Unveiling the Journey: My Second Novel, Huldufólk, is Ready to Captivate You

A Story Polished by Fire: Huldufólk Is Ready

That's me, in Rome, smiling for the camera.

The journey of a writer is never as linear as we’d like it to be. A few months ago, I thought I was finished. I told myself—and others—that my manuscript was complete. But some stories don’t let go so easily. This one didn’t. I kept returning to the pages, not out of self-doubt, but because the characters, the rhythm, the language—they deserved my best. And so, after multiple rewrites and four full passes of detailed revision, I can finally say with confidence: Huldufólk: A Modern Icelandic Folktale is ready.

Now begins a new chapter—the search for a literary agent who will believe in this story as deeply as I do.

Why Huldufólk?

This novel was born from something real. In 2021, shortly after marrying my husband, I traveled to Iceland for the first time. I expected breathtaking landscapes. I didn’t expect to feel seen. Something in the silence between the fjords, the mythology hidden in rock and water, and the resilience of the people moved me. It changed me. I came home carrying more than memories—I carried a story that demanded telling.

The hidden people of Icelandic folklore, the huldufólk, have long stood at the intersection of imagination and reality. They’re said to live inside the land itself—in the stone, in the shadowed edges of fields. While many regard them as a legend, more than half of Icelanders leave space for belief. That space between knowing and wondering became fertile ground for fiction.

But Huldufólk isn’t just a folklore retelling. It’s a love story. A grief story. A story about legacy and rupture. It weaves between centuries—spanning volcanic eruptions, elven memory, and modern disconnection—to ask: what does it mean to belong when your world no longer recognizes you?

The Process (and the Picking of Nits)

I’ve lived with these characters for over a year now. By some standards and according to some authors, that isn't very long. But for me, I can say this: Over the last year, I’ve watched them grow, falter, mourn, and choose—again and again—whether to risk connection or retreat into silence. As their author, I owed them the clarity of craft. That meant combing through every beat of dialogue, every transition, every piece of punctuation. Then doing it again. Each pass helped refine the work into something I believe is now worthy of a wider audience. To borrow a phrase I’ve used more than once: I didn’t just edit. I picked nits. And I’m glad I did.

What Comes Next

The agent search begins. I’m building my list carefully, focusing on those who understand literary fantasy, magical realism, and stories grounded in myth, love, and loss. The query letter is drafted. The pitch is nearly there. And I know the road ahead may be long.

But I’ve written a story I believe in. It asks hard questions about identity, tradition, and what it means to be seen in a world that prefers its wonders to be invisible.

Thanks for reading. Thanks for believing. The story lives on.

The mystical allure of Icelandic landscapes that inspired Huldufólk