Our novels should be mystifying by design. "The Calling" can be baffling; even annoying to some. But, to suggest design is to not be completely truthful, for the strory went well beyond our initial aim, which was to sound an alarm about a public health threat, vibroacoustic disease (see elsewhere in this website). While writing it, Rod Ensor came to understand those who claim to be merely instruments in a process akin to taking dictation from a higher self.

One of us felt the need to write early in the morning, usually at four, or so. The hour was convenient for various reasons: solitude and freedom from interruption were attractive at the outset. Soon, another reason became obvious and dominating in the process: fluidity, a rare and welcome plasticity that up to that point had eluded both authors.

Unlike our own children, we grew up in a world of certainty, rarely broken up by doubt. On reflection, it is one of the gifts that we both received early and that has kept us together since. Our world was sharply defined by a process that today one would call rigid. Rules of behavior were clear and left no room for doubt, especially when it came to success. Failure was neither a word in our vocabulary, nor a concept to ponder. Neither was fear. As Kierkegaard wrote, "doubt is conquered by faith, just as it is faith which has brought doubt into the world".

Growing up assured is good, but does not leave room for the creativity of our ADHD-stricken society. When you know what lies ahead, you do not need what people call “vision,” in the sense of visualization, or imagination. What for? Why imagine when you already know?

Knowing gives one comfort and certainty during formative stages, when doubt can impede progress. But doubt can expand the mind once one has reached a stage of maturity when doubt does not conjure fear, but invites fantasy, the seldom experienced delayed vision of one whose rigid certainty gave success before fun, and long before wisdom, a gift that our generation sensed needed patience, maturity, and especially the insight, thecommunion with God that is denied by chatter.

Four in the morning is the time for venting dreams; asleep, or half awake, when your brainwaves allow the subconscious to come out of hiding, or rather, when the rigidly programmed filters of your conscious mind does not reject connectivity and entanglement.

Thus, interpretation of our novels is synonymous with understanding dreams and enjoying freedom. A few of our readers have proven better than us at interpreting their meaning. It is humbling, and rewarding.

We are often asked about the extent of our personal experiences in our writing. The answer is, in a word, plenty; however, the works do not portray history (there's no such thing as objective history) but the way we see it -- our history. The characters in our books are avatars that live in a world of magic realism, driven by memories, not always from this life.

Curiously, these characters can seduce the author into staying in their world as much as other events and people clamor and pull to bring one to the local this-worldly scene of here and now. I used to think of it as a left-right brain leap. It may well be that, or as Rupert Sheldrake suggests, the awareness and ability to tune to other morphic fields.