Maggie Anderson's Blog

Trial by Ordeal

On Saturday May 9, 2020, about a week ago, I was in a one-day writing competition through #NYCMidnight called the #MicroFictionChallenge100. I woke up that morning to my assignment:

Genre: Historical fiction

Action: Ringing a bell

Word: "custom"

This micro fiction story had to be less than 100 words.  BTW, 100 words goes by very very quickly!

As per the usual, I almost gave up. Only this time it wasn't for lack of ideas, it was because I'd just had hip surgery and was feeling awful!  But I couldn't bear to miss out, so between roughly 9pm and 9:30pm, I got it done, and I was very happy with it!  From the get-go, when I heard "historical fiction", I wanted to write something about Witch Hunts. Only this past winter, Warren and I visited the Torture Museum in Brugge, Belgium.  It was very eye-opening, educational, and fascinating.... and freaky what humans can do.  Anyways, below is what I submitted. It'll be roughly mid-June when I learn if I get to advance to Round 2 of the competition.

Trial by Ordeal

Agnes thrashed as she was tossed naked and bound into the river. She willed herself to sink. In the freezing depths she prayed for the safety of her daughter. The capricious current spat her out and Agnes reluctantly gasped for breath.

“All witness she floats! She’s rejected the Lord and her baptism!” True to custom, the town bells began to ring, summoning all to the square.

As she was dragged through the righteous crowd, Agnes caught a whiff of smoke. Searching for the flames, her eyes fell on the satisfied face of her only daughter. 

Mercy, Lord.   

The Silver Shrike

Yesterday, Sunday April 5th, was the due date for Round Two of the #NYCMidnight short story competition. I had three days to write a 2,000 word short story. I got to the second round with my story - A Tale of a Beard. YAY! See my Blog to read A Tale of a Beard, a story about a not so adventurous dwarf doula going on an adventure. Anyways, as these things go, I was assigned a genre - Fantasy, Subject - a stag party, and a Character - a prince. Please enjoy The Silver Shrike, and wish me luck getting to Round Three!! (I've done a dozen of these or so, and have never gotten to Round Three!) The Silver Shrike A herald marched into the dimly lit room, “The company is leaving the dining hall!” That was the cue to get ready. For some it meant pouring champagne, revealing towers of pastries, tuning their lutes, or topping off lantern oil. For Delphine it meant adjusting her breasts in her corset, fluffing her rump-length ruffled skirt, and testing the flexibility of her tall black leather boots. She gave a few warmup swings around her pole as the human lords entered the chamber for the final stage of the stag party. Delphine couldn’t help but notice the stains on their shirts and the slipshod way their tunics were belted. She despised them all; though some more than others. The Elven Princess Sylvie was slaughtered by Prince Conall and his younger brother Prince Gregor as some sort of twisted and vile entertainment while on a hunting expedition. Elves weren’t people to humans. All humans cared about were themselves. However, men did care for exotic female elves. Though that didn’t do their reputation any favors. Delphine smiled seductively at the human lords and whipped her head back. Silver hair cascaded over sharp facial features and pointed ears. Her dark chocolate skin was interrupted only by a black mask of paint across her eyes, the mask of the shrike. An elegant, but fierce bird of prey. What these filthy men didn’t know, as they sloppily clinked their champagne flutes, was that purifying vengeance was nigh. Honor to the Elves. Glory for the King, Delphine chanted to herself as her delicate fingers played down her silver buckles and the silver tips of metal lining the bottom of her corset. Honor was the only aspiration Delphine had been taught. Her father was a member of the elite elven warriors, The Order of the Silver Shrike. He had raised her and her brothers in The Way of the Warrior. It was a code that prescribed how a Silver Shrike should act in all things. Yet her father had never talked about her joining the Order, as he did with her brothers. She knew it was because no female had ever been admitted. She was valued less in his eyes. However, one day when the Great Errante River flooded and her father and brothers had rushed out in boats to help the flooded villages, all that changed. Delphine, only six years old, had hitched a ride on a wagon to the nearest flooded town, swam the raging currents of the river, and clambered from roof to roof until she had found a cat. She had put that cat in a basket and nearly drowning herself in the process, swam that cat to bare ground. Her father had given her a sword the next day. He didn’t need her to be male, he needed her to be brave. Great ranks of King Marcellus’s elven soldiers were arranged in the next valley over, ready to deliver righteous vengeance on behalf of Princess Sylvie. Delphine was the hand of justice. Once she completed her mission, her acceptance into The Order of the Silver Shrike would be secured. Her hands shook, a warring combination of anticipation and trepidation. The lute music changed from festive to sultry. With drinks and desserts in hand, the lords wandered closer to her platform. She studied the faces and surreptitiously listened to the conversation as she rocked her hips. “A toast to Duke Rollo of Birmington, soon to be the brother-in-law to Prince Conall! Hear! Hear!” So, the sheepish grinner with the large nose was Duke Rollo, brother to Duchess Mathilda, the bride to be. “Come now, Baron of Bristolderry, grab a front row seat!” The young floppy-haired one was Baron Digby. Got it. “Check out those elven titties!” Which was followed by a chorus of, “Shut up Yorkenford!” So the red-faced one already tipping over was Baron Byron of Yorkenford. “Now wait, wait, wait, my Lords. Before we get this party going any further, I want to hear a great hurrah for our Prince of honor tonight. What do you say?” “Well said, Viscount of Abernathy!” Well, well. The good-looking one with a sense of style, sharp nose, and muscles to spare is Viscount Gray of Abernathy. The lords all turned for a toast to Prince Conall, the murderer himself. I should’ve guessed. The most pompous demeanor in the room, with a clever smirk and a hideous yellow coat to match his cowardly soul. “Let me say a word!” called out a dull-looking young man in a red jacket. “My brother, the best man I know…” Prince Gregor! She had them all now. At last the toasts were all said, and the humans gravitated to where Delphine was swaying her strong, flexible hips. She lifted a leg and twirled around the pole, watching each face in the crowd gather closer. Hoping to draw in one of two important faces, the elf kicked her leg high above her head, hooked her ankle around the pole, and twirled upside down, keeping her eyes focused. ‘Frack!’ she cursed under her breath, as she saw the red jacket leave the room. She had to act fast. Delphine tracked the nearing yellow coat of Prince Conall as she swirled to the ground. Straightening back up to a standing position and drawing on strength that came from knowing she was honoring her family and all elfkind, she ran her fingers along the metal in her corset. The men hooted. The red-faced Baron of Yorkenford hollered, “Take it off!” Delphine grabbed the metal in each hand, pulling thin throwing knives from inside her corset. She let fly! End over end they flew, and before they struck the chest of the murderous Prince, she had let two more fly his way. “For Princess Sylvie! Honor to the Elves! Glory for the King!” The humans couldn’t grasp the change in circumstances, and at least half were three sheets to the wind. Chaos reigned. An attack when all the lords of the human lands were drunk in one place was all the opportunity you could wish for. Delphine leapt into the crowd, shoved them out of her way, and tore into the hallway in search of Prince Gregor. She picked a corridor at random, ran to the end, and looked both ways. Nobody was in sight. She doubled back, but men were coming into the hall now. The elf warrior ducked and swung her leg low, swiping the Baron of Bristolderry off his feet. She jumped up and landed high on the chest of the drunken Baron Byron, toppling him. She spun and grabbed the arm of the muscular Viscount of Abernathy, twisting him screaming onto the floor. Free of the men, she ran on. Turning left and right, she prayed to the tree spirits that she was making the right choices. As she skidded around a corner, she caught a glimpse of red cloth. Prince Gregor and another were heading her way. Delphine quickly slipped behind a loose tapestry, partially concealed by a tall statue of a wading bird. She heard the voice of the Prince coming closer. “Marquess of Rottingshire, I hear you, but it’s not that simple for me to just relax. I know it’s my brother’s stag party and all, but the hunting trip was only last week. I can’t get the image out of my head of the elf girl, lying in my arms, her life bleeding away. Her last words were a plea for me to tell her father. And what did King Marcellus do? Did he avenge his daughter’s death? No!” “Shhhh, shhhh,” shushed the Marquess. “I know, I know.” “It just drives me insane that the elf king cares more about his alliance with the ogres, than his own daughter. He’s still moving forward with the treaty. I understand wanting to have their strength on your side, but you’re signing on with murderous brutes! If you had seen what they did to the elf princess. It was the most terrible thing I’d ever seen. I can’t get it out of my head!” “I heard,” the Marquess added, “that King Marcellus has blamed humans for the massacre.” “Bah!” scoffed Prince Gregor, as he walked by a tall statue of a bird, “Nobody would believe humans were capable of such an atrocity.” Delphine was shaking. Her dagger was frozen in her hand. She had always identified herself as the hero that would make her father proud. Since she was a little girl, she had aspired to be brave, honorable, truthful, and righteous – to follow The Way. She had thought she was on the righteous path today, but now what could she believe? Instead of the hand of justice, was she instead the King’s pawn in a political stunt? The thought made her want to vomit. She had murdered a man! Possibly an innocent man. And she’d drawn first blood in a conflict that should not be! No, that can’t be the truth. This must be a mistake. A misunderstanding. She can’t know all the factors at play. Delphine followed The Way of the Warrior, and her actions today would prove it, and she’d be the first female elf accepted to The Order of the Silver Shrike. She wiped away tears that smeared her perfectly applied black mask. Time to move on to the final task, and the Order would surely view her mission as a success. The last step was simple but vital. Delphine had to make her way down to the kitchens, to an inconspicuous rear door. The elves of The Order were waiting in the kitchen herb garden to begin Phase Two of the castle invasion. They would streak though the castle like the graceful and vicious birds depicted on their sigils. The strike of the Shrikes would pave the way for the invading army, that was at this moment riding up the valley slope. Timing was critical. Delphine was still the keystone in this operation. She just had to ignore her shameful doubts and keep her head. She ducked out of the tapestry and ran for the nearest staircase. A soldier in the hallway shrieked and jumped out of the way of the mad black-masked creature which had seemed to fly out of the wall. Entering the kitchens, the elf found them crowded with servants washing pots. They didn’t pay her any attention as she walked to the back wall. She found the rear garden door and stopped. Delphine put her ear to the solid oak door and listened. She heard nothing on the other side, but they were The Order, so she wouldn’t. She knew they were there. Delphine thought of the men at the party. The men she had immediately despised for their murderous appetites and slovenly appearance. She also thought of Prince Gregor’s lament for the Princess, whom he couldn’t get out of his head. And now the humans seemed to her like nothing more than a bunch of boys at a party, eating and drinking and making merry. Not much different from an elven stag party. In the doorway across the kitchen from her, Delphine saw Viscount Gray of Abernathy skid to a halt and point at her. “There she is!” A troop of human soldiers began to swarm into the room. A troop of the elven elite stood at her back, behind the door. The honorable Order of the Silver Shrike. Delphine tucked her silver hair behind her dark pointed ears, bowed her head, and took a knee. Honor to my father. Honor to the elves. As the spear raised in the air, Delphine saw her only path towards redemption. She called out, “The elven army is coming! Bar your gates!” before she was run through. The End

A Tale of a Beard

Gertrude, an anxiety-ridden dwarf doula, is sent on a mission from her queen that will change her life forever.

I'm Not Hiding (Horror, eating breakfast, "expected")

A micro-fiction horror story from a writing competition I was in yesterday, October 5, 2019.

Blacksmithing for Fantasy Dummies, Part 1

Basic forging info you need to know for writing your next fantasy novel. Timelines, tools, forges, quenching fluids, etc. Blacksmith stuff!

Four Mammas for Mamadue

I had a wonderful, educational cab ride home from the airport with Mamadue, learning about Burkina Faso, the Ivory Coast, and tall people.

Siege Tactics, A Commentary on The Long Night

Just a quick little post in light of my slight disgruntlement with the defense of Winterfell this past weekend, though I totally loved the episode anyways. Also, I say 'quick', because the way my poll is going, people are reading this on a cell phone. Most of my posts are way too long for that! So, 'siege' is often generally thought of as the super long process of starving somebody out, which is definitely not what the walking frozen dead were doing. Siege warfare can also result in a swifter assault of the castle. That's what I want to focus on. Not creepy starving. Ugh. No good way to combat that except to store up! Or, get used to eating rats, or people (please refer to my blog post on cannibals for further information). Key siege warfare goals would include scaling the walls (siege towers, ladders), breaking through the doors (battering rams), or bringing down the walls (catapults, tunneling). Thus, these are the things you must defend against. In old wooden Motte and Bailey castles, fires were the best way. But let's focus on good stone castles. I think Winterfell is considered a 'concentric castle' perhaps reminiscent of 13th century Europe. I should have a post later about castle types. Major defenses of the walls and doors would include crossbows, a good drawbridge (I just love drawbridges!! I can't explain it, they're just the coolest things.), and things like catapults. Catapults, especially their trebuchet variety (the strongest) were probably the best thing for assaulters to use to attack walls. While stones were the most common flinging media, wooden spikes, pots of fire, or animal/human carcasses were good choices. The animal carcasses were to cause problems with diseases, not to knock down the walls. ;) But anyways - these can be used as a defense as well, as was done on the show in the very beginning (trebuchets with flaming projectiles). But instead of being OUTSIDE the walls, catapults were normally in open squares within the castle walls, or up on towers. Protected! You can aim the catapults from inside the castle to strike any nearing siege equipment (siege towers, bad guys' catapults, battering rams, etc). And obviously, you could send your rocks, spikes, or fire pots at the enemy lines from these nice, safe indoor places. THAT'S what I wanted, a rain of fire on the undead from inside the castle (since the dragons weren't exactly helping as much as they could've). However, catapults were a bit brutish and not exactly fine-tuned enough for all the work to be done. The catapults need to be accompanied by humans all along the walls, firing arrows constantly through the crenelations, and pushing off ladders. We saw some of this, but just not enough to suite me. And what I didn't see at all? (though, the night was dark, maybe it was there and I couldn't see through the murk...) MURDER HOLES, folks. Murder holes are holes above gateways, or extending out from the curtain walls (these are called machicolations). Whether it's a murder hole or machicolation (not as cool of a word), you do the same thing - dump rocks, burning oil, scalding water, hot sand, and even shoot some more arrows down on people's heads. I think hot oil out some murder holes and over the outside walls is a MUST, and I just didn't see it. Those undead needed to get on fire. That said, I loved the episode, it was super fun, and I was fine with the darkness. But some more hiding behind the walls utilizing catapults, way more archers, and hot oil would've been wiser. Those poor pawns (Dothraki and Unsullied) sent out in front. :( *sigh* I hope you like my thoughts on sieges. Please let me know your favorite siege tactic or weapon - either offensive or defensive. And feel free to opine on the warfare tactics on last weekend's Game of Thrones episode.

Matriarchy for a New Millennium

I've been walking Wyatt in Gill Park since we got him, over four years ago. Gill Park is located a little northeast of Wrigley Field; it has a playground for kids, a baseball field, and some grass to spare. When Wyatt was a baby, this was the nearest chunk of grass to our apartment. We went here aaaaaaaallll the time, till I was just sick to death of every single thing in that darned park. Now remember, in the beginning, we were doing about 10 walks a day. I boasted of knowing every tree, every pine cone even - but, I never saw Matriarchy for a New Millennium. That is, not until last week, when an old lady with a dog I know (I assume she was the dog walker) got chatty with me at the park. She pointed out that she liked the mural that brightened up a parking garage wall that abutted the baseball field. I was like, "Huh, I never noticed it before." And felt like an idiot. I mean, I've never had the strongest dose of art appreciation, but for someone who thought they knew every blade of grass in Gill Park and had seen them all peed on, it was sort of absurd I'd never looked up and taken in the gigantic, colorful mural taking up a building's worth of wall. On the far right side, with white paint on a blue background, you can see the title - Matriarchy for a New Millennium. Beneath that, in faded purple on pink, with aqua and yellow bleeding through from an older hidden mural, there was a number coded explanation for what everything meant. Now, this is what I need! Because I had briefly taken in this mural and could not figure it out. I need an art appreciation by number system! But the mural number key was, unfortunately, too faded to make heads or tails of, so here I am on my couch, with wine, Googling. I'm trying to dig deep and find some art appreciation! The mural was created by Tim Portlock and Beatriz Santiago Muñoz, who worked with local teenagers in 1997 to design a mural for the park. The teenagers requested three themes they wanted to be portrayed: gentrification and the displacement of local families; the evolving role of women, especially single mothers; and the unity of the many different people who live in the community. Good ideas teenagers! Towards the left, I think you can probably see the two Native American faces - this was done to draw parallels to people displaced from their land. And I can't see it in my photo now (I'll have to go back and look!), but there is a traffic sign that says "10 miles from home to work exit", to emphasize the commuting troubles caused by the displacement. Towards the center, there are the stories of different women. One comes home from work, changes out of her work clothes, and has to set to work doing household chores. A second woman flexes her arm, showing off her tattoos, and discovers she's pregnant. There is a baby near her that holds a flag with Spanish words on it that translates to, "The babies united will never be defeated." This is about the hope of a new generation. I assume, this foretold the coming of the Millennials, and their wonderful avocado toast and the death of Applebees. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to find the full detailed map key online, but I think I can sort out a lot of what's going on now. In any case, I have the main gist - a diverse group of people, women struggling to do everything, and the poor getting pushed aside. A bit sad, but I'm glad to have that new generation for hope! So, this mural was painted over an original that was done in the 1970s. Thus I can't help but wonder if someone out there, right now, is gearing up for the next round. The 1970s mural was about women's equality, and was also done with the help of community youth. I'll be keeping my eyes open! I'm glad I snapped a photo of this one when I did, before it is gone forever. And I'm glad I had my eyes opened by that dog lady, so I can appreciate what my community did long before I was ever a part of it. Hey folk, do you have any art gems in your neighborhood?

Voodoo and Fufu

Last night I caught a cab home to Wrigleyville from O'Hare, and had a wonderful chat with my cabbie, Francis. It started out with him giving me advice about getting in a shorter cab line next time, and not just staying at Terminal 1 - rookie move; I should know better. As we finally pulled out of the airport pick-up loop, I saw flashes of lighting all over the sky. "Woah!" I say. I hadn't known it was storming out. "Woah, look at that!" says my cabbie. "Oh, I don't like the lighting. When I first came to this country, I was not used to so much lightning all the time. People in Ghana, we do not like lightning. It is a sign from the Thunder God. Do you have a thunder god in this country?" I just thought that was an awesome question. I loved that he wondered if we have a thunder god over here. I paused and thought a bit, "Well, it's sort of an older Norse Mythology thing, but there is of course Thor; he's the God of Thunder. That's more old Scandinavian religion, but I wouldn't be surprise if somebody here still likes Thor. And Thor's been in a lot of movies lately. He's pretty popular. And I suppose in Christianity, I think at least to some extent the lighting and thunder is attributed to God. I'm fairly certain there are some hymns about his voice like thunder, or something along those lines. In any case, no matter what officially the religions say, I feel confident that plenty of people in America think God sends the thunder and lighting." Fair enough? It was kind of a hard question, really. "In Ghana, the Thunder God strikes down thieves. You steal something? You will get struck by lightening! Even if you are in a group of your friends, and standing in the middle, the lighting will pick you out if you are a thief. And that is why nobody in Ghana steals. And, if you don't properly repent, the Thunder God will strike down all of your closest family and loved ones." I said, "Well that's not fair!". Francis laughed. He laughed a lot actually; he seemed like a very happy person. "We do not get much lightning in Ghana. We all fear it. And then I come to this country, and I see lightning all the time, and I am afraid!" "Yeah, I guess we got a lot of thieves to take care of over here in Chicago. Gotta strike 'em down!" Francis laughing again. He thinks everything I say is a hoot. He's great! haha So I sit and ponder for a time that this is all very interesting. I didn't know about the Ghana Thunder God who strikes down thieves with lightning. "So, do you have other gods in Ghana?" "Our forefathers had lots of gods. But the gods have been leaving us. Christianity has come to our young people, and the gods of our forefathers are going away." Interesting how he worded that, I thought. "When I was a child, we had lots of voodoo medicine. Now, you barely find the voodoo men anymore. But years ago, we all knew about the power of voodoo. I was a witness, when I was fourteen years old, of voodoo medicine in my village. I saw it. A pastor in our village was sleeping with another man's wife. What he didn't know, was that the other man was a voodoo man. When the voodoo man left the village for work, the pastor came to sleep with his wife - not knowing that the voodoo man had put a spell on his wife before he left. The pastor began to be with the woman, and he got stuck inside her! I saw it! He could not get free, and my whole village, we saw. He had to get another voodoo man to use medicine to get him free of her. After that, nobody would ever sleep with another man's wife. We all knew that the voodoo medicine would get us. The pastor left the village after that. We never saw him again." "Yeeeeah, I wouldn't want to show my face after everyone had seen me stuck inside some other man's wife either!" Francis laughed some more. He told me that I really needed to visit Ghana, it is a wonderful place to go on vacation. He said Ghana is a safe place in Africa that I could go without a bodyguard. We spent some time looking at flights, and Francis advised me to stop looking at summer prices, those are too high, look at January or February. I continued fiddling on my Travelocity app and calling out to him the flight prices and times. We did that for a while. Then I asked, "So, what kind of food do you have in Ghana that I could try if I went there?" Francis replied very enthusiastically, "Oh, we have rice, and beans, and potatoes!!" hahahahha. He sounded very, very proud, and it kind of made me giggle. No offense to Ghana. "You should go to Palace Gate. It is a Ghanaian restaurant, not far from your home. They have very authentic food. I mostly cook Ghanaian food at my house, but if I do eat out, I go to Palace Gate." So, I went onto Google, and read the reviews out loud to Francis. He thought they were hilarious. I read that the fufu and soup was the best there; everyone was consistently raving about it. Francis agreed that the fufu and soup should be my first meal there. "When I worked at Menards, I had one of my coworkers over for dinner. And I made him fufu." Some laughing. "He ate soooo much fufu! He could not stop eating my fufu. He just kept saying - give me more fufu!" Each time Francis said 'fufu', I cracked up. Couldn't help it! Francis laughed too, but about this guy eating crazy amounts of fufu, not about the word, 'fufu'. Anyways, he explained that fufu was like a yam - boiled and rolled into a ball - that you dip into soup. Sounds possibly good. I feel very inspired to go to Palace Gate and try some fufu and soup. I mean, after meeting Francis, I think I have to. Then ahead of us on the road, the car in front of us goes through a red light. Francis mumbles, "Ooooh, he's gonna get caught....wait..." *Flash Flash* "It got him!" The intersection police lights (whatever they're called) flashed; that guy was getting a ticket. I yelled, "It's the Thunder God!! That guy's getting taken down for stealing that road on a red light!" Francis just about died; I'm lucky he stayed on the road! He was laughing so hard. I thanked him for driving me home and teaching me about Ghana. And truly, I had a great time. I just thought it was fascinating how different things were where he grew up, and how cool it was that he and other people from Ghana live in Chicago, along with so many others from so many places. It truly makes Chicago a better place, a mixing pot of cultures just enriches everything. I'm so thankful to live where I can meet so many different people from so many societies and walks of life. Thank you, Francis, for teaching me of voodoo and fufu!

Ogres and Goblins and Trolls, Oh My! - Part 3

The long awaited, final chapter - it's troll time, baby! If you were hoping to learn about ogres and goblins, then you need to backtrack to Parts 1 and 2. They're awesome and super importantly educational. And as a plus - it's great material to bring up at a party to impress! Well, I don't know about you, but when I hear 'trolls' I think of Scandinavian bridges, toys with the long colorful hair, and the big galoots that Bilbo tricks early on in The Hobbit. Oh, and more recently, the little guys in Frozen. When you think about it, they are a pretty big part of our lives! Time to learn more; let's dig in. Trolls first became a thing in Norse Mythology, so, think Odin and Thor. Norse Mythology was the religious practice for the North Germanic people (not just 'Scandinavia', but Nordic Countries, which include Finland, Denmark, Norway, Sweden, Iceland, Greenland, and many surrounding islands) until Christianization occurred in the region, which took place between the 8th and 12th centuries (though, the reindeer-herding Sami people of northern Norway, Sweden, and Finland lasted until the 18th century). Anyways, trolls at this time lived in mountainous or rocky areas and sometimes in caves, were said to live in little family groups, and were generally not nice to folk. 'Trolls' in Norse Mythology could also at different times be synonymous with demons, frost giants (cool), witches, black people (sad, but those were the times), mountain-dwellers, big ugly fellas, ghosts, Berserkers, brunnmigi (Norse mythology large beasts who pee in wells, yup), magical boars (WHAT?), or even werewolves - bad dudes, basically. And so, as you can tell, very often trolls (of whatever variety) had magical powers. Interesting! I really need to start thinking of trolls as magical beings; I like it. Later, trolls left the realm of Norse mythology, and became a part of general Scandinavian/Nordic folklore. Definitely influenced by historical Christianization events - trolls were described specifically as non-Christians and very dangerous to people. Sometimes they were ugly creatures and dumb (galoots from Hobbit), and sometimes they were just like ordinary humans - but they were always non-Christian - oh no! Watch out! So, this is the point in time where the dumb trolls began to change to stone when contacted by sunlight. Lots of stone/mountain/hill landmarks in Nordic countries are therefore named after trolls. It was agreed that they were not solitary, and lived in family groups, and were nasty to humans. The non-Christian thing is portrayed by the fact that trolls could be scared away by church bells ringing in your town. The old Norse Mythology still seemed to kick in every once in a while, as indicated by the fact that lighting (Thor!) could also scare trolls away. There is a bit of an ogre cross-over too, as trolls were known to eat people. Lesson time folks - when writing a fantasy story with bad guys, when in doubt, just make your evil minion creatures eat people, and the fact that they are bad will be solidified with your reader. While the vast majority of the time trolls are big and strong creatures, in Denmark the 'troll folk' are smaller-than-human mountain dwellers. And actually, I came across quite a few pieces of artwork with really adorable little trolls from Danish sources. A very sweet Danish folktale involves a cute little troll from the hills saving the day by providing a magical cask of ale that never goes empty. What a nice fella! There are lots of Danish folk tales, pretty easy to come across, with little trolls who do magic. Very nice and sweet and cute. It seems to me that the Frozen trolls were probably inspired by these Danish troll folk. Tolkien decided to go a different way than the Danes, and in The Hobbit had very brutish, large trolls who didn't do any magic that I can recall, and who just wanted to eat the dwarves. These were Stone Trolls. Outside of The Hobbit, Tolkien created the species of Hill-Trolls, Cave Trolls, Mountain Trolls, Snow Trolls, and Olag-hai. Look, Tolkien didn't mess around when it came to world-building. They probably all had their own languages too. In Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, J.K. Rowling wrote about a 'wild mountain troll', which was big, slow, dumb, and destructive. This seems to be very Stone Troll-inspired. I'm sure it's quite possible most people think of trolls in this way, though, Frozen might have changed people's minds. Hmmmm. I am really curious - what do you all out there first picture when you think of trolls? Troll dolls (with the long colorful hair!) were created in 1959 by Thomas Dam, who was from Denmark; of course! The place with the cute trolls! In 2013, DreamWorks Animation purchased the rights of the troll dolls from Thomas Dam, and subsequently made a movie; I didn't see it, but there ya go. Dam was a woodcutter and made the very first few dolls for his children and their friends out of wood, but once they got so popular, he started making them out of plastic. Troll dolls were the most popular in the U.S. from 1963 to 1965, which really surprises me because I had a ton in the late-80's / early 90s. Huh. So, we gotta cover the concept of trolls and bridges, which bring me to the story of the Three Billy Goats Gruff, which was published in 1841 as a Norwegian fairy tale. While it was written down in 1841 by some folk tale collectors, the true origin of this previously orally-shared story could not be found, at least by me. This and other Norwegian fairy tales got translated into English in 1859 and it started a bit of a craze, and 'trolls' first became a thing that English-speakers knew about. This is why, despite the HUGE variety of trolls in old Norse Mythology (remember the magical boars and frost giants and the beasts who peed in wells?), the rest of the world mostly stuck with the image of the brute living under the bridge (who wants to eat people!). And it all started with this momentous tale of the Three Billy Goats Gruff. This fairy tale had a pivotal role for the world's understanding of trolls. For those who don't remember - in the story, three goats, who are related in various ways depending on the version of the story, need to cross a bridge to get to some wonderful grass on the other side. I feel like it must be noted that in the original Norwegian, the family name of the goats was 'Bruse', not 'Gruff'. Anyways, the big dilemma in the story has to do with the big, hungry troll who lives under the bridge and eats anything that crosses over. So, we've got a big, bad, non-Danish troll here, folks. The first goat convinces the troll to wait for the fatter goat that will be along soon; the second goat says the same. And then the third goat rams the troll with his horns and knocks him into the river where he floats away. Hurray! Interestingly, this great story of the goat-hero gets a lot of traction in video games. King's Quest from 1983 features a troll on a bridge, and the way to get across is to lure a goat to the bridge; the goat gets pissed-off at seeing the troll and butts it into the river! Similar things are done in Magicland Dizzy of 1990 and Simon the Sorcerer of 1993. There is a bit of an Easter Egg in The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim of 2011; there is a stone bridge that has three goats on top, and if you look under the bridge, there will be a dead troll. Cool! The Gruff boys have been mighty popular! (at least with the nerd crowd!) Authors also love a nice nerdy Three Billy Goats Gruff reference. Stephen King refers to the story in 'It'. Neil Gaiman re-wrote the fairy tale using humans instead of goats. And Jim Butcher puts the goats into his 10th book of the Dresden Files! I loved those books, but sadly can't remember the Gruff boys showing up! And of course, more authors besides. It seems this Norse fairy tale has had a huge impact on the concepts that trolls live under bridges and that goats can defeat them. How cool is that? So what did we learn? Originally, trolls could be almost anything, but were also almost always magical. Trolls can be big brutes, or cute magical little helpful fellas. Also, that incorporating a good goat-troll Easter Egg into your fantasy book would be a fabulous, nerdy idea. I love it! Please comment about how you picture trolls. And let me know if you were as surprised as I was to learn how important the Three Billy Goats Gruff has been for troll lore, world-wide. P.S. Oh my gosh, I'm outdated. Maelstrom, the ride in 'Norway' in Epcot Center in Disney ran from 1988 until 2014. It was replaced in 2016 by a Frozen ride (I've not taken it; ugh, no offense, but this makes me so sad). Maelstrom was a dive into Norway culture as you rode in a Viking longship with dragons at the head! A three-headed troll yelled 'Back, back over the falls!', and used magic (yup, magic!) to send you over a 28-foot waterfall. This flume drop was the very first to exist at Disney. Side note, the little Norway cultural film they showed you at the end of the ride was shot with the exact same camera that filmed Lawrence of Arabia (Nifty!). Anyways, if you've been on the Frozen ride, please let me know about trolls. Also, click on that hyperlink above, grab a drink, and get all nostalgic as you spend 7 minutes pretending to be on the Maelstrom at Epcot. P.P.S. Ok, I had to know, and I looked up the new Frozen Ever After ride in Norway at Epcot. Ok, it's cute, and there are cute little (ahem, Danish) trolls in it. I like it too. :)