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The Troll is Out

A short green door has a sign reading "Troll House. Troll is in."

Troll is in.

We have a troll house in our town. Sometimes the troll is in, and sometimes the troll is out. I happen to think it’s worse when the troll is out, because that means the troll is among us, foraging around, probably hungry.

All these things we imagine–trolls, unicorns, true love–they free us. They give us a chance to reclaim the secret, magical sides of our minds, the ones that awaken through kids’ books or at the edge of sleep. Some people think imagination is a luxury or something to outgrow, like daydreaming and fort-making.

I believe it’s the stuff of life.

My new novel comes out soon, which means the world that I imagined all alone when no one was looking is about to go public. Of course, I’m incredibly lucky to be able to have my books read by anyone besides myself. But you lose something, too, when your private, internal world is no longer your own. The ephemeral bubble of safety around it dissolves.

I suppose that’s why I’m working on Book 2.

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