Tag Archives: Troll Valley

‘Troll Valley’ and Dalebu Jonsson

Finished reading Chapter 19 of Troll Valley today for the audiobook iteration. Chapter 19 was a bear. It took three days (one-hour sessions) to record, edit, and master the whole thing. I was a little fuzzy on the concept of chapter length back when I wrote the book, and I let that one get out the barn door and off across the pastures into the corn. I start it with Chris, our hero, in the fictional town of Tuscany, Colorado, getting a visit from his brother Fred. Then Fred takes him to the ghost town where their father has settled down for a hermit’s life, and they have quite a lengthy reunion, getting to know each other better than they ever did back home in Minnesota, and revealing some secrets. Then Fred, who’s now an outlaw, has a confrontation with a lawman, after which he must go on the run again. Then Chris says goodbye to his father, has a couple supernatural experiences that change his personality, and gets in a fight in a brothel, in which he is injured. After recovering from his wounds, he heads home to Epsom.

If I were writing it today, I’d make that at least two chapters. Possibly three. But in spite of that, I have to admit that – contrary to my expectations – I think Troll Valley isn’t a bad book at all. I was pretty young when I wrote it, and I’m sure I’m a better artist now, but it’s still a good book. There’s stuff in there I’d completely forgotten about, and it mostly works. If somebody else had written it, and I were reading it for review, I think I’d recommend it.

At one point, when the Anderson boys are gathered with their father, they sing the song posted above, a Norwegian folk song called Dalebu Jonsson. It’s about a man who kidnaps a princess, then singlehandedly fights off 7,000 warriors her father sends to rescue her. Finally the king is so impressed that he agrees to let him marry her – “You can have little Kjersti; you are worthy of her.” (Or words to that effect.)

I know the song from a recording by a male Norwegian group called “Vandrerne,” which no longer exists. They did it in a very rousing style, sort of like an Irish drinking song in spirit. When I got to the part of the text where I include the first verse, in Norwegian, my full intention was to just read the words straight. But as I was reading, I found myself sliding into music, so I ended up singing it. I translated that verse, “Oh, Dalebu’s love was a beautiful maid; he won her with steel and sharp iron blade.” (Which I think is a jolly translation; not literal, but it nails the spirit of the thing.)

The arrangement embedded above is nothing at all like the song as I know it, but I couldn’t find a better one and I thought somebody might be interested.

Spittoons, and my day job, plus a heresy at no extra charge

In my ongoing project of audiobooking Troll Valley this morning (I’m about 80% through it now), I came on a mention of a spittoon, and it got me thinking…

But first, let me tell you about my day job. I’ve already declared that I won’t describe exactly what I’m doing (temporarily), but let me speak in general terms.

Imagine you’re a teacher. In Middle School, say. (The horror! The horror!)

And imagine you’re grading English essays. (I suppose some of you may have experienced this trauma in real life.)

And imagine (implausible as it may sound) that those essays aren’t very good. That the same mistakes are made over and over. You’re not even getting original mistakes.

And imagine the pile of essays is about ten feet high. And it never seems to diminish.

That’s what my temporary, online job is like.

Thank you. Now that’s off my chest.

So, there was a brief appearance by a spittoon in today’s chapter of Troll Valley. And that reminded me of something.

A while back, a pastor I know, who at one time served my home congregation, asked me, “Do you remember anything about spittoons in the back of Hauge Church? Somebody told me they used to have spittoons back there. The ladies let them have them, just in that section, but the men who used them had to clean them out themselves.”

And it seemed to ring a bell (no doubt a brass bell). This would be part of my very earliest memories – and with memories that old, I’ve learned that I’m highly suggestible. So I’m not at all sure here. But I have an idea I may have seen the spittoons back there, in the rear alcove of our church, next to the entryway, where my family always sat when I was little. There were warm air registers in the floor, I’m pretty sure, and I think I recall a spittoon sitting on top of one. I may have asked about it when they disappeared, too.

Or maybe not.

We Haugean Lutherans had a weird (I was tempted to say “fraught,” but I hate the way people use that word these days) relationship with tobacco in the old days. I remember discussing sin with my saintly grandmother one day, confidently asserting that drinking and smoking were both sins, but drinking was worse.

A pastor I knew years ago always used to link Haugeans to cigars. Somebody had told him that all the Haugeans back home had smoked big cigars, and that was all he knew about us, or cared to know. (I suppose it had something to do with the prosperity of some of the Haugean merchants back in Norway.)

Dad recalled how his grandfather was forced, by the two unmarried daughters who kept house for him in his old age, to always go out on the porch to smoke his pipe. (I incorporated this into Troll Valley.) Dad felt that was demeaning to the old man.

I saw a short video recently – think it was by Rory Sutherland – in which he was asked what secret, heretical views he held. And he said he thought tobacco was good for you, and will make a social comeback in time.

I’d almost welcome it. I know, there are lots of people who find the smell revolting, and some even get sick from it.

But I grew up in a world of ubiquitous tobacco smoke. I always kind of liked the smell, myself.

And it is an appetite suppressant. We were all a lot thinner back when we were lighting up rather than munching on chips all the time.

I think my rooting in secret for tobacco, though, mostly rises from my instinctive dislike for everything that’s fashionable.

Just don’t chew it. Spittoons are nasty.

Of the recording of many books there is no end…

Tonight, for no good reason I can think of, I intend to tell you about the process of book narration recording. Is this of interest to anyone at all? I have no idea. Being dull has never stopped me before.

The first step, of course, is to set up my little makeshift studio in my closet doorway, facing out. The hanging clothes are at my back, so very little sound gets reflected from that side, and my mike is set to record only from the front. So unless a truck downshifts in the street out front, there’s probably not much noise to interfere with the ethereal music of my voice.

I have a little desk, and on it set my laptop (with the Audacity recording app opened), and my Kindle (convenient for reading from; no pages to turn). In front of me hangs my microphone on its boom, and attached to the microphone are my headphones. I also keep an insulated cup of green tea close by for refreshment and throat lubrication.

The Audacity app is free, but surprisingly sophisticated. (I wonder how they support themselves.) It shows you a screen, and as you begin recording, a graphic of the sound pattern appears in a ribbon running from left to right.

Of course, the reading never goes smoothly. You flub a word. You add a word that’s not there. You burp. Such problems must be dealt with in some manner.

There are two different ways of dealing with a reading mistake. Some narrators swear by the continuous method – you just clap your hands or click a clicker, leaving a very noticeable spike in the sound graphic, and then re-read the piece you got wrong and carry on. Later, in the editing stage, you will delete the bad stuff, and all that’s left is the good stuff, and Bob’s your uncle.

I don’t use that method, though. I use what they call “punch and roll.” There’s a built-in trick in Audacity, where you can stop the recording, click on a spot just before your mistake, hit the proper keystroke combination, and the software automatically starts playing back through your earphones about five seconds previous to the spot you clicked. You listen and along and then jump right in at the spot you marked, recording the right words (you hope), then proceed from there. Terrifying to learn (for me), but pretty slick once you get the hang of it.

Proponents of the continuous method claim that punch and roll takes you out of the rhythm and the spirit of the thing. But that’s not my experience. I can maintain my rhythm and spirit just fine.

Anyway, you keep on this way until you finish reading the chapter. Each chapter gets its own separate file.

Then comes the editing phase (for me, that usually ends up happening the following day). You go back to the beginning and listen to your work through the headphones, following along with the text in the book. More often than you expect, you find you’ve read something wrong and weren’t aware of it. In my case, getting caught up in the spirit of the moment is usually the cause.) Or maybe you made a mouth click, or breathed heavily. Such things must be cleaned up, and Audacity has ways of doing that, electronic forms of cutting and pasting.

Finally, there’s mastering. Another cause for fear and trembling, before I got comfortable with it. There’s a downloadable plug-in called ACX Check that tests your recording for three parameters: Peak volume, Volume floor, and RMS. Peak and floor are pretty self-explanatory. RMS will be explained below. Amazon Audible wants consistency in the products it publishes. So ACX Check predictably launches you on a moderately challenging series of corrections, and corrections of corrections.

Historically, the first ACX Check tells me that my Peak volume is too high. So I run the whole thing through a utility called Normalization. This utility sort of averages the highs and lows all through. Once that’s done, I run the ACX Check again, and the Peak volume will be fine. But (almost always) the RMS is now too low. (RMS is a sort of average of all the peaks and troughs. I can never remember what all the initials stand for, but the M is for “mean.”) So then I have to run the Amplify utility (there’s a formula for how to set that), and I get the RMS all tidy again. But now the Peak volume is once again too high, every single time. So (with a little prayer and fasting) I run a utility called Limiter, and in most cases all the numbers are now okay.

At that point, at least technically, the recording is acceptable for Amazon Audible. No doubt there are subjective criteria that could still disqualify the file, but from a robot’s point of view, that’s how it works.

I finished Chapter V of Troll Valley today. 20% done.

[Addendum: One hour later: On thinking it over, I realize the sequence of operations is incorrect. But I’m too tired to fix it.]

Dopamine junky

I’m going to bore you again tonight with another update on my audiobook exertions. Today’s session was okay, but yesterday’s was remarkable. I talked about it on Basefook, but I feel like expanding on the subject here, and I’m between books to review.

What happened yesterday was that I was working on Chapter 3 of Troll Valley. Since I’m sure you’re familiar with that classic work of the imagination, you’ll surely remember how Miss Margit, the fairy godmother, tells Chris the story of The Twelve Wild Ducks.

What I realized as I was reading was that I was having a good time. It was fun.

I don’t have a lot of fun anymore (never did, to be honest). But one of the things I’ve always enjoyed most – and gotten least opportunity to do – is acting. The peculiar convolutions of my psychology have made me one of those natural actors who are naturally shy (there are more of them than you may think. Henry Fonda was terribly shy. Audrey Hepburn was too, and Meryl Streep is, according to a quick internet search). Some of them had (or have) stage fright too, something I have mercifully been spared.

But still, audiobooks may be just the medium for me. I can do them all by myself, and act my little heart out. The Twelve Wild Ducks gave me an opportunity to do both my Scandinavian accent (which is pretty good, I think) and my English accent (passable, at least in small portions).

Anyway, I had a ball yesterday.

And I thought about how I’ve wrestled with this project. Dealing with my crippling fear of the recording software. Working at it doggedly, a little each day, as much as my insecurities permitted. Incremental progress. How long have I been at this?

And now I’m starting to have fun. I took a risk, and now I’ve received a small reward.

Jordan Peterson talks frequently about taking small steps. If you can’t clean your room, clean a drawer. If you can’t do that, dust a shelf. Begin small and escalate. Supposedly, as you do more and more each day, some gland will excrete little shots of dopamine into your system, making you feel happy.

Frankly, this has never been my experience. There was a period in my life when I worked hard at trying to be more social. Smile (very hard for me). Speak to strangers (harder still). I was seeing a counselor at the time, and he cheered my efforts on. I’m pretty sure that helped. But then I moved away, and lost that support. I continued trying to be outgoing in my new environment, but gradually I ran out of gas. The little dopamine shots that were supposed to reward my efforts failed to show up. My emotional bank ran out of funds and I reverted to shyness.

And then there was music. As a kid I took 6 years of piano lessons. I never really got better. I hit a sort of glass ceiling. Later in life I spent about 3 years trying to learn guitar. Smack up against the same ceiling. Steady, incremental work, but no progress. No payoff. I assumed I must have a dopamine blockage.

But at last I’ve achieved a thing. In my seventh decade, I’ve learned a life lesson.

I always was a late bloomer.

I may be ready to marry by the time I’m in my 80s.

Books dropped and words picked up

I had hoped to have a book review for you tonight, but I soured suddenly on the thing I was reading and gave it up. I’m not sure why I acquired it in the first place – the Amazon synopsis must have been misleading. It turned out to be a woman’s book, though the author was a man. It concerned a woman who gets involved with a couple who prove to have dark secrets. Seemed to be constructed on the basic Gothic pattern – a big old Victorian house was involved. But the story gave strong indications of wandering into Fifty Shades of Grey territory, and my interest dropped like one of my pills, or pens, or whatever other items I find myself dropping all the time in my dotage.

But I had a good morning. My audio book recording brought me – faster than I expected – to the end of Chapter 2 of Troll Valley. I found time to edit and master it too. The whole exercise was a lot less stressful than it has been up to now, so I felt no end of a professional narrator.

I think the final product will lack the polish that many audiobooks boast, but I believe I’m delivering a good performance. I was actually moved today, reading Otto Iverson’s testimony of faith – if you remember that scene in the old stone church. My voice caught a bit, but I did not stop the recording to do it over. The catch was in character.

I have learned very little wisdom in my long life, but I’ve gotten fairly comfortable with the difficult truths of incrementalism and perseverance – you do a little every day and it mounts up in the end. Don’t look at how little you’ve done today – watch how the work accumulates over time.

The present is Prologue

Getty Images, licensed under Unsplash + license.

It may be spring at last now. We’ve hovered around the freezing point, up and down, for several weeks. Just warm enough to make me check what coat to put on every time I’ve gone outside. Last Saturday I attended a wedding. Rain had been forecast, but it turned out bright – though the temperatures were cool. I was able to wear my new suit. Survived a few conversations with human beings, which required some restorative napping afterward.

On Monday I finally did it (I think). I sat down in my makeshift recording studio and recorded the Prologue to Troll Valley. I don’t know how long it’s been since certain friends provided me with a decent mike and earphones, plus peripherals, and I began trying to master the dark art of recording audiobooks. I have taken it slowly, and for longer or shorter periods I’ve had to set it aside for other projects. I’m not sure what accounts most for my slow progress – my fear of technology or my innate ineptitude with anything that involves working with my hands. Perhaps a mixture of the two.

So I’ve taken the cautious route. I have not pushed myself far on any particular day. Practiced until I felt uncomfortable, then packed it up for tomorrow. Tiny increments. Dr. Jordan Peterson tells us that if you’re afraid to tackle something, you break it down into small portions. If you can’t clean your room yet, clean out a drawer. Dust a shelf. Just do something every day.

He says that if you do this, your confidence will grow as you accumulate little successes. Each success results in a small shot of dopamine, and you come to look forward to those little shots, and so you can accomplish more and more – enjoying it more and more all the while.

That doesn’t really seem to work for me. My dopamine delivery system appears to have been suppressed, or overwhelmed by one or more of my myriad phobias.

So I’ve been proceeding purely on stubbornness, buttressed by a guilty fear of disappointing the people who’ve helped me out.

And on Monday I recorded that Prologue. And in spite of all my misgivings, I could not but admit that it was adequate. Adequate is enough at this point. Artificial Intelligence does adequate work, and it’s taking over the book narration business. Adequate will do.

And I actually felt that little spurt of dopamine. It must have been a massive infusion at the source, to muscle its way through all my inhibitions. But I felt a genuine sensation of gratification, of having passed a milestone, of scoring a goal.

My progress will continue to be slow. Chapter 1 is long, and I’m taking it in little pieces.

But I’m actually producing a recording.

That’s something. Something.

I’m pretty sure Dr. Peterson would agree.

‘In the Bleak Midwinter’

Not a bad lillejulaften (little Christmas Eve, as they call it in Norway). No great accomplishments chalked up, but I got a couple things done that I’d been putting off. Faced a minor appliance crisis – I learned it was a false alarm, though the diagnosis cost me a little. Still, I was expecting much worse. And I got paid for some translation, which always brightens a day.

“In the Bleak Midwinter” came to mind for a song tonight. Sissel sings, of course. Based on a poem by Christina Rossetti, it’s bald-faced anglicization of the Christmas story. Whether Jesus was born on December 25 or not (I like to think He was, just to annoy people) it certainly wasn’t in a snow-covered landscape. But our Christmas celebration isn’t only about the first Christmas (though it must be about that primarily). It’s also about the long tradition of commemoration we enjoy in the Christian tradition. Legends included. And in a tertiary way, about the traditions of our own tribes, whatever they may be. My tribe is Scandinavian, and we make kind of a big thing out of Christmas (for reasons I discuss in my novel Troll Valley).

Tomorrow I’ll bake pumpkin pies. No holiday is guaranteed, but this Christmas looks to beat last year’s all hollow, at least for this jolly old elf.

Hope it’s the same for you.

Troll Valley reviewed at Evangelical Outpost

And in all our excitement over Hailstone Mountain, let’s not forget Troll Valley. David Nilsen posted a flattering review today at Evangelical Outpost.

Part of that is due to Walker’s writing ability. He spends a good chunk of the first third of the book describing life and work on a farm in Minnesota, including extended passages just describing food, without ever losing the reader’s interest. Walker also has the fascinating ability to be witty, even humorous, while dealing with the darker aspects of life and the human condition.

Much appreciated.

Syttende Mai in Troll Valley



A postcard (“Yes, we love this land!”) promoting the 1905 independence referendum in Norway.

What could be more appropriate, as a commemoration of Syttende Mai, Norway’s glorious Constitution Day, than to publish a short excerpt from a classic work of Norwegian-American literature? I refer, of course, to Troll Valley by Lars Walker, which you can purchase right here, for Kindle (you Nook readers can find it at Barnes & Noble too).

There was much news from Norway in those years. Bestefar [Grandfather] had gotten a rene (pure) Norwegian flag (the plain one on the red field, instead of the “herring salad” one with the Swedish colors quartered in the upper left-hand corner), and we flew it proudly, side-by-side with the Stars and Stripes, in those days in the summer of 1905 when the Storting dissolved the Union with Sweden and the people voted for independence, and everyone held their breath wondering whether King Oscar would contest the results with force. Bestefar got misty-eyed as he handled the bunting. King Haakon VI of Norway was crowned in June 1906 (the Swedes having decided Norway wasn’t worth the unpleasantness, all said and done) and Bestefar went for a long walk after he set the flags out that day. That was also the year Roald Amundsen discovered the Northwest Passage.

Gratulerer med dagen, Norske venner!