The Walk

Father Roderick
  • 4.6 (98)
  • Religion & Spirituality
  • Updated Bimonthly

A weekly walk with Fr. Roderick during which he shares his thoughts as a priest on the struggles and challenges as well as the joys and surprises of day-to-day life. fatherroderick.substack.com

  1. 1d ago

    I Think I’m Suffering From Time Travel Whiplash

    I think I might be suffering from time travel whiplash. A couple of days ago, I spent most of an afternoon editing a podcast I had recorded at the Elfia fantasy festival in Arcen two weeks earlier. The recording had gone badly wrong. My ancient audio recorder had apparently decided that fifteen years of loyal service was enough, and large chunks of conversations had simply disappeared. So I spent six or eight hours reconstructing what was left, cutting around the gaps and trying to make the finished episode sound as if nothing unusual had happened. By the end of the day, something strange had happened to me as well. I felt as if I had just returned from the festival. I could remember the sunshine, the people I had talked to, the atmosphere, the conversations. Audio does that to me. The moment I start editing an old recording, I am back there again. Then I opened Instagram and started promoting episodes of my saints podcast based on recordings I had made six weeks earlier. At the same time, I was scheduling other episodes that won’t be published until November. Past, present and future were all occupying the same afternoon. No wonder my brain occasionally wonders what month it is. The month I was supposed to write October was supposed to be simple. I had deliberately cleared the month so I could concentrate on rewriting my fantasy novel. Originally, I imagined myself spending much of October in Ireland, moving between hostels, walking during the day and writing the book in the evenings. Instead, the first week mostly involved recovering from everything I had done to clear the month in the first place. I slept. I tried to slow down. I looked at travel prices, discovered that Ireland would cost considerably more than I’d expected, and started wondering whether I should change the plan. Then I started another story. Then I researched medieval monasteries. Then medieval storytellers. Then architecture. Then ninth-century Irish monks living in Germany. All fascinating. None of which involved actually rewriting the novel. I know this pattern rather well. When something important feels difficult, I become extremely good at improving everything around it. I reorganize the system, fix my email, rethink my routines, do more research and make a better plan. All of those things can be useful, but they can also become an extraordinarily sophisticated form of procrastination. The problem isn’t motivation This morning I finally sat down and asked myself what was actually going on. I’m not lacking motivation. I love this book, I love the world, and I know much more about the story than I did when I wrote the first draft. That’s part of the problem. The better I understand it, the more pressure I feel to get everything right. If I’m creating an entire fantasy world, shouldn’t I know exactly how the monasteries work? Shouldn’t I understand the history? Shouldn’t the magic system make sense? Shouldn’t I know how all of this affects books I haven’t even written yet? Before I know it, I’m standing at the bottom of another research rabbit hole. Meanwhile, writing my little story about an old monk and his magical cat feels effortless. I think that’s because I’ve told myself it’s a small story. I’m allowed to play with it. I’m allowed to make jokes. I’m not worrying about whether I’ll regret chapter seven five years from now. The bar is lower, and apparently that makes it much easier to jump. Standing on the platform It reminded me of something I did years ago during youth camps. We had one of those climbing courses high up in the trees. At one point you had to step off a small platform and trust the cable attached to you to carry you across to the next tree. I hate heights. I remember standing there calculating everything that could possibly go wrong. Then a girl of about eleven went before me. She didn’t hesitate. She jumped and had a wonderful time. And there I was, still standing on the platform, considerably older and supposedly wiser, imagining every possible disaster. That feels uncomfortably familiar now. I see other writers publishing books. Their first novels aren’t perfect. Their fifth probably won’t be perfect either. But they’re writing them. Meanwhile, I keep thinking that perhaps I should first do a little more research. Or build a better system. Or go to Ireland. Or not go to Ireland. Or solve some other problem before I begin. At some point, you have to step off the platform. Here and now Maybe that’s where my strange time-travel week has been pointing me. My head spends an enormous amount of time somewhere else. Sometimes I’m reliving something from six weeks ago. Sometimes I’m imagining what readers might think of a book that doesn’t exist yet. Sometimes I’m worrying that future me will look back and wonder why I made a particular choice. It reminded me of Luke Skywalker. In The Empire Strikes Back, his mind is always racing ahead. Later in life, he gets trapped in the opposite direction and can’t stop looking backwards. Neither helps him very much with what is actually in front of him. And right now, what is in front of me is remarkably simple. It’s October 8. I have about three weeks left. My novel has roughly twenty-five chapters. I could spend those weeks designing the perfect writing system, or I could write one chapter a day. The trip to Ireland may happen. It may not. The research will continue. The book won’t be perfect. But none of those questions need answering before I write today’s chapter. So that’s my assignment to myself: stop time travelling, write the story that’s in front of me, and jump. Fr. Roderick Vonhögen P.S. This article grew out of this week’s episode of my podcast The Walk. You can hear the full episode via the audio player at the top of this page. Get full access to Father Roderick at fatherroderick.substack.com/subscribe

  2. Oct 3

    I’m Excited to Be Writing Again

    October has finally arrived, and I’ve been looking forward to it for quite some time. I deliberately cleared as much as possible from my calendar. No big recording trips. No looming podcast deadlines. No administrative projects. For once, I want most of my days to revolve around one thing: writing. Getting here was not particularly relaxing. Over the past two weeks, I produced around thirty episodes of my Dutch saints podcast, finished the paperwork for the audit of our foundation, and spent more than four hours on trains to record another ten episodes in a basilica in the south of the Netherlands. By the time October arrived, I was exhausted. But the blinking lights in my head had finally gone out. When everything keeps blinking I’ve noticed this about myself before. I can have plenty of time to write, but if there are five other things demanding my attention, I find it almost impossible to really disappear into a story. An email I still need to answer. A recording that has to be scheduled. A problem someone else is waiting for me to solve. None of those things may take much time on their own, but together they create a kind of white noise in my head. Producing a daily podcast has created a lot of that noise this year. I’ve loved making it, but it also asks for a constant stream of creative energy. Spending your working day telling stories doesn’t necessarily make it easier to sit down afterwards and tell another one. Last year, I was constantly dreaming up new stories. This year, much of that came to a halt. I missed it more than I realised. Three days into October On October 1, I started writing again. I’m back to rewriting my fantasy novel, and the year away from it may actually have helped. The world is much clearer to me now. I understand the characters better, and I have a stronger sense of why I want to tell this story in the first place. At the same time, another idea came back to life. A couple of months ago, while walking through Utrecht, I had a very simple thought: what if an old monk had a magical cat? The cat soon acquired nine lives, each lasting a century. The monk became a former story mage who had lost confidence in his abilities. Something hidden beneath the monastery should probably have remained there. This week I wondered whether I could combine that idea with Inktober, the annual drawing challenge with a different prompt for every day in October. Three days later, I had the outline for a 31-chapter story. I’m still tired, and I’m already behind on the drawings. But my brain is making things again. That is the difference. Keeping it playful I’m deliberately keeping this second project small. The novel gets the serious writing hours. The story about the monk and his cat gets my lunch breaks. One short chapter, one small illustration, then back to the novel. I’ve learned that tiny side projects have a habit of turning into enormous undertakings if I’m not careful. This time, I want the lunch breaks to remain playful. I want to make something because the idea makes me smile, not because it has to become part of some larger strategy. Ireland can wait I still haven’t booked my trip to Ireland. A few years ago, that probably would have made me panic. Instead, I looked at the possibilities and realised that travelling immediately would be unnecessarily expensive. So I’m not going yet. My first job this month isn’t to maximise every available day. It’s to recover from the sprint that got me here, to walk, sleep, settle into a rhythm, and write every day. Ireland can wait another week or two. For once, I’m not particularly worried about how much I’ll accomplish by the end of the month. Three days in, something more important has already happened. I’m excited about writing again. And I’ve missed that feeling. P.S. This article grew out of this week’s episode of The Walk. You can hear more about my plans for October, the stories I’m working on, and why I may end up in Ireland, Scotland, or both by hitting play on the audio player at the top of this page. Get full access to Father Roderick at fatherroderick.substack.com/subscribe

  3. Sep 23

    You Don't Have to Finish Everything You Start

    At the beginning of this year, I decided I was going to read 100 books. It seemed perfectly reasonable at the time. I’d read even more than that in previous years, and although I knew 2026 would be busy, surely I could manage 100? We are now approaching October. I recently looked at my Goodreads account and discovered that, to reach my goal, I’d pretty much have to read a book every single day until the end of the year. Part of my brain immediately went: Challenge accepted! Fortunately, another part asked a much more sensible question. Why? When goals become obligations There’s nothing wrong with setting goals. I love goals. The problem starts when circumstances change but the goal doesn’t. When I decided to read 100 books, I didn’t know quite how demanding producing a daily podcast would become. I didn’t know how much time I’d spend recording, editing, traveling and doing everything else around it. And yet there was still a little voice telling me that I’d failed because I wasn’t keeping a promise I’d made to myself nine months ago. I recognize exactly the same voice when I look at my writing. At one point, I wanted to publish eight books this year. Then I meet another author who published their first novel last year and already has their second book out, and immediately I think: I’m so far behind. Behind whom? Nobody is waiting outside my house with a stopwatch. The deadline mostly exists in my own imagination. The Halloween project I ran into the same problem again this week. I had come up with an idea for a special series of seven episodes of my Dutch saints podcast leading up to Halloween. There are some surprisingly eerie stories about saints, demons and supernatural encounters, and I thought it would be fun to tell them almost like horror stories, complete with music and sound effects. I loved the idea. Then I tried writing them. It was hard. I’ve never written horror before. I’m actually rather impressionable myself, so I tend to avoid it. The first attempts felt cheesy. I couldn’t find the right voice. After struggling with it for a couple of days, I realized that doing this properly might consume another two weeks. A few years ago, that wouldn’t have stopped me. I’d had the idea. I’d committed to it in my head. Therefore I had to finish it. This time I asked myself another question. Why? Nobody had asked for these seven episodes. We already have interviews recorded that can fill those slots perfectly well. The Halloween series was something I’d invented because it sounded fun. So I parked it. Maybe I’ll return to it someday. Maybe I’ll have learned enough about writing horror by then to make it work. For now, letting it go gave me something much more valuable: room to breathe. Goals can change. Priorities don’t have to. I’m slowly learning to distinguish between my goals and the reasons I set those goals in the first place. Reading 100 books was a goal. Loving books and wanting to read more is the priority. Publishing eight books was a goal. Becoming a better writer and bringing my stories into the world is the priority. Creating a Halloween series was a goal. Telling good stories is the priority. Once I look at it that way, changing a goal doesn’t feel nearly as much like failure. Sometimes the circumstances simply changed. And sometimes I changed. That doesn’t mean giving up on the things that matter. Quite the opposite. It means protecting them from all the arbitrary targets, deadlines and expectations that can gradually make them feel like obligations. My desire to write hasn’t disappeared because I haven’t published eight books this year. If anything, it’s stronger. And now that I’ve cleared a few things from my October calendar, I’m getting ready to return to Ireland. This time, I don’t have a target for how many chapters I need to finish while I’m there. I just want to write. That seems like a pretty good goal to me. P.S. This article grew out of this week’s episode of my podcast The Walk. You can listen to the full episode by hitting play on the audio player at the top of this page. Get full access to Father Roderick at fatherroderick.substack.com/subscribe

  4. Sep 16

    How to deal with a disturbance in the Force

    I knew exactly what I wanted to work on this week. I was going to continue rewriting my fantasy novel. I had made some good progress on the worldbuilding and the magic system, and I was finally getting back into a rhythm. Then a letter arrived from the Dutch tax authorities. Our non-profit foundation, Trideo, had been selected for a routine check. Nothing alarming, as far as I can tell. But they need documents. Annual reports. Plans. Financial information. Details about what we’ve been doing and what we’re planning to do. And they need it before the end of the month. There went my carefully planned September. A disturbance in the Force As I walked through the woods this week, I called it a disturbance in the Force. You can have your priorities perfectly organized and diligently work through them every day. Then something appears that you didn’t plan for but can’t ignore. I initially tried to keep everything else going alongside it. The novel. My podcast work. Preparations for a possible research trip in October. Fantasyfans. All the other projects already occupying little corners of my brain. That didn’t work particularly well. I stopped taking my daily walks. I didn’t sleep as well. I became agitated. There was a knot in my stomach. The funny thing is that the paperwork itself isn’t particularly frightening. The problem is uncertainty. When something suddenly lands on my desk with lots of different parts and no obvious first step, my brain wants to solve all of it at once. So I eventually did the opposite. For the next two weeks, the paperwork gets priority. The contractual work still gets done. Everything else can wait. Getting lost There was a certain irony to explaining all this while recording the podcast. I decided to take a path through the woods that I hadn’t walked before. Except it wasn’t really a path. Soon I was climbing over fallen trees, crawling underneath branches and trying to work out whether I had accidentally wandered into someone’s backyard. At one point I found an enormous cobweb and decided that awakening Shelob would not improve my week. Eventually I found a real path again. Then the thunder started. Within minutes, the blue skies disappeared, rain was pouring through my flimsy running jacket and cold water was trickling down my spine. So much for planning. But perhaps that’s why I need these walks especially when life gets busy. For about a week I had skipped them because I thought I didn’t have time. In reality, walking is one of the things that makes everything else sustainable. The same goes for keeping my evenings free, going to bed on time and occasionally doing something creative that doesn’t have to become another project. Even drawing medieval miniatures can become work if I’m not careful. Before long I’m imagining a book, a video series and twelve social media posts about them. Sometimes a drawing should just be a drawing. There will always be more work By the time I found my familiar walking route again, the storm had passed. The sun even came back. My plans for the next couple of weeks haven’t magically become less complicated. There is still a pile of paperwork waiting for me. There are podcast episodes to produce. I’m going to Elfia this weekend. And somewhere beyond all that, my unfinished novel is patiently waiting for me. But I’ve also made one decision that I’m rather happy about. In October, I want to return to Ireland. I had been considering Scotland, but Ireland makes more sense right now. It gives me a chance to write, revisit some of the places that inspired my stories and gather more material for the books I’m already working on. More importantly, putting the trip on the calendar protects it from all the work that will inevitably try to take its place. Because there will always be more work. There won’t always be another autumn in which I can go to Ireland. P.S. These reflections began during this week’s episode of The Walk. If you’d like to hear the original (and hear me get lost, caught in a thunderstorm and eventually find my way home) you’ll find the audio player at the top of this page. Get full access to Father Roderick at fatherroderick.substack.com/subscribe

  5. Sep 13

    What Season of Life Are You In?

    One of the unexpected gifts of this past week didn’t happen while writing my novel or recording a podcast. It happened while walking through the woods. As autumn slowly announces itself here in the Netherlands, the first mushrooms are appearing among the fallen branches. They’re easy to miss, but every year they remind me that life has its own seasons. Some things disappear. New things quietly emerge in their place. I’ve noticed something similar happening in my own life. For years I’ve tried to hold on to every version of Father Roderick that ever existed. The Star Wars enthusiast. The television presenter. The priest. The podcaster. The documentary maker. The YouTuber. The writer. I kept wondering whether I should still be all of those things at once. Lately I’ve begun to suspect that the question itself is wrong. Finding my place Last weekend I spent a day at a small fantasy festival, recording interviews for my new Dutch podcast, Fantasyfans.nl. It was a much smaller event than Castlefest, which made it possible to have real conversations with artists, writers and visitors. What struck me most wasn’t the costumes or the music. It was the kindness. Again and again I met people eager to encourage each other, share their creativity and celebrate each other’s stories. I came home with hours of interviews, but also with a growing conviction that this community is exactly where I need to be right now. Not because everyone thinks the same way, quite the opposite. It’s because I can simply show up as myself: a priest who loves stories. A storyteller who happens to be a priest. Letting go of old roles That has also made me think about the things I’m slowly letting go of. This week I started clearing out one of the cupboards in my office. It was filled with microphones, cameras, old phones and equipment I bought for projects I once imagined I would make. I realised I wasn’t really sorting electronics. I was sorting through old versions of myself. Some of those dreams were worth pursuing because they brought me exactly where I am today. Others have simply run their course. Keeping hold of them doesn’t honour the past. It only clutters the present. The same is true for the roles we assign ourselves. There comes a moment when you have to stop asking, “Who am I supposed to be?” and start asking, “Who has God actually made me to be?” Trusting the journey That question has made returning to my fantasy novel much easier. I’m no longer trying to become “an author” as quickly as possible. I’m simply writing the story that has been growing inside me for years. The same goes for podcasting, for building this new fantasy community, and for everything else that currently fills my days. I don’t need to keep proving that I can still do everything I used to do. I only need to be faithful to the work I’ve been given today. Perhaps that’s what vocation looks like: not becoming someone else. But gradually becoming more fully yourself. Fr. Roderick VonhögenP.S. This week's newsletter is based on the latest episode of The Walk. You can listen to it by pressing play on the audio player at the top of the page. Fantasyfans.nl update A warm welcome if you recently discovered this newsletter through Fantasyfans.nl! Last weekend I recorded the latest episode of the podcast live at the Evermore Fantasy Festival. It turned into a wonderful collection of conversations with artists, writers, cosplayers and fantasy fans about creativity, community and why these festivals feel like coming home for so many people. 🎙️ You can listen to the live festival episode (in Dutch) here: Get full access to Father Roderick at fatherroderick.substack.com/subscribe

  6. Sep 6

    Back in Medieval Ireland

    Home again Every weekday morning this week, I’ve found myself back in early medieval Ireland. The morning mist still hangs over the valley as monks make their way across the monastery grounds. The bell has just called the community to prayer. In the scriptorium, novices bend over their desks, learning to shape letters and illuminate manuscripts. Outside the walls, old legends are stirring, and somewhere in the distance a young novice is about to stumble into a story much bigger than he could ever imagine. Then I look up from my laptop. For the first time in months, I’m genuinely looking forward to sitting down every morning to rewrite my first fantasy novel. Not because I’m making spectacular progress. Quite the opposite. Some mornings I rewrite a single page. Others I don’t write anything at all. Instead, I listen back to old voice notes, rethink the history of a monastery or spend an hour trying to understand one of my characters a little better. And I’m having the time of my life. Exploring instead of producing Only a few weeks ago, this felt completely different. Rewriting the novel had become a mountain I kept avoiding to climb. Every new story idea seemed more exciting than returning to the manuscript I’d already written. I felt guilty about that, convinced I simply needed more discipline. Now I think something else was going on… Last week I wrote about letting go of the imaginary version of myself who always had enough time to do everything. Once I stopped measuring myself against that impossible person, something unexpected happened. The pressure disappeared. I no longer felt I had to prove I could write a novel, I could simply take the time to learn how to write one. And that tiny shift changed everything. Instead of trying to produce pages as quickly as possible, I’ve started treating these mornings as an opportunity to explore. Sometimes I end up reading about medieval pigments. Or I draw a map of the monastery grounds. Sometimes I realise an entire chapter needs to happen somewhere else. None of that feels like wasted time anymore. It’s part of building a world I’d actually want to visit myself. Becoming a storyteller As I mentioned last week, Tolkien once described writers as sub-creators. I’ve always loved that expression. We don’t create out of nothing. We receive the world as a gift, then patiently shape it into stories of our own. Perhaps that’s what I’ve been rediscovering this week: writing isn’t simply producing words… It’s learning to see. Learning to listen. Learning to inhabit a world until it begins to feel real enough for someone else to step inside. Will it take longer to finish this novel than I’d hoped a year ago? Almost certainly. But that no longer bothers me. Because every morning I return to medieval Ireland, I leave my desk with something much more valuable than another completed chapter. I close my laptop with the feeling that, little by little, I’m becoming the writer this story has needed all along. Fr. Roderick Vonhögen P.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. Fantasyfans.nl update It’s been exciting to watch my new Dutch fantasy podcast and community slowly find its audience. Just over a month after launching, Fantasyfans.nl has grown to around 350 Instagram followers, while the Facebook and YouTube communities are steadily growing as well. What I enjoy most, though, is the interaction. Every week I record a community podcast, and it’s wonderful to see the discussions continue long after the microphones have been switched off. Last week I published an interview with fantasy author G.J.G. Klaassen, whom I quite literally bumped into while walking the Four Day Marches of Nijmegen. We talked about his debut novel, writing fantasy and finding inspiration in unexpected places. You can read or listen to the interview here. This weekend I also spent a day at the Evermore Fantasy Festival in Ede, where I recorded a new community podcast and spoke with visitors, authors and creators. I’m editing those conversations now, along with plenty of photos from the festival, and I’ll start sharing them later this week. If you’re curious about the Dutch fantasy community, keep an eye on Fantasyfans.nl! Get full access to Father Roderick at fatherroderick.substack.com/subscribe

  7. Aug 30

    The Version of Me That Doesn't Exist

    A decluttering expert said something this week that I haven't been able to get out of my head.We often buy things not for the person we are today, but for the person we hope to become. Running shoes for the future athlete. A bread machine for the baker who’s definitely going to make fresh sourdough every weekend. An expensive sketchbook for the artist who’s just waiting for the right moment to begin. As I looked around my own house, I realised I’d been doing exactly the same thing. Not just with possessions. With my life. For years I’d been making plans for someone who always seemed just around the corner. He somehow had enough time to keep half a dozen YouTube channels alive, maintain every hobby he’d ever enjoyed, answer every email the day it arrived, write books at remarkable speed and still have time left over for everything else. The strange thing is that I’d started measuring myself against him. No wonder I always felt behind. Learning the craft That realisation changed the way I looked at almost everything. I no longer felt guilty about projects that no longer fit the life I’m actually living. I stopped worrying that I wasn’t moving fast enough. Even my fantasy novel began to look different. Instead of asking why it still wasn’t finished, I found myself enjoying the slow process of becoming the writer who can tell this story well. That reminded me of one of Tolkien’s favourite ideas. He described artists and storytellers as sub-creators. God alone creates from nothing. We receive creation as a gift and shape it through imagination, craftsmanship and patience. I’ve always loved that image because it shifts the focus away from producing something as quickly as possible. Craft isn’t measured by speed. It’s measured by the care you bring to it. Perhaps that’s why I find so much joy these days in things that don’t seem particularly efficient. Painting medieval-style creatures in watercolor. Recording conversations with fantasy authors. Walking through the woods until a new idea appears. None of those activities produces a finished novel by the end of the day. Yet all of them are teaching me something about storytelling. The real Father Roderick That person I kept trying to become doesn’t exist. Oddly enough, admitting that felt liberating rather than disappointing. It made me ask a much simpler question. Who is the real Father Roderick today? The answer is becoming clearer. I’m a priest. A storyteller. A podcaster. And, increasingly, a writer. That doesn’t mean the earlier chapters of my life were mistakes. They brought me here. But some ambitions no longer fit the person I’ve become, and letting them go creates room for the ones that do. Perhaps that’s why I’m ending this month with far more excitement than I expected. I haven’t finished my novel. I haven’t crossed a major milestone. What I have done is something that may turn out to be far more valuable. I’ve stopped chasing the person I imagined I could become. I’m beginning to pay attention to the person God is inviting me to be. And that feels like the best possible place to begin the next chapter. Fr. Roderick Vonhögen P.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. Get full access to Father Roderick at fatherroderick.substack.com/subscribe

  8. Aug 23

    The Story Underneath the Story

    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 Vonhögen P.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

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4.6
out of 5
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About

A weekly walk with Fr. Roderick during which he shares his thoughts as a priest on the struggles and challenges as well as the joys and surprises of day-to-day life. fatherroderick.substack.com

Information

  • Creator
    Father Roderick
  • Years Active
    2007 - 2026
  • Episodes
    402
  • Rating
    Clean
  • Copyright
    © Father Roderick Vonhögen
  • Show Website
    The Walk

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