Page 6 of Frost
I’m cracking down on the book this week and hope to have an update for you soon.
Talk about pressure. I understand deadlines and, usually, I have no problem meeting them. But the creative well is dried up. I hope the stay at the cabin will fill it again.
After grabbing honey mustard pretzels to snack on and a soda from the fridge, I sit at the desk and pull up the document I started for the next book. I don’t even have a title for this one yet. The previous book ended with Jack defeating a fire beast that was threatening to destroy the world. Each time I try to think about his next adventure, I draw a blank.
“Come on,” I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Think.”
A tap at the window makes my eyes snap open. I stand from the chair and peer outside. Nothing’s there. It must have been a piece of sleet or ice breaking off from the roof. What Idosee, though, is more snow. It’s coming down harder now, the flakes big and puffy. I go back over to the laptop and stare at the blinking cursor.
And then I start to type.
Jack sits in the tall oak tree overlooking the park where families walk hand in hand, oblivious to the threat that nearly destroyed them all not even a month ago. He leans forward to watch them. Wondering what it’s like to live such simple lives.
Longing pierces his chest as he slumps back against the tree trunk.
I stop typing and sit back in my chair, reaching for another pretzel. So is this it, then? Does Jack want a human life in this book? A family?
“Or a love interest,” I say, bouncing my knee. I’d written Jack as a teenager—since that’s the age group I target with the books—but isn’t it normal for a teenager to fall in love? Up until now, he’s never fallen for anyone. There’s been a few crushes here and there, but he’s been too focused on saving the world from dark forces.
It’s certainly an idea to keep in mind.
Feeling better than I have in months, I spend the rest of the evening brainstorming ideas and writing the first chapter. With no distractions, like boyfriends and general outside noise of cars thumping music and little kids playing outside, I’m able to actually focus and get shit done.
I go to bed sometime around midnight.
Trees creak outside the window as the wind sweeps through the branches, and I pull the blanket up to my chin to block out the chill. The heater is cranked on high, but the cabin is a little drafty, so the cold finds its way in anyway. I eventually warm, though, and fall asleep.
In my dream, I see him again. Jack.
“Come with me, little light,” he says, taking my hand. “And don’t close your eyes or you’ll miss the magic.”
I go with him gladly and laugh as we spin through the air, rising above the snow-filled trees.
I wake the following morning with a smile on my face. Silver light comes in through the window, and I see that it’s stopped snowing. Something on the window catches my eye, and after getting out of bed, I go over to take a closer look.
Designs are etched into the frosted windowpane, little spirals and leaves. Probably just how the snow landed. It’s not like anyone drew the designs themselves.
Wearing thick socks, sweats, and a hoodie, I walk into the kitchen and start a pot of coffee. I make scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast, then sit at the small round table to eat. Before I start work for the day, I decide to go for a walk to help clear my mind. Plus, I’ve been dying to explore the area again. I pile on warm clothes and winter boots and head outside, inhaling the cold morning air as snow crunches underfoot.
This is exactly what I needed.
A quiet place to decompress, away from everyone and everything. My footsteps are the only sound in the woods, apart from the occasional flapping of wings and branches creaking beneath the weight of the ice and snow. I look up, seeing nothing but white sky and snow-covered trees.
It’s familiar.
Suddenly, images flash in my mind of me running through these same trees, panicked as I tried to find my way back to the cabin. I slipped back then and tumbled down a small hill, then got turned around and didn’t know which direction to go.
I still don’t know how I ever found my way back. Because the whole thing with Jack Frost was a dream. It’s impossible for it to be more than that. Magic isn’t real; neither are flying elf men.
I amble through the winter wonderland of snow and ice. The path veers to the left, and I follow it, grazing my gloved hand along the bare trunk of a tree. I think about my book and what plot points I should explore.
A sudden gust of wind comes from the right, and seconds later, snow starts to fall. The tip of my nose tingles from the cold.
“Jack Frost nipping at my nose,” I say, amused by my little joke. “God, I need help. Colton was right. I’m obsessed.”
And the fact I’m talking to myself while walking alone in the woods makes me feel even crazier. But it was in these woods where, for some reason, my subconscious conjured Jack. Fitting that I should think of him while here.
I stop walking as the trees open up to reveal a clearing. A river rushes down below, the water moving swiftly and adding sound to an otherwise quiet world. The area brings back more memories. It’s where I fell all those years ago, nearly toppling into the water. I step forward for a closer look and gasp when my foot slips on loose snow.
