The Walk

This week I finally began preparing the rewrite of my novel. Over the past year I’ve recorded hundreds of voice notes whenever an idea appeared, while walking through the woods, riding my bike or making dinner. Most of them last less than a minute. A better ending to a scene. A new character. A monastery that suddenly belongs on a cliff instead of in a valley. My plan was simply to transcribe them, organise them into a story bible and finally start writing. Instead, I spent an afternoon listening to my own thoughts, and as the notes piled up on my screen, I realised they weren’t really about medieval Ireland or even the mechanics of the magic system. Almost every idea circled back to the same question: what does creativity actually do?This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.That question led me to the medieval monks who inspired much of my story. They weren’t merely copying manuscripts. Through words, images and craftsmanship they shaped the imagination of the people around them. It reminded me of Tolkien’s description of artists as sub-creators. God alone creates from nothing. We receive creation as a gift and, through imagination and skill, participate in it. Suddenly I understood that this had become the foundation of my novel. The magic isn’t really about extraordinary powers. It’s about the mysterious way stories, beauty and imagination can change people and, through them, the world.Perhaps that’s also why rewriting this book has become so important to me. For months I’d measured my progress in chapters, deadlines and word counts. Sitting there with those voice notes, I realised I’d been measuring the wrong thing. The novel isn’t only teaching me how to tell a better story. It’s teaching me how to become a better storyteller. Every rewrite, every conversation with another author, every sketch in my notebook and every documentary I make is part of that same apprenticeship. I still hope that one day I’ll hold this novel in my hands. But when that day comes, I suspect the greatest gift won’t be the finished book. It will be the journey of becoming the person who was able to write it.Fr. Roderick VonhögenP.S.: This article is based on the latest episode of my podcast The Walk. If you’d rather hear the story in my own voice, you’ll find the podcast player at the top of this page.News updates:I’ve started painting again for the first time in more than thirty years. Inspired by medieval manuscripts, I’m creating a small bestiary of strange and mythical creatures in watercolor. It’s still very much an experiment, but several of the illustrations have already sparked ideas for new stories.My new Dutch fantasy podcast, Fantasyfans, is also beginning to find its audience. This weekend I recorded a series of interviews at a small outdoor fantasy and board game fair. One of my favorite parts of these events is discovering how generous creative people are when they start talking about their work. Every conversation leaves me with fresh ideas and renewed enthusiasm for my own writing.That theme continued in another way this week, when I joined fantasy author Sandy Butchers on her podcast for a conversation about creativity, geek culture and why we tell stories in the first place. It was a joy to switch from interviewer to guest for a change. If you’d like to listen, you can find the episode here: Get full access to Father Roderick at fatherroderick.substack.com/subscribe

On Sunday afternoon at the Castlefest fantasy festival, I made a last-minute decision.I’d already spent the previous day interviewing authors for my new Dutch podcast, Fantasyfans.nl. Instead of recording more conversations, I decided to spend the rest of the festival making a short documentary.There was no camera crew, no script and no elaborate equipment. Just my iPhone and a rough idea of the story I wanted to tell. I wandered through the castle grounds, talking to visitors about the stories behind their costumes, interviewing artists and following whatever caught my attention.By the time I boarded the train home, I couldn’t stop smiling.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.An Old CraftIt took me a while to understand why.Long before writing became such a big part of my life, I spent seventeen years making television documentaries. I eventually learned to do almost everything myself, from finding stories and conducting interviews to filming and editing.The first documentary I ever made was awful.I made every mistake a beginner could make. After spending the better part of a week trying to rescue the edit, I finally asked one of our experienced editors to have a look. He watched the footage for a few minutes, suggested a different structure and suddenly everything fell into place. It wasn’t that I had filmed the wrong material. I simply didn’t yet know how to shape it into a story.That afternoon at Castlefest brought all of that back.As soon as I started filming, it felt familiar. I instinctively knew who to approach, which questions to ask and how to collect the pieces I’d need later in the editing room. It reminded me that seventeen years of practice don’t simply disappear because you spend a few years doing other things.The Next ChapterOn the train home, another thought crossed my mind.Writing my first fantasy novel feels remarkably similar to making that first documentary all those years ago.The story is there. So is the enthusiasm. What I’m still developing is the craft. Over the past year I’ve interviewed dozens of fantasy authors for the new podcast, and every conversation has taught me something. We talk about worldbuilding, rewriting, publishing and all the invisible work that goes into finishing a book. I often leave those interviews with pages of notes, not because I plan to imitate anyone else’s way of writing, but because it’s reassuring to hear how every author has learned their craft one book at a time.That’s exactly what Castlefest reminded me of.For one afternoon I stepped back into a profession that once felt impossibly difficult. It no longer does. Years of practice have taken care of that.Perhaps writing works the same way.Right now, I’m wrestling with the first rewrite of my novel, trying to solve problems that seem enormous. Maybe, years from now, I’ll look back at this manuscript the way I now look back at that first documentary.Not with embarrassment because I was still learning, but with gratitude that I had the courage to begin.And perhaps that’s what I really fell in love with all over again.Not documentary making or writing.But the joy of discovering that every hour you invest in a craft makes the next story a little better.Fr. Roderick VonhögenFrom My Desk* This article is based on the latest episode of The Walk. If you’d like to hear the story as I originally told it, simply press play on the podcast player at the top of this page.* Curious about the documentary I mention in the article? I’ve started sharing a few behind-the-scenes photos and video clips on Instagram and Facebook. I’ll post updates there as the project comes together.* Work on my Camino book continues, although at a slightly slower pace than I’d originally planned. August is also dedicated to rewriting my first fantasy novel, and I’d rather make steady progress on both projects than rush either of them.* If you speak Dutch, you might enjoy my new podcast Fantasyfans, featuring conversations with fantasy authors, artists and cosplayers. Recent guests include Sandy Butchers, Pepijn Hamer, Cocky van Dijk, Charlotte de Winter and Arlieke van Remmerden. You can find all the episodes and articles at fantasyfans.nl.* Meanwhile, my daily Camino series continues in my Dutch podcast Heilige van de Dag, following my pilgrimage to Santiago one saint at a time until the end of August. Earlier this week I also joined a Dutch radio program to talk about the series, and you can listen to that interview here.* One final thing: I’m hoping to resume my live Q&A sessions on YouTube and Substack later this month. I miss talking with you in real time, so keep an eye on my social media channels for dates and announcements. Get full access to Father Roderick at fatherroderick.substack.com/subscribe

For four days, I walked fifty kilometres a day. I came home with sore feet, very little sleep, and a renewed faith in people.This Substack is reader-supported. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.By Friday afternoon, every step hurt.After four days of walking fifty kilometers a day during the Nijmegen Four Days Marches—the world’s largest multi-day walking event—I had reached the point where my feet objected to almost every surface. The next morning, the short walk to the supermarket felt harder than some of the longest stretches during the event itself.Yet that isn't what I remember most.What stays with me are the people.Every village seemed determined to keep forty-five thousand walkers moving. Children stood along the road handing out cucumber slices, cookies and sweets. Churches served us free coffee. Complete strangers applauded as we passed, as if finishing the walk mattered just as much to them as it did to us. Along the route I kept running into familiar faces. Friends from the fantasy community. People I’d interviewed years ago. Listeners who recognized me from my podcasts or from my social media posts. Even the Klingon cosplayer I'd once posed with at Comic Con somehow appeared among the crowds. With tens of thousands of participants, none of those meetings should have happened. Yet they kept happening.Walking fifty kilometres together has an interesting effect on people. Conversation becomes easier. Pretence disappears somewhere around the thirty-kilometer mark. You talk about books, life, work and dreams simply because there's nothing else to do except keep putting one foot in front of the other. I spent much of the week with friends who are organizing a new fantasy festival. We talked about storytelling, community and why so many people feel at home in worlds filled with elves, dwarves and dragons. By the end of the week I found myself sketching the mythology behind their festival in my notebook. Apparently, sore feet don't stop the imagination from wandering.On the final day, someone said something I’ve heard after almost every fantasy convention I’ve ever attended: “I wish the real world were more like this.”I understood exactly what she meant.But perhaps we’ve got it the wrong way round.Maybe this is the real world.A place where strangers encourage one another, where generosity is the default, where differences matter less than the simple fact that we’re all traveling the same road. The news rarely reports on that version of humanity.But it's there.Sometimes you just have to put on your walking shoes before you notice it.This article is based on the latest episode of my podcast The Walk. If you'd rather hear the story in my own voice, you'll find the podcast player at the top of this page. Get full access to Father Roderick at fatherroderick.substack.com/subscribe