Who Wrote 'These Hidden Wings'?

I picked up 'These Hidden Wings' on a whim last year, and I was completely hooked by its blend of urban fantasy and poetic prose. After finishing it, I went down a rabbit hole trying to find sequels or spin-offs. From what I've gathered, the author hasn't officially announced a follow-up yet, but there's a ton of fan speculation online. Some forums suggest they might be working on a companion novel set in the same universe, given the cryptic hints dropped in interviews. Personally, I'd love a sequel that delves deeper into the protagonist's lineage—the mythology felt ripe for expansion. Until then, I've been filling the void with similar titles like 'The Bone Houses' and 'Cemetery Boys,' which scratch that same itch of lyrical, haunting fantasy. Fingers crossed for an announcement soon!

The author of 'Under a Wing' is Reeve Lindbergh, the daughter of the famous aviator Charles Lindbergh and poet Anne Morrow Lindbergh. I stumbled upon this memoir years ago while browsing a used bookstore, and it instantly grabbed my attention because of its unique blend of family history and personal reflection. Reeve’s writing has this warm, intimate tone—like she’s sitting across from you, sharing stories over tea. The book dives into her childhood growing up in the shadow of her father’s legacy, and it’s fascinating how she balances admiration with honesty about the complexities of her family. What really stuck with me was how she intertwines aviation metaphors with emotional landscapes. The title itself, 'Under a Wing,' isn’t just about her father’s literal wings as a pilot but also the protective yet sometimes suffocating embrace of family. If you’re into memoirs that feel like a conversation with a wise friend, this one’s a gem. I’ve reread it twice, and each time, I pick up on new nuances—like how her mother’s literary influence seeps into her prose.

The novel 'Alas Wings' has always stuck with me because of its hauntingly beautiful prose and intricate character arcs. I first stumbled upon it during a deep dive into lesser-known fantasy works, and it left such an impression that I tracked down everything by its author, Liu Cixin. Wait—no, that’s not right! My bad, I mixed up my shelves for a second. The actual author is Zhang Xiaoxian, a writer who blends magical realism with historical depth in a way that feels uniquely her own. Her other works, like 'Whisper of the Jade Dragon,' carry a similar lyrical weight, but 'Alas Wings' stands out for its melancholic flight metaphors. Funny how memory plays tricks—I initially thought it was a Japanese light novel because of the title’s vibe, but nope, it’s solidly in the Chinese literary fantasy sphere. If you enjoyed this, you might also like Tang Jia San Shao’s 'Douluo Dalu,' though it’s more action-packed. Zhang’s style is slower, like sipping tea while watching cranes take off.

That's a wonderfully evocative title to chase down, but it's also one that turns out to be used in a few different places rather than pointing to a single, universally-known work. I dug through what I could recall and the kinds of sources I usually check (library catalogs, music databases, and indie book lists), and there isn't one famous, canonical creator attached to 'When We Had Wings' that everyone agrees on. Instead, the phrase tends to show up as a poetic title for songs, short stories, or self-published books — often leaning into nostalgia, freedom, and loss — so pinpointing a single author depends a lot on which medium and edition you're seeing. If you’re curious about what usually inspires pieces with a title like 'When We Had Wings', there are a few recurring wells of inspiration I see over and over. First is the literal and symbolic freedom of flight: birds, planes, and the myth of human wings are common touchstones, from stories that riff on the 'Icarus' theme to reflective memoirs about pilots or childhood imaginations. Second is nostalgia and the ache for lost youth — think of how 'Jonathan Livingston Seagull' used flight as a metaphor for self-discovery, or how 'The Little Prince' captures a bittersweet, childlike perspective. Third is historical or wartime memory: veterans’ tales and aviation histories often use wing imagery to talk about bravery, regret, and the price of being able to fly. Finally, ecological and migratory themes pop up too, where disappearing wings can symbolize environmental loss or cultural displacement, an angle that makes the phrase feel mournful and urgent. If you’re trying to track down a particular creator for a specific 'When We Had Wings' you saw, a few practical tips helped me when hunting similar titles: search the exact phrase in quotation marks in Google and Google Books, check Goodreads and WorldCat for printed works, use Discogs or AllMusic for music credits, and try Genius for song lyrics. Self-published works sometimes live only on storefronts like Amazon or Bandcamp, so looking at metadata (ISBNs, liner notes, or publisher pages) is key. And if multiple small creators use the title, the inspiration sections or author notes in their editions often reveal whether they drew from myth, personal history, aviation, or environmental concerns. Personally, I love the way 'When We Had Wings' instantly suggests both wonder and a little sadness — it promises a story about what was possible and what’s been left behind. Even when I can’t pin down one definitive author, exploring the various works that share that title is like following different flight paths: some go mythic, some go intimate, and some go political. It’s the kind of title that keeps pulling me back to look for new versions and the stories behind them.

Man, 'The Wings That Fly Us Home' hits me right in the nostalgia every time. That song's lyrics were penned by the brilliant Chris Avellone, who's known for his work on some of the most emotionally resonant RPGs out there. It's from the game 'Planescape: Torment,' which is basically a masterpiece of storytelling. Avellone has this knack for weaving existential themes into his writing, and this song is no exception—it's poetic, haunting, and perfectly captures the game's themes of redemption and identity. I remember first hearing it years ago, and it stuck with me ever since. The way it ties into the Nameless One's journey is just... chef's kiss. If you haven't played 'Planescape: Torment,' do yourself a favor and dive in. The soundtrack alone, including this gem, is worth it.

A friend actually recommended 'These Hidden Wings' to me last year, and I went in completely blind—which turned out to be the best way to experience it. At its core, it's this hauntingly beautiful urban fantasy about a girl who discovers she’s part of a lineage of winged guardians tasked with protecting fragments of lost memories. The twist? The wings are invisible to most people, and their existence is tied to a hidden war between collectors (who hoard memories) and preservers (who return them). The protagonist’s journey is messy and emotional; she’s not some chosen one who instantly masters her powers. Instead, she grapples with doubt, especially when she realizes her own family’s memories are among the missing. The world-building is subtle but rich—think alleyways that shift when you blink, and libraries where books rewrite themselves. What stuck with me was how it framed memory as both a burden and a gift. The ending left me in tears, not because it was sad, but because it felt like waking up from a dream you didn’t want to forget. On a lighter note, the side characters are chef’s kiss. There’s this cynical, coffee-addicted mentor figure who steals every scene, and a rivalry-turned-friendship with another guardian that’s full of witty banter. It’s one of those stories where even the smallest side quests—like retrieving a single faded photograph—feel monumental. I’d recommend it to anyone who loves 'The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue' but craves more action and mythology woven in.

The first time I stumbled upon 'These Hidden Wings', I was browsing through a indie bookstore’s fantasy section, and the cover instantly caught my eye—this intricate illustration of skeletal wings wrapped around a dagger. At the time, I assumed it was a standalone novel because the blurb wrapped up the protagonist’s arc so neatly. But then I noticed tiny hints—a side character mentioning a 'coming storm,' the protagonist’s unresolved lineage—and realized it might be part of something bigger. Later, I dug deeper online and found out the author had quietly confirmed a sequel in an interview, though it’s not widely advertised. The way the worldbuilding expands subtly in the last chapters feels like groundwork for more, especially with that cliffhanger-ish epilogue. Now I’m torn between appreciating it as a self-contained gem and eagerly waiting for the next installment. What’s fascinating is how it balances both vibes—it could work as a solo story if the sequel never materializes, but the lore’s depth suggests otherwise. The magic system, for example, introduces these 'veinbound' abilities tied to ancestral bloodlines, but only two lineages are explored in detail. There’s this one scene where the protagonist’s mentor casually references a 'southern continent' with entirely different rules, and it made me itch for more. If it does become a series, I hope the next book dives into that. For now, though, it’s a satisfying read with just enough loose threads to keep fans theorizing.