A.B. Frost's Blog
November 20, 2022
Join Me for Icelandic Magick
Waterfalls. Elves. Magic. The Aurora. Fjords. Volcanoes. So many reasons why Iceland is my favorite place to visit. It always manages to make its way into my writing. There is no doubt Iceland’s unique landscapes inspired my world building. I will never forget hiking above Skogar and looking out over green valleys lined with waterfalls. The mist lifted to reveal the glacier and I almost dropped to my knees it was so beautiful. I said to myself, this looks like it could be Asgard!
Iceland’s folklore also inspired such authors such as Tolkien, Gaiman, Rowling and I am certain many more. For the winter months my newsletter will take a dive into the fascinating history of Icelandic Magick and Folklore. I will be kicking this off with a piece about the magical Helm of Awe, a popular Icelandic stave, followed by a two part series on the elves, also known as The Huldafolk. All news subscribers will be automatically entered into my Winter Nights Giveaway where you can win a copy of my Norse novella and a handmade Icelandic stave.
Head to my website www.abfrostauthor.com to sign up and may nights be magical!
Iceland’s folklore also inspired such authors such as Tolkien, Gaiman, Rowling and I am certain many more. For the winter months my newsletter will take a dive into the fascinating history of Icelandic Magick and Folklore. I will be kicking this off with a piece about the magical Helm of Awe, a popular Icelandic stave, followed by a two part series on the elves, also known as The Huldafolk. All news subscribers will be automatically entered into my Winter Nights Giveaway where you can win a copy of my Norse novella and a handmade Icelandic stave.
Head to my website www.abfrostauthor.com to sign up and may nights be magical!
November 13, 2022
Best Laid Plans
Today I had planned on writing a piece on the history and meaning behind the Helm of Awe, an Icelandic magical stave. As the saying goes, best laid plans of mice and men, which ironically, I am seeing in a live action play next weekend.
As I sat there, listening to my twelve-year-old MacBook take its one last long exasperated sigh before it found its final resting place, I couldn’t help but feel a bit sad about it. I also noted these random shut down issues began when I started my writing sessions at four o’clock in the morning, as if the machine was about as unpleased about the new schedule as I.
Then the panic set in; what did I save, what didn’t I save and so and so forth. Luckily, I am paranoid about backing up my work, complete with emailing myself a copy of every single updated draft daily and utilizing one drive and google docs. I also had a brand-new MacBook sitting in an unopened box on my desk. Yes, you read that right. It stood untouched for nine months as I continued to stubbornly plug away on old faithful novel drafts, novella drafts, blogs, and more. What can I say, I like my old treasures, I am what you call sentimental and that does not exclude technology. The day I said goodbye to my trusty old palm pilot for a new iPhone was just as devastating.
Nevertheless, I had to carry on. So here I am. Sitting at my desk with my new now opened and touched MacBook. It’s lightning fast and efficient, and I feel lucky to have already had it. I hope we become friends, as we will be spending allot of time together, perhaps at the wee hours of the morning.
I did have most of my work saved, albeit some minor editing rewrites I had done Saturday evening. That, however, didn’t incite the same panic it would have a year ago. Instead, I consoled myself with the trust and knowledge that the story would be told the way it is meant to be told, no matter when or how I got back into. It’s the truth.
For now, I will hold onto Old Faithful, and hope that by some stretch of luck she may just decide to turn back on and show me that smiling screen- face again.
As I sat there, listening to my twelve-year-old MacBook take its one last long exasperated sigh before it found its final resting place, I couldn’t help but feel a bit sad about it. I also noted these random shut down issues began when I started my writing sessions at four o’clock in the morning, as if the machine was about as unpleased about the new schedule as I.
Then the panic set in; what did I save, what didn’t I save and so and so forth. Luckily, I am paranoid about backing up my work, complete with emailing myself a copy of every single updated draft daily and utilizing one drive and google docs. I also had a brand-new MacBook sitting in an unopened box on my desk. Yes, you read that right. It stood untouched for nine months as I continued to stubbornly plug away on old faithful novel drafts, novella drafts, blogs, and more. What can I say, I like my old treasures, I am what you call sentimental and that does not exclude technology. The day I said goodbye to my trusty old palm pilot for a new iPhone was just as devastating.
Nevertheless, I had to carry on. So here I am. Sitting at my desk with my new now opened and touched MacBook. It’s lightning fast and efficient, and I feel lucky to have already had it. I hope we become friends, as we will be spending allot of time together, perhaps at the wee hours of the morning.
I did have most of my work saved, albeit some minor editing rewrites I had done Saturday evening. That, however, didn’t incite the same panic it would have a year ago. Instead, I consoled myself with the trust and knowledge that the story would be told the way it is meant to be told, no matter when or how I got back into. It’s the truth.
For now, I will hold onto Old Faithful, and hope that by some stretch of luck she may just decide to turn back on and show me that smiling screen- face again.
November 6, 2022
Silence Is Sometimes Best
This recent trip into the mountains wasn’t necessarily a vacation for me, as it was answering my own personal distress signals. I had many questions. Change in my life is imminent, yet to what or where or when I don’t know.
When I arrived, I realized I was the only guest at the string of cabins beside the river. At first this was unnerving considering an infamous alien abduction took place across the street, but I consoled myself with the thought it would be unlikely aliens would take me and that if they did, my stay at least would be extended. But one thing was guaranteed and that it would be a quiet stay, besides the river sounds.
My days were simple. I slept until first light. I did allot of what I used to call “hiking” yet now it’s become more of a saunter into the woods. Some days I climbed mountains, others I was satisfied with walking through a birch grove to a pond and sit to watch the swans and listen to the nuthatches or the silence.
Every day I would stop at a farm and buy a cord of wood. At night I would have a fire and sit beside it and watch the flames. Late in the evening I would walk down to the river and admire the stars and the moon, which turned from a crescent to a half as the days passed. I would shake my owl rattle and talk to owl spirit, or sometimes I would just sit there and be.
I wrote every day. I tore apart the novel I am working on, deleted allot, rewrote some, and then decided this is just going to take a long time. The book will be the death of me, yet I do hope I at least finish writing the story before that happens.
I read a book called American Gods by Neil Gaiman and enjoyed it much. In my opinion it is the best take on the Norse gods ever written.
I set up my travel altar on the screened in porch where I would place coffee every day. Then I decided to move it inside, fearing it was too cold. It ended up staying outside when I realized the gods don’t give a shit how cold it is.
I visited a gift shop where I bought a painted glass fox and a pair of earrings. The lady at the register spoke to me for more than an hour about her life and I realized we are all lonely at times and that sometimes strangers make the best listeners. We ended the conversation with “you just have to live. Life never turns out how we expect anyway.” Which I thought was timely and meaningful and perhaps the encounter was more than chance.
I befriended two crows who would wake me up in the morning, follow me to the bagel shop and then appear to greet me when I returned in the afternoon. I played peek a boo with a red squirrel somewhere off Hedgehog Mountain and took a nap on a promontory in the sun. I ate soup and bagels and oatmeal because who wants salads and fruit when its thirty degrees outside. I saw an eagle one day. It was soaring over me and it was so majestic and big it had to have been the god of eagles, if such a thing exists.
I don’t have the answers to any of the questions I left with. But perhaps I do know a little more.
I know the silence is best at times. That less is more. That to connect we should disconnect, and that the thin light of winter is the most beautiful.
When I arrived, I realized I was the only guest at the string of cabins beside the river. At first this was unnerving considering an infamous alien abduction took place across the street, but I consoled myself with the thought it would be unlikely aliens would take me and that if they did, my stay at least would be extended. But one thing was guaranteed and that it would be a quiet stay, besides the river sounds.
My days were simple. I slept until first light. I did allot of what I used to call “hiking” yet now it’s become more of a saunter into the woods. Some days I climbed mountains, others I was satisfied with walking through a birch grove to a pond and sit to watch the swans and listen to the nuthatches or the silence.
Every day I would stop at a farm and buy a cord of wood. At night I would have a fire and sit beside it and watch the flames. Late in the evening I would walk down to the river and admire the stars and the moon, which turned from a crescent to a half as the days passed. I would shake my owl rattle and talk to owl spirit, or sometimes I would just sit there and be.
I wrote every day. I tore apart the novel I am working on, deleted allot, rewrote some, and then decided this is just going to take a long time. The book will be the death of me, yet I do hope I at least finish writing the story before that happens.
I read a book called American Gods by Neil Gaiman and enjoyed it much. In my opinion it is the best take on the Norse gods ever written.
I set up my travel altar on the screened in porch where I would place coffee every day. Then I decided to move it inside, fearing it was too cold. It ended up staying outside when I realized the gods don’t give a shit how cold it is.
I visited a gift shop where I bought a painted glass fox and a pair of earrings. The lady at the register spoke to me for more than an hour about her life and I realized we are all lonely at times and that sometimes strangers make the best listeners. We ended the conversation with “you just have to live. Life never turns out how we expect anyway.” Which I thought was timely and meaningful and perhaps the encounter was more than chance.
I befriended two crows who would wake me up in the morning, follow me to the bagel shop and then appear to greet me when I returned in the afternoon. I played peek a boo with a red squirrel somewhere off Hedgehog Mountain and took a nap on a promontory in the sun. I ate soup and bagels and oatmeal because who wants salads and fruit when its thirty degrees outside. I saw an eagle one day. It was soaring over me and it was so majestic and big it had to have been the god of eagles, if such a thing exists.
I don’t have the answers to any of the questions I left with. But perhaps I do know a little more.
I know the silence is best at times. That less is more. That to connect we should disconnect, and that the thin light of winter is the most beautiful.
June 14, 2022
Blood. Sex. Magic.
An inviting trickster.
A powerful witch.
A forbidden fate.
Loki and Angrboda will return.
"There in the ever flowing river we bound our oath. Forbidden or not, we were in love, and nothing was going to stop us."
Sign up for my news at www.abfrostauthor.com and receive an exclusive excerpt of my work in progress from the chapter titled, "Blood, Sex, Magic."
Will Loki choose godhood over the woman he loves? We will just have to wait to find out...
Warmly,
A.B. Frost
A powerful witch.
A forbidden fate.
Loki and Angrboda will return.
"There in the ever flowing river we bound our oath. Forbidden or not, we were in love, and nothing was going to stop us."
Sign up for my news at www.abfrostauthor.com and receive an exclusive excerpt of my work in progress from the chapter titled, "Blood, Sex, Magic."
Will Loki choose godhood over the woman he loves? We will just have to wait to find out...
Warmly,
A.B. Frost
January 8, 2022
An Icelandic New Year
I feel incredibly lucky to have spent New Year's in Iceland! My first stop was the infamous Cafe Loki where I gifted the manager a print copy of my short story Loki The Mind of a Trickster. The sugared pancakes were delicious. Then it was a day of shopping in Reykjavik, which included a stop in the bookstore of course. After that it was onto a stay in my secluded cottage on the Sodulshot horse farm nestled on the Snaefellsnes Peninsula. Snæfellsnes is known as "Little Iceland" and boasts much beauty as well as saga history. The highlight of my trip was taking a much welcomed dip in the geothermal bath known as Guddrunarlaugur which once belonged to the Icelandic heroine Gudrun. Gudrun was the only female to ever have a lead in an Icelandic saga! I also enjoyed hiking the enormous lava field known as Buðir. Once again Iceland didn't disappoint and I am already scheduled to return to my continue my love affair with this special country in May. Happy New Year!
November 10, 2021
Thor and Loki
First I just wanted to thank you for an interest in my works. Both Norse Mythology and writing have been a passion of mine for a long time. If you head to my website abfrostauthor.com and sign up for my newsletter you will receive a free except to my Norse Loki Novella Father of Monsters set to launch in early 2022. For now, here is a snippet from one of my other works in progress featuring the god of thunder and of course, Loki. Enjoy!
The gods all readied their weapons for inspection as Heimdall made his way down the line. When he got to me he stopped. “Is this some sort of joke?” He asked, as he looked down at my empty hands.
Several of the gods chuckled to themselves.
I looked around. “No, no joke. But I can make one if you’d like. A priest and a horse walk into a bathhouse and-”
Heimdall’s face reddened. “You better not have any tricks up your sleeve trickster or you will never be able to show your face in Asgard again. Do you understand?”
“What about up my skirts? Is that allowed?”
With a grunt, he turned to face the gaming field where Thor, the mightiest of all the gods, was practicing his one-armed throw.
We all watched as he lifted his arm high above his head and hurled his spear into the air. Thunder rolled across the sky as it flew past the targets with such speed I lost sight of it. I watched as it disappeared over the mountains in the distance where lightning flashed. Next, I saw and heard the makings of an avalanche on the ridge where it must have landed.
The gods went silent. Thor faced us with a sheepish grin. “I threw it too hard,” is all he said.
“Very well-done Thor,” I said with a fake clap. “But I do believe you don’t get extra points if your weapon leaves Asgard.”
The gods all readied their weapons for inspection as Heimdall made his way down the line. When he got to me he stopped. “Is this some sort of joke?” He asked, as he looked down at my empty hands.
Several of the gods chuckled to themselves.
I looked around. “No, no joke. But I can make one if you’d like. A priest and a horse walk into a bathhouse and-”
Heimdall’s face reddened. “You better not have any tricks up your sleeve trickster or you will never be able to show your face in Asgard again. Do you understand?”
“What about up my skirts? Is that allowed?”
With a grunt, he turned to face the gaming field where Thor, the mightiest of all the gods, was practicing his one-armed throw.
We all watched as he lifted his arm high above his head and hurled his spear into the air. Thunder rolled across the sky as it flew past the targets with such speed I lost sight of it. I watched as it disappeared over the mountains in the distance where lightning flashed. Next, I saw and heard the makings of an avalanche on the ridge where it must have landed.
The gods went silent. Thor faced us with a sheepish grin. “I threw it too hard,” is all he said.
“Very well-done Thor,” I said with a fake clap. “But I do believe you don’t get extra points if your weapon leaves Asgard.”
