Tag Archive for James Preller Celebrates 40 Years

Celebrating 40 Years As a Published Author, Pt. 2: The Norfin Trolls!

March 12, 2026 / / 3 comments

 

I have a nostalgic affection for all the weird, crappy little jobs I took on as a freelancer over the course of my career. I mean, maybe I should be recounting my triumphs, but an entertaining part of my story is the odd jobs I took along the way. Money in the pocket. The work that kept “the dream” alive.

Around 1993, Scholastic made a book deal with a popular toy company, The Troll Company.  They created and sold Norfin Trolls, which some people seemed, unaccountably, to like. As a freelancer with connections at Scholastic (I worked there from 85-90), I was offered a two-book deal, flat fee (no royalty), and was handed a catalog produced by the company. The catalog included lots of pictures of trolls in various outfits. The golfer, the tourist, the farmer, the pirate, the wizard, etc. Here’s a sample spread:

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I can tell you want a closer look.

 

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My assignment was to make up a couple of stories featuring the Trolls. At that time, sometimes to my chagrin, I was considered a “clever” guy by various editors at Scholastic. Of course, I aspired to be more than just a clown. I was a literature major, filled with deep thoughts and passionate feelings, but they saw me as a creative court jester who worked cheap. Perfect for the Norfin Troll project!

This is, of course, four years before Jigsaw Jones came along. I was just beginning to get assignments. So, one hundred percent, I was happy to do it (I just wasn’t going to put my name on it). One very cool aspect of the project was that a team of photographers — the talented due of Mary and Joe Van Blerck — would pose the dolls, build artistic sets, and photograph the scenes for the book. It was pretty amazing what they accomplished, actually. Quite skilled. Never met ’em.

I still have one copy of the first book, Too Many Trolls. The main challenge was to come up with an idea that allowed for lots and lots of cute trolls. I remembered the classic Marx Brothers state room scene from “A Night at the Opera.” Yes, I decided, I could steal that! In the film, everyone crowds into a small room with hilarious results.

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That was it! So I told the story of Hanna, who was visiting Aunt Inger and Uncle Hans (I lifted these names directly from the catalog). Remembering my lessons from the Whole Language pedagogy of the day, I added a recurring phrase, “Shhh, baby is sleeping,” and was on my way. 

One by one, groups of visitors appear to threaten the quiet: one golfer (his ball sails through an open window), two neighbors whose TV is broken, three peppy cheerleaders, and so on, until ten plane crash survivors (!) show up (cheerful, but in need of a phone) and Hanna has finally had enough. She cries out, “Sixty Norfin Trolls! There are too many trolls in this house! I’m sorry, but everybody has to leave. Baby needs peace and quiet!”

They all depart, loudly, and peace is at last restored. Baby has managed to sleep through the trollish tumult. But on the last page, you guessed it, baby cries, “Goo-goo-goo-GAHHH!”

A classic work of literature, long out of print.

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Lastly, I employed the pen name, Mitzy Kafka. I fondly remembered the old picture book, Tell Me a Mitzi by Lore Segal, a title that always struck me as funny. As for Kafka, I was and remain a fan of the great man’s work, and somehow the surreal oddness of Kafka’s books connected in my mind to the surreal oddness of my assignment. Thus, Mitzy Kafka climbed from her chrysalis, fluttered her soggy wings, and emerged to enjoy a brief but resplendent existence.

I share this story because, hey, it was a good book for what it was. I’ve read far worse in hardcover. So I cashed my check and could still look at myself in the mirror. Best of all, no trolls were harmed during the making of the book, despite the plane crash. I did my best, plied my craft, and the end results — to the extent that I had control over these things, left me restlessly satisfied, if unfulfilled.

I feel like some people view “the writer’s life” as some sort of edifying, ethereal experience — as if we were special people, uniquely gifted — and I’m here to say that for much of my (cough, cough) career, I’ve been like a carpenter trying to earn a living. Too Many Trolls, and jobs like it, helped pay the mortgage. And in the meantime, I kept hammering away. 

Mitzy Kafka would have been proud.

Here’s some sample spreads from the book, since you won’t find it anywhere else!

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Pure nonsense, of course. Lighthearted fun. And, I am pleased to report, I still think it’s pretty good — for, you know, what it is.

I cashed the check.

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Category: Greatest Hits, the writing process / Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

Robert Duvall Passes, Boo Radley Recalled, An Idea Stolen: CELEBRATING 40 YEARS AS A PUBLISHED AUTHOR, PT. 2

February 17, 2026 / / 2 comments

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The great actor Robert Duvall passed on February 15th at the most excellent age of 95. He left behind a remarkable legacy, including key roles in films such as The Godfather, Apocalypse Now, Tender Mercies (Oscar for Best Actor), The Conversation, and many more. He is also well remembered for his role in the CBS miniseries, Lonesome Dove. 

But my mind went right back to Boo Radley in To Kill a Mockingbird. 

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That’s a book and a movie that has had an outsized impact on my imagination and appreciation of excellence in storytelling. I just love it and often return to passages and scenes.

Thinking of Boo yesterday, I remembered that I stole a little device from that story and used it in Jigsaw Jones: The Case of the Haunted Scarecrow. As you may recall, Boo first communicated with Jem and Scout by leaving small totems, or gifts, in the knothole of an oak tree. The gifts themselves are worth recalling: chewing gum, two pennies, twine, soap dolls, a spelling bee medal, a pocket watch. Boo is isolated and alone, longing for connection. 

Boo’s father, Nathan, to our horror, ends up filling the hole with cement — once again isolating Boo from any hope of friendship. Poor Boo, the book’s mockingbird, gentle and misunderstood. 

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But it’s just the knothole that I borrowed, a simple idea that I took for my own purposes for the 15th Jigsaw Jones book, The Case of the Haunted Scarecrow. I’ll share that scene now because, I don’t know, I like it? I’m proud of those Jigsaw Jones books. So many are now out of print and no longer read, except for those in libraries and dusty bins in second-grade classrooms. Thank you so much, teachers, for that.

Here, Dear Reader, is Chapter Five: The Scarecrow.

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“They want you to deliver the money,” Kim said.

And that was that. In one swoop, I went from detective to delivery boy. I was supposed to go to a tree, put three dollars in a hole, and leave. The voice said he’d return the necklace after I made the drop off.

“I don’t get it,” Mila complained. “Why Jigsaw? How did they know he was here?”

“They must be watching the house,” I concluded. “It doubt it’s a one-man job. You heard giggles on the phone, remember.”

Mila remembered.

Kim shivered — and not because the house was drafty. She ran her fingers across the front of her neck. It was a habit. She was feeling for a necklace that wasn’t there.

“Let’s do it,” I declared.

Kim went to her room. She returned with four dollars. One for me. Three for the ransom. “You better hurry,” she said. “They want you there right away.”

I didn’t like it. But I didn’t have to like it. It was a job. Like raking leaves or delivering newspapers. So off I went, into the dusky night. Mila stayed behind to keep Kim company. 

I walked down Abbey Road. The evening chill nibbled on my ears like a pet parakeet. I turned right onto Penny Lane. The night was brisk and gloomy. I noticed that someone had ripped down one of my brothers’ leaf-raking signs. 

I came to the leaning oak tree. Its long branches reached out over the sidewalk. I shoved my hands into my pockets. There was no one in sight. But I had a perfect view of the Rigby place across the street. 

A black cat slinked across the lawn.

There was one lonely light on in the old house. I may have glimpsed a shadow drift behind a curtain, then disappear. In that gloom, even the trees seemed more menacing. Their leafless branches looked like twisted arms, the twigs like crippled fingers. I flicked up the collar of my jacket. 

A-ooooo. A-ooooo.

A dog howled. I looked into the night sky. There was no moon. Just the pale yellow of distant stars. Well, it was time to finish the job. I soon found a small hollow in the tree. The kind of hole where a chipmunk or snake might hide. On a hunch, I reached in my hand.

And there it was.

The necklace. 

I pulled the three dollars from my pocket. I hesitated, the money still in my hand. It made no sense. Why should I pay the robbers when I already had the necklace?

And why was the necklace here?

I didn’t have time to answer my own questions.

Maybe I heard a noise. Maybe it was a faint whisper, or the scraping of a shoe on cement. Maybe a flashlight flickered, then died. For whatever reason, I looked toward the Rigby place.

[Editorial note: We learn that the old woman who lives there is named Eleanor, and she’s lonely, too.]

What I saw made my heart stop.

The scarecrow on Mrs. Rigby’s lawn was standing. Staring straight at me. It was . . . alive. 

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I pressed myself against the tree. If I breathed, it was by accident. The scarecrow moved stiffly, as if waking from a long sleep. First one step, then another. Like a mummy. Or a living zombie. 

Coming toward me.

I squeezed my eyes tight, trying to shut away the fear. But when I opened them, the creature was coming closer. Ever closer.

I clutched Kim’s necklace in my hand.

And ran.

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The illustration is by Jamie Smith, the warm, sensitive artist from England who did the interiors to many titles in the series. 

THIS POST IS PT. 2 OF A YEAR-LONG SERIES, CELEBRATING MY 40 YEARS AS A PUBLISHED AUTHOR. AS ALWAYS, THANKS FOR STOPPING BY. OTHERWISE IT WOULD BE A LONELY CELEBRATION. HELLO? ANYONE? BUELLER?

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Category: Interviews & Appreciations, Jigsaw Jones, the writing process / Tags: , , , , , , ,
 
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