#seedsong

[branchclangen]

Moon 129

I missed drawing Silky she’s so pretty

[naberiie]

ozymandias

Channeled all my anger and frustration with the state of the world into a short original piece. It was very cathartic to write and I hope it gives other people some sense of peace and or hope. 

The deer led her right to it.

A concrete mausoleum, a relic of the past, when the world’s lungs were burning, when the glaciers were melting and the waters rising. A relic of those who had knowingly fed the flames and profited from a dying world, who had burned all the same when the flames had grown too wild.

Brilliant midday sunlight filtered through the emerald leaves of the forest, speckling the bunker in golds and grays. Determined vines clung to the harsh lines of solid walls meant to block out the natural, to encase those who had run to protect only themselves and their meaningless wealth from the calamity of the world’s rebirth. Blinded by greed, they’d entombed themselves and left the rest of humanity to fix their mistakes.

She wrinkled her nose at the thought. Coward’s tombs like this one, huge and ugly and decaying all the same, were not an uncommon sight. And they were all the same, in the end. The vines eating at the foundations didn’t care that those inside were buried with the wealth that had robbed them of their humanity. The little decomposers, hard at work, were the only millions that mattered now.

She let the deer go. There would be others. 

The people in the bunkers had killed the world, and she relished the opportunity to breathe while they decayed in cold silence, surrounded by dusty wealth. It wasn’t even worth despising them. They’d be forgotten soon enough.

When the world of the old wealth died, it sank its bloody teeth into the throats of those who had worshiped it. It drowned them in their own excess.

She had been in a similar bunker before. It had been cracked open like an egg, but unlike an egg, the spilled guts were useless. The art and tech they’d barricaded themselves in with were beautiful, yes. But a painting of the night sky was a poor substitution for the true tapestry of stars. Artificial light was an empty placeholder for the soul-healing warmth of the sun.

The old cowards who worshiped wealth over humanity, who were so blinded by their greed that they thought themselves above the destruction of the fires of their own stoking… they had died all the same. Entombed with meaningless artifacts, they all starved to death in their concrete bunkers.

She’d walked through and seen the signs of failing tech, of people who didn’t know how to feed themselves, or how to take care of others. The bunker was one of the most awful places she’d seen. It reeked of selfish cruelty, of desperate people realizing with their final hours that it had not been worth it, that their wealth didn’t matter now. Their tech had broken, and because the only thing they had known how to do was exploit others, they had all starved to death. Skeletons littered pristine and cold hallways hung with art worth millions, and she knew if she were to break into this bunker, she would see the same.

Thank goodness for your money, she thought, walking around the bunker holding those bloated cowardly corpses. Thank goodness for that wealth. Look at this beautiful tomb you have now – the only thing it did for you while the world was burning into a rebirth.

She turned the corner and startled a fox from its hiding place. She smiled as it scampered away. The fox lived and hunted another day, unconcerned with the people buried beneath its feet.

Now all you’ll be remembered for is your cowardice, your worship of greed and meaningless, cruel wealth.

While you starved in your own tombs, we rebuilt the world.

She stood there for a moment, simply observing the slow, inevitable, and beautiful way the natural world consumed the bunker.

Soon it would be choked with vines and deep-setting, persistent roots.

Soon it would be buried.

Soon it would be forgotten.

The cowards were remembered not by name, but by their monuments to a false god. The only thing their money was good for, in the end.

Sunlight danced through the leaves. It warmed her skin as it fed the trees, the flowers, the berry bushes and the tiny growing saplings at her feet.

They would soon be forgotten, and the world would continue to heal. The people left behind would go on, living and dancing and breathing in the sunlight.

She walked on.

patreon | commission info | ko-fi 

[emckiewoodson-blog]

Grandmother liked to say that even though refined magic left the world when the old ones destroyed each other, pure magic, primal magic, carried on through their veins. It’s why they had the Song, and the spindly fire that lit the village, and it’s why the twins could understand each other, hear each other’s minds even in complete silence. They were as close to each other as it was possible for two people to be - and it was like having three extra senses. He saw the idea floating like gossamer in her head and knew it was about him. She always had a plan. She wouldn’t leave him behind.

excerpt from the novel i once loved and promised to write | em woodson | #2

[emckiewoodson-blog]

A Brief Overview of the WIPs

Happy May the 4th! I figured it was time to share my novel/novella ideas (some of which I haven’t touched in years... eesh... but I’m eager to see that change now!!). All stories take place in the same world but at vastly different times, ranging from ancient history to the time of space travel. Stories that take place in the world’s future will reference characters and events explored in the past (albeit with some expected twisting of the stories along the way). Names and concepts are likely to change as I work!

Hidden Queens WIP

Princess Nerevi’s parents are killed, and she is quickly thrown into the line of succession for the sake of maintaining the order and balance of her country. However, she’s not content to just sit by while all her questions go unanswered - so she trades places with one of her handmaidens and sets off in disguise to discover the truth. She teams up with a Novice from the College of Woven Songs and Threads, who is investigating chilling rumors that someone has released the ancient, vicious gods from their imprisonment.

Calypso’s Sword

Half a millennia after Queen Nerevi ruled, a devastating war nearly ripped the world in half. Some survivors fled to massive cities in the sky, and it is here that the mischievous pirate Captain Rose plies her black market trade of excavating artifacts from the near-destroyed surface of the planet for anyone who can afford her exorbitant prices. Amateur archaeologist Adelaide absolutely does not have feelings for the dashing Captain, not even after Rose and her crew aboard Calypso’s Sword save Adelaide’s father when his sky-vessel malfunctions. Adelaide’s mind might change when she learns that Rose is fighting a shadowy war against the growing whispers of a violent coup that threatens to overtake the peaceful sky-cities.  

Seedsong

A young girl carries some of the last remaining plant seeds on earth in a small leather pouch around her neck. Leaving her village to try to find the perfect place to nurse green back into the world, she carries with her only her family's totem, a cloak woven from water, and the songs to coax life from even the most drought ruined lands. She discovers the ghostly remains of the people who came before, a somehow sentient sandstorm, and the ruins of a massive city built in black marble that looks like the star-studded night sky.

Neon Girl Gang WIP [novella]

This exists as mainly moods and vibes right now, but takes place in the same time-frame as Hollow. A city dappled and dripping in bright neon on a distant planet is home to an extremely well organized network of activist girl gangs. They call themselves the Calypsos, after the pirate captain of old who rescued people from abusive situations, and the neon Calypsos are proud to continue that tradition. They have eyes everywhere, and they protect their territory - and the people in it - with relentless vigor. Not only from abusive creeps, but also the giant creeping things that haunt the wastes under their city, and no smarmy CEO is going to be able to make them loosen their grip, no matter how hard the CEO may try.

...man I just remembered how much I love these stories. I’ve really only given thought to Seedsong lately, but these others.... Oh, I am very excited.

[patreon] ✧ [gumroad]

[emckiewoodson-blog]

Everyone in the town could Sing - it's how they survived in the bleak landscape - and her sister infused precious gems and minerals with protective chants, but that was small magic, normal magic, the only kind of magic that was possible.

excerpt from the novel i once loved and promised to write | em woodson | #1

[emckiewoodson-blog]

Seedsong - A Brief Background | E.M. Woodson on Patreon

In late October of 2014, I woke up in the middle of the night, rolled over, and wrote the following in the notes app on my phone:

A young girl carries some of the last remaining plant seeds on earth in a small leather pouch around her neck. Leaving her village to try to find the perfect place to nurse green back into the world, she carries with her only her family's totem, a cloak woven from water, and the songs to coax life from even the most drought ruined lands. She discovers the ghostly remains of the people who came before, a somehow sentient sandstorm, and the ruins of a massive city built in black marble that looks like the star-studded night sky.

[emckiewoodson-blog]

“It’s never exact - I see rivers and streams of possibilities, endlessly changing and difficult to grasp. But I’ve had enough practice now… oh, yes, it was easy to see the shadow, feel the slow beat of the stag’s heart… But what was not immediately clear was if we were to be successful. I looked down every river, every channel, every stream - sometimes I saw death, mostly I saw failure and frustration. Only once did I see success, and even then it was a huge dead body soaking the snow with blood. Never did I witness the moment of triumph. "Lucky you, child,” the Seer said, suddenly swiveling their head to face her once more, “You somehow found a stream I couldn’t even sense the presence of - or perhaps you carved it out yourself?”

excerpt from the novel i once loved and promised to write | em woodson | #3 

[emckiewoodson-blog]

Hmm. The more I consider it, the less I like the title ‘seedsong.’ i think it worked really well initially but just as I’ve grown out of the original plot and characters, I think I’ve started to grow out of this title, too. For now I’ll keep it, just as a placeholder, but it’ll probably get a change some point soon!