of who we are — we carry the potential to grow into something extraordinary.He connects across boundaries. In every version of his story, Merlin speaks to kings and beggars, animals and archbishops. He bridges divides — and in our world today, we need that more than ever.He teaches us the sacredness of nature. His magic doesn’t come from a wand — it comes from listening to the trees, feeling the rhythm of the sea, and drawing power from the natural world in a spirit of humility and awe.

Merlin, at his core, is a guide — not just for Arthur, but for us.

The Journey Continues

Writing The Lost Years of Merlin wasn’t easy. It took me three full drafts just to find the voice of that young boy who had washed ashore. But once I did… the story flowed like a river.

Now, all these years later, I still hear Merlin’s voice — as a young boy, as an elder wizard, and as a constant reminder of the magic that lives inside all of us.

If you’ve never read The Lost Years of Merlin, I invite you to begin that journey now. And if you’ve already walked that path, maybe it’s time to revisit it — and see what new truths are waiting in the mists of Fincayra.

After all… sometimes, the best stories are the ones that help us discover who we really are.

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Love Letter to Colorado

If I had to name one place that has shaped my soul more than any other, it would be Colorado. It’s where I first wandered into the wild, where I learned to listen closely to birdsong and breeze, and where I discovered the sacred connection between nature and story.

This land has been my teacher, my healer, and my greatest source of inspiration. Its beauty is not just something I admire — it’s something I carry with me, in every story I write.

A while back, I sat down to put those feelings into words. What emerged was this simple poem — a love letter, really — to the state that has given me so much.

Love Letter to Colorado

My dear Colorado —
You have won my heart. For my whole life, you’ve given me…
The spiraling songs of meadowlarks
Fresh peaches, swollen with sunshine
Snowy summits
Alpine meadows of lupines, columbines, and glacier lilies
Wide prairies; slim canyons
Mysterious tracks in the snow…

Pictographs from ancient peoples
Towering spires of stone
Geologic time measured in millions of years
A single swallowtail butterfly afloat on a breeze
Mountain peaks alight at dawn, aglow at dusk
Golden groves in September
Stars that drench us in waterfalls of light
Boundless blue sky – so enormous, we all feel bigger
More snowy summits

Alas…the huge herds of pronghorns I saw most days as a kid on the ranch – now gone, pushed away by fences and strip malls and paved parking lots.

Frogs on a peaceful pond
Honey from the bees of mountain meadows
Fox and owl, salamander and (high in Weminuche) elk
Footprints of dinosaurs
The sweet scent of apple blossoms
Migrating cranes calling across the miles and the eons
Illuminated rain that melts into mist
Fierce green eyes of a bobcat
Red-tailed hawks soaring on the swells
More snowy summits

Hikes and campouts with family and friends
Songs and stories on summer nights
A glistening rainbow trout in the river
That secret marsh rimmed with purple iris
And from all this…

Endless inspiration.

How can we do anything else, Colorado, than strive to protect you? To save your open lands, water, clean air, and wildlife? To value your wilderness, your quiet?

Thank you for all your glorious gifts! May we ultimately earn the right to keep them, know them, and cherish them.

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The Sacredness of Nature

My spiritual strength comes from the sacredness of nature, from its powers to heal and renew, uplift and transform. That awareness gives me the strength to continue to fight for the health of our planet. And it helps me to remember the WHY of environmental work, what exactly is worth all the fuss.

Put differently — I intentionally choose to live primarily in the body of nature’s beauty, power, and inspiration, rather than in the body of nature’s perils and impending doom. While I certainly understand the importance of seeing our world’s troubles honestly and clearly, and the parallel importance of always following the science, that’s very different from dwelling in despair, anger, and disempowerment.

That is why, for my life and work, I choose to dwell in the authentic celebration of nature’s awesome powers to inspire our minds, renew our hearts, and heal our aching souls.

In the same way that honest reporting of environmental destruction requires courage — it also requires courage to maintain an attitude of positivity, gratitude, and commitment to helping to save our planet. It might seem easier, at times, to give up and live in despair. Yet it’s essential we remember there are genuine reasons for hope — the ideals of young people and the resilience of nature, among others. That awareness is crucial if we are going to do the enormously hard work of protecting our planet and the living creatures it supports, including the species who dares to call itself Sapiens.

Some may criticize my attitude as unrealistic and Panglossian. While I certainly recognize that there are dangers to being overly optimistic, just as there are dangers to being overly negative, I don’t feel at all unrealistic. No, I feel that this attitude embraces the whole of our world, with all its potential. So let’s be honest about the problems we face while also celebrating the miracles around us. For if we environmentalists are too negative, we risk losing our way — as well as our courage to make the necessary changes happen.

And we also risk losing our ability to persuade others to join the cause of protecting our living planet. We have a much greater likelihood of convincing others, people who may be in denial about environmental crises, if we adopt a stance of passionate celebration of nature and all her wonders and inspirations — combined with candid recognition of the challenges we face. That stance is, at its cone, welcoming rather than condemning. And it’s also empowering for all people who are brave and generous of heart, encouraging them to make choices that could help to turn the tide for our beloved by beleaguered home.

What I’m saying boils down to this: We really CAN save our planet and many of its complex ecosystems and wondrous creatures. But that will happen only if enough people believe two things — that the sheer brilliance of Earthly life is really worth making sacrifices to protect; and that we really do have the power to prevail.

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Why I Still Believe in Happy Endings (Even in a Troubled World)

From the time I was a young boy, lying in bed and listening to my mother read stories aloud, I found myself drawn to tales that ended with a glimmer of hope. Not because they were predictable or saccharine — but because they felt like a lifeline. Even as a child, I sensed that life could be messy, complicated, and sometimes painfully unfair. But if a story could land in a place of healing, redemption, or even joy, then maybe — just maybe — so could we.

Now, decades later, I still believe in happy endings. Not because I’m naive, but because I’ve seen what the human spirit is capable of when it holds onto hope.

Why We Need Happy Endings

Happy endings don’t promise a perfect world. Instead, they offer something much more valuable: the belief that change is possible. That growth is attainable. That even through sorrow or struggle, something beautiful can emerge.

In my own books — whether it’s Merlin confronting his deepest fears, or Promi standing up for a world on the brink — I try to honor the truth of hardship while also pointing toward the possibility of renewal. Because I believe that’s what makes stories powerful: not that they avoid darkness, but that they illuminate it with courage and heart.

Stories have always helped us navigate turbulent times. Think of Anne Frank’s diary, written during one of the darkest periods of history, yet filled with extraordinary light. Or Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning, a testament to the resilience of the human soul. Or even ancient myths, where heroes face monsters now just outside, but within.

A happy ending, then, is not an escape — it’s a destination. One that reminds us what’s worth striving for.

Hope Isn’t Passive. It’s Powerful.

There’s a misconception that optimism is passive — that it’s just wishing for a better world. But I would argue the opposite. To believe in happy endings is to take action. It’s to write the next chapter of the story with intention.

When we imagine a better future, we give ourselves the blueprint to create it. That’s why I often say imagination is our greatest natural resource; it fuels innovation, empathy, and the drive to improve our world. Believing in happy endings means we’re willing to work for them.

And as I look around today, I see countless people doing just that. Young environmentalists fighting to protect our planet. Teachers nurturing their students in times of uncertainty. Artists using their voices to inspire hope and unity. These, too, are stories. And they matter deeply.

When Stories Reflect Real Life

People sometimes ask me why I choose to write fantasy. My answer is simple: fantasy allows us to speak truth in a way that resonates across time, space, and culture. It holds a mirror up to our world and shows us not just who we are, but who we might become.

A dragon’s cave might symbolize our darkest fears. A magical forest might represent the unknown future. A hero’s journey may mirror the choices we all must make. And when these stories end with healing, reunion, or justice, they give us a template for our own lives.

Because here’s the secret: happy endings aren’t guaranteed. They’re earned. And they don’t mean everything is perfect. They mean that something meaningful has been gained — love, wisdom, peace, perspective.

What Kind of Ending Will You Write?

Every day, each of us is writing a story. With our actions, our choices, and our relationships, we decide the tone of the tale. Will it be one of kindness? Courage? Curiosity? Resilience?

We may not control everything in our lives, but we can choose what we bring to the page.

So yes, I still believe in happy endings. Not because the world isn’t complicated, but because it is. And that’s exactly why we need stories that lift us, guide us, and remind us that even through brokenness, something whole can grow.

Let your life be a story — and let its ending, whenever it comes, be one of meaning, purpose, and hope.

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