T. Frohock (she/her)

@tfrohock

CI-borg and Wellman award finalist--author of the Los Nefilim series from Harper Voyager US. I've long been accused of telling stories, which is a southern colloquialism for lying. Repped by Lisa Rodgers, JABberwocky Literary Agency www.tfrohock.com

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T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· 27d

Today's #BookQW Wednesday word is change and this is from one of my favorite scenes in Miserere--when Lucian walked through the Ieursal Barren and was saved from his own ghosts by a child's prayer: www.tfrohock.com/fiction2

Lucian detected a subtle shift beneath the resonance of the old magic. This was no echo. Whatever caused the change was different from anything he’d ever felt before—something old but still very, very powerful.

He started walking again. The slope grew steep. Each step was agony. He stopped to rest, leaning on his cane with both hands, his boot tight around his calf.

Lucian, the sudden whisper was right at his shoulder.

A cover shot of the novel Miserere on a mauve background accompanied by the following excerpt: The wind snatched at his hair. He raised his head and saw nothing, no one. The words weren’t spoken aloud. He wanted to touch the hilt of his sword but feared releasing his cane. The pain in his hip and back became an agony.

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· Jun 15

I got the loveliest retirement gift today from a lady who has worked here with me for a long time. Not pictured is the gift certificate to our new indie bookstore (Ink & Ivy). <3

A beautiful gift wrapped with brown flowered paper and reading stickers with a tiny copy of little women and a black ribbon.

A journal with a black cat sitting on a quarter moon with stars all over and magical symbols on the cat’s coat. The black ribbon from the gift holds the journal shut

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· May 14

I'm reading Antony Beevor's RUSSIA and came across this passage, which immediately made me think of the past few days of committee hearings, where administration officials never answered a single question but merely repeated slogans. (The same is true of their Fox News appearances.) 1/

One of the Bolsheviks' great strengths at a time when the masses had little political sophistication was to make their orators repeat slogans, not to try to convince their audience through argument (a technique which still seems to work). On a train to Orel, a right-wing relative of the composer Rimsky-Korsakov found himself in a carriage with a group of apprentice agitators. One or two had little Bolshevik-fashion goatees. "They repeated slogans aloud in order to memorize them: "Peace to the ..."

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· May 10

Happy Mothers' Day: (The full text is here:) tile.loc.gov/storage-serv...

In the name of womanhood and of humanity, I earnestly ask that a general congress of women, without limit of nationality, may be appointed and held at some place deemed most convenient, and at the earliest period consistent with its objects, to promote the alliance of the different nationalities, the amicable settlement of international questions, the great and general interests of peace. JULIA WARD HOWE. Boston, September, 1870.

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· May 2

Someone has been walking on the keyboard again.

Photo of a keyboard with a cat’s claw between the F4and F5 keys

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· Apr 30

I would like to draw your attention to a couple of things here: 1) check out that email address and the 2 "i"s in "radiostatiion"; 2) AI-Pam does, in fact, have a "severe 'brain' disorder," because I never wrote any of those things, so I have no idea WTF AI-Pam is babbling about.

Email Address: info.aota.radiostatiion@gmail.com

Message: Hello,

Unless I have a severe brain disorder, we haven’t met before. Your work surfaced during our programming review for an upcoming global broadcast sequence, and that is the specific reason I am reaching out.

Specifically, our team was reviewing: "Lasts and Firsts"

We were moved by your "tacit emphasis on transitions" and the way you’ve captured the annual mile markers that define a child’s year. The sensory richness of June bugs hitting screens and the "last snow day" announcement via radio is exactly the kind of evocative, rhythmic storytelling that we believe belongs in a high-end auditory landscape.

I am Pam Stack, Founder of the Authors on the Air Global Radio Network. I am not here to occupy your inbox, so I will get straight to the point.

We are preparing for our next production rotation and we are moving beyond standard interviews. We are selecting a limited number of master storytellers to feature through "Theatre of the Mind" audio experiences, transforming your narrative into an immersive feature paired with professional voice talent and custom sound engineering.

The Scale of the Network:

Global Footprint: We broadcast and stream across 153 countries, engaging a sophisticated community of readers, educators, and families who value literary thoughtfulness.

U.S. Dominance: Through our partnership with iHeartRadio, your feature enters a stream reaching 158 million monthly listeners.

Market Impact: iHeartRadio reaches 9 out of 10 Americans every month, providing the elite social proof required to bridge the gap between a celebrated author and a globally recognized media personality.

I do not invite just anyone. Because we maintain strict production standards to protect our broadcast quality, we only open a few slots for this cycle.

Would you like me to send over the short breakdown of how this works for your book and your audience?

A simple 'Yes' or 'Interested' is perfect.

Pam Stack

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· Apr 25

Once upon a time ...

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· Apr 14

🤣

A post from Threads by meghanannrose, which is John Singleton Copley's painting: Ascension, which depicts the ascension of Christ before the disciples and angels. Meghanannrose's caption reads: "My doctor telling everyone he's now out of network."

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· Apr 11

I've always loved Rachael best out of all the characters in Miserere. In the fully revised version of this story, I was able to focus entirely on her and her battle with her trauma. You can find out more at awfulagent.com/ebooks/miser...

A forest obscured by a dark red background and the following text: The residue of Lucian’s magic tingled through her veins. Ever since his exile, she’d starved her heart of his love and purged her flesh of his touch. All she kept were his notes, because somewhere in those words lay her freedom from the creature eating her brain. But Lucian her lover? He was dead to her. Until tonight. She slammed her hand against the wall and strangled her angry cry, afraid her emotions would resurrect the demon. The dead don’t come back. But sometimes they did.

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· Apr 8

Today's #BookQW is QUICK and this passage is from MISERERE just before the exorcism:

A picture of the cover of Miserere (A man kneeling between two woman all are dressed in armor) and the following passage: Grabbing Caleb’s sword, Lucian whirled. He couldn’t leave the man there. If Caleb returned to consciousness during the exorcism, they’d all be helpless against him. One strike would suffice. The death would be quick, almost painless.
Lindsay grabbed his arm. “We said no more killing. We said that. You promised, Lucian.”
He looked from the girl’s horrified eyes back to Caleb.
“They’re the killers. Not us.” Lindsay dug her fingers into his forearm.

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· Apr 3

For those who missed an earlier announcement: Miserere is now available in ebook from Bookshop.org, so you can support your favorite indie bookstore. If you like your fiction dark with demonic possession and lovers akin to LadyHawke, then this is the book for you.

A montage of two white roses, a raven, text from a Slavic psalter against a brown and blue background of spooky trees.

As Rachael opened the armoire to retrieve a clean sheet, a sudden spate of dizziness almost toppled her. The hair on her arms rose in response to an electric charge in the air.

This wasn’t the demon. Rachael immediately recognized the static in the air. Somewhere, a Katharos opened a gate between Woerld and hell, and she knew the signature of this Katharos’s magic as well as she knew her own. Lucian.

What the stronger Katharoi might feel as a mild discomfort, Rachael felt like a punch to the face because of her possession. She shouted in surprise and anger.

Shadows, dry as October spiders, skittered from the corners of the room and blackened the edges of her vision. Fire snarled her synapses, driving her thoughts like quicksilver as the demon surged forward, feeding on the chaos unleashed by the open hell gate.

She spoke the exorcism faster now. “In principio erat Verbum ...” In the beginning was the Word ...

The demon howled through her mind and filled her head with a buzz of roaring wind and fury. This is how hurricanes scream.

A picture of three people in realistic armor: one woman with dark hair wears plate armor and holds a wavy sword, the other two people wear chainmail armor similar to Templars and hold swords. The man kneels between the two women.

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· Apr 2

Do we get the gods we deserve? Just a brilliant take on women, religion, and AI:

And what does that misplaced reverence say about us, about our capacity to contend with real mystery? AI is predictable by its design; that is how large language models work, through probability. Premodern mysticism was not concerned with the predictable or the probable, but with the opposite: with moments of irruption, of disabling wonder. Why do we want our gods to be so bland, our oracles so anemic? Do we get the gods we deserve?

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· Apr 2

I think we ought to guard against an impulse to mystify artificial intelligence. I learned a lot from James Gleick’s piece in this paper (“Bad Readers”), in which he explains how artificial intelligence models “string together words based on comprehensive statistics on how people have previously strung together words”: there is no miracle here, only the “uncanny” appearance of one. AI is not an oracle and not a god, and to describe its effects in terms of either the human or the divine—hallucinations, for example—is imprecise. It is true that the textureless authority of AI-generated writing makes us feel as if we are in the presence of an omniscient being. But we lose something important about being human if AI becomes our primary contact with the unknown, our primary experience of the inexplicable.

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· Mar 30

An excerpt from Los Nefilim:

The words "Supernatural Action with a side of Romance in 1930s Barcelona" over a vintage image of Barcelona and the cover art for Los Nefilim. At the bottom is a quote from Timy at Queen's Rock Asylum: “...it’s so nice to read about non-toxic relationships, which are just a warming light in an otherwise dark-toned book ...”

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· Mar 25

At the vet with sick doggo.

A brindle put bull with blue and purple leads.

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· Mar 25

Today's #BookQW is FACE, and here is a passage from In Midnight's Silence when Miquel finds out about Diago's son, Rafael. Nefilim and angels who work their magic through music:

Art deco frames on a purple textured background. Cover art for Los Nefilim by T. Frohock and the following text: Diago lowered his voice. “I won’t leave him like my father left me. If you don’t want to stay—” I will sorrow for ten thousand years. Diago swallowed hard. “I’ll understand.”

Miquel made no sign he heard. He glared at Prieto, his fist working at his side. Afraid he might forget himself and attack the angel, Diago eased in front of him and waited until Miquel met his gaze before he whispered, “Please. I need you.”

Rafael wiped the corner of his eye with the sleeve of his coat. “I don’t want to go back to Sister Benita.”

“You won’t,” Miquel snapped as he turned his dark gaze to Diago. “And you, you know why I’m angry.”

“I know.” Diago exhaled and bowed his head as he clutched Rafael’s hand. “You’re right. We’ll talk. I promise.”

Miquel maneuvered the child between them. “Later.”

“That’s so sweet.” Prieto rolled the red marble beneath his palm in small circular motions. “But you won’t get to keep him, Diago. He’s ours. Candela hid him from us. We were looking in Sevilla, but here he was in Barcelona, tucked behind the black skirts of the nuns. Such a waste.” He ran his tongue over his upper lip. “Sister Benita was more than happy to turn him over to me. She thinks he is the devil’s son. I made sure she knew he was merely a daimon.” Prieto chucked at his own joke.

“You think this is funny?” Miquel's face flushed crimson. “What do you want, Prieto? You didn’t stage this little drama for your own amusement. You need something from us, or we wouldn’t be here.”

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· Mar 21

This is the 3rd Los Nefilim novel. I just finished tightening it for a new edition. This one was the roughest of them all, because when I wrote it, we were in the beginning days of COVID. Anyway, here is the new cover with one of my favorite quotes.

A vintage shot of Paris behind the cover for A Song With Teeth and the following quotes: A Beautiful Marriage of LGBT Fiction and Historical Fantasy. In a time where stories can often at times feel formulaic, this novel dares to be different and wears it with pride. --Charlie Ceates, Culture Vulture

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· Mar 18

Still playing with videos and images, because it's relaxing and I like to practice before the final promo effort. This is my favorite of the 3 Los Nefilim books:

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· Mar 14

An excerpt from Where Oblivion Lives. Here, Diago is lost in the memory of a past life. One that didn't end well for him. It's one of my favorite scenes:

Diago stands in a room ravaged by his song. Frigid air chills his lungs. The drifts of parchment around his feet are all too real. Rushes, freshly woven into mats and sprinkled with meadowsweet can’t quash the odor of scorched glyphs tracing veins of silver over the stone walls. Tapestries lay crumpled against the floor, splashed with blood. A quill lands by the open window; the feather trembles like his heart.

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· Mar 13

If you missed my dark fantasy series, Los Nefilim, the first time, stay tuned, because I'm bringing my backlist up to date. While you're waiting, meet Los Nefilim:

Diago: She needed his dreams, she said, the whisper of his darkness. His father had been a nefil, the son of a daimon, and his mother an angel, who took her mortal form to give birth to him. He was the only nefil who carried the power of both angel and daimon in his voice. Candela insisted that his unique heritage gave him the ability to understand the song. No other nefil would do.

Miquel: Miquel knew the house was empty before he opened the door but he went through the motions to satisfy Guillermo. Diago’s hat and coat were gone. All that remained of his husband’s presence was the scent of his cologne. Guillermo examined the front door. “No sign of forced entry. What about the kitchen?” Nothing but their breakfast dishes piled neatly in the sink. The backdoor hadn’t been forced either and Miquel said as much. “This is my fault. I told him this morning to trust.”

Guillermo: Suero stopped the car in front of a shabby apartment building on Carrer del Carme. Guillermo leaned forward and trapped him in his seat with one meaty hand on the young nefil’s shoulder. “Find Amparo and bring her to number eight. She will answer to me. Then you put a tail on Garcia. He’s communicating with an angel, a German, that calls himself Engel. Keep our people away from Engel for now. I don’t want him to know we’re onto him. “Everyone pairs up until I’ve gotten to the bottom of this. If anyone fucks up, I will have that nefil’s head on my gate. “Spread the word and make them believe.”

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· Mar 13

Having fun with images and one of my favorite Los Nefilim quotes by @paracactus.bsky.social

Supernatural Action in 1930s Barcelona! A picture of a gangster holding a gun and the cover of Los Nefilim by T. Frohock with one of my favorite quotes: "I say Nefilim, but really, they are more of a supernatural mafia." --Para, To Other Worlds

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· Mar 10

So I made this and I made it without sound so you can insert the sound in your head like I have to do:

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· Feb 14

Emerson, guardian of the afternoon nap.

Black on the arm of the couch in a living room.

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· Feb 4

Book Quote Wednesday's word is 'back' and I found a 2-fer in Miserere: #BookQW #BookSky

Lucian took one look before he stepped back from the rank odor of rust and mold flowing out of the darkness. He had no chance of escaping his sister’s guards on foot, especially through damp caverns. This was a cruel joke. “Are you mad? You expect me to crawl into that hole and go where?”
“I thought you wanted an opportunity, or are you still looking for an easier way?” Father Matt’s voice turned as frigid as the air flowing out of the pit. “Perhaps you’d rather crawl back to your sister and throw yourself to her mercy. Obey her every command.”
A pit of ice opened in his stomach at the thought of Catarina’s rage. Suffering upon suffering would result from his walking out on her this morning.
“I thought so.” The priest held the little ball of light up before Lucian’s fearful eyes. “The light comes from our souls, Lucian, and you know by my light I am Katharos, because the fallen can’t make light—”
“They only steal it,” he whispered.

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· Dec 27

Poppy napping

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· Nov 26

Today's #BookQW is "run" and here, Rachael sees Lucian for the first time in years ...

Run: Lucian kept his right leg away from her and leaned heavily on his cane. Blood seeped into his beard from a wound on his cheek. Beneath his tan, his skin was sallow, the circles beneath his eyes black.
In his gaze Rachael immediately recognized the agony no drug could heal. She knew that look well. She had broken all her mirrors so she wouldn’t have to see her own distraught stare day after day.
Now her pain looked back at her through his dark eyes, and for one blind moment, she wanted to run him through with her sword. Just to make their anguish stop. www.tfrohock.com #BookQW

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· Nov 20

Miserere sitting in some good company here. If you liked one of these, then you might like Miserere! If you want to give it a go, you can buy it here: awfulagent.com/ebooks/miser...

A screen shot of five novels beginning with Miserere: An Autumn Tale and people that liked Miserere also liked BLOOD TRAIL by Tanya Huff, DEATH MASKS by Jim Butcher, THE WITCH ROADS by Kate Elliott, and THE DAUGHTERS' WAR by Christopher Buehlman.

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· Nov 11

Convincing you to read my novel by the first sentence. Share yours if you want. (This is the opening to Miserere: An Autumn Tale):

Night shadows deepened when Lucian extinguished the candle beside his bed. The cry beyond his chamber ended too soon for him to determine its source. He listened for the noise to repeat itself.
The hearth fire crackled. The blaze saturated the room with heat, but Catarina forbade open windows. His twin was always cold.
Sweat crawled through his hair. The seconds ticked into minutes. He remained still. Listening. Wondering if they intended to come for him.

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· Oct 30

8. WORMWOOD by Layla Martínez: This has been on my to-read pile all summer and I want to get to it after THE UNWORTHY.

A beetle crawls over the letter "o" and two panels of wood frame half a woman's face as she stares out at the reader.

T. Frohock (she/her)@tfrohock· Oct 30

I haven't read these yet, but they're next up in the queue: 7. THE UNWORTHY by Agustina Bazterrica: After Tender is the Flesh, I can't wait to crack THE UNWORTHY. Bazterrica is on my to-watch list from now on.