A spin-off of my novel-in-progress, working title (not a very good title), The Jötunheim Eruption, is another take on Fire Giants Attack the World. “Garden Tomte” is set in the USA, not Iceland, and the protagonost is a real Swedish-American general rather than an wanna-be Icelandic-American general. More importantly , “Garden Tomte” is just 3200 words short, so I have to save the planet a heck of a lot quicker.
My inspirations on this project were many fold:
- Two years living in Sweden
- A large number of small tomte figurines that come out every Christmas, left over from our days in Sweden
- A daughter who collects gnomes by the zillions
- yes, a tomte is a Swedish variant of a gnome, more or less, sort of
- A recent trip to Iceland to see the volcanos
- A lifelong interest in Norse mythology (see also “Preschool War Games” and Ragnarök Willie)
No valkyries in this one, although I did slip in a cameo.
by C.R. Hodges
Lieutenant General Heidi Engelbrektsson turned off the car radio when the news came on. The hourly intelligence updates from her staff were far worse than what was being released to the public. Whumppp whump. Her wipers left gray streaks as they strained to clear the ash-laden summer rain that pelted her windshield. The fire giants had just defeated ten of her divisions on the plains of eastern Illinois, and wiped out most of the Air Force with some type of ungodly weapon that flung balls of white-hot fire.
The fire giants marched on foot, slow but unstoppable, on a vector from the Yellowstone cauldron straight toward Washington, DC. Her troops had lost every engagement since the twenty-foot-tall creatures had emerged from the lava tunnels two days after the volcanic eruption. She was losing the war, but tonight she was cooking dinner for her son. A welcome respite, even if only for a few hours.
“Good evening, General,” Sergeant Tamera Jones said as she opened the door to the garage. Free babysitting went with the third star. “I’d come to attention, ma’am, but…” She nodded to the purple cat tucked under one arm like a football, the front of her uniform blouse stained the same color.
“Jacob,” Heidi yelled. “At ease, Tamera. Can I help? No, I’ll take on my son, you wash the cat.”