Story EmbersStory Embers was run by a group of Christian writers and editors who were committed to glorifying God with excellent craftsmanship. We accepted article, poetry, and short story submissions from a number of Christian storytellers around the world. You can peruse posts from contributing audience members below.
This is golden day: a single moment that lasts for hours. I am standing in this field of brown, crisp grass and stubborn wildflowers, where the scent of summer stays. My feet are rooted in the dark earth. My eyes are closed, but my mind is open, absorbing the liveliness of this world.
I feel it, a certain heaviness in my heart as I’m making my way home one evening. Joy and Sorrow are very nearly always together, are very nearly always mine to hold—every mountaintop and every valley: my story.
The moon burned red in the deep, dark pool. The stars gazed down in awe as the maid strode down the ancient path, her fate engraved by law.
By Eliana Duran As the old lady sits in her wooden porch chair, She sews together a blue teddy bear. For years she’s sat in the shade of the birch, Sewing a bear for each baby at church. There aren’t any now, but there’s never been a drought. There isn’t much time...
Those long miles down old gray roads, roller coasters on the way to roller coasters, coast to coast, talking in codes, the leaking pipes, the broken toasters.
The forlorn girl looks up with a smile each time the maple leaves sway with the breeze, dancing like maidens of scarlet and gold for the girl at the window who watches the trees, seeking escape from a sorrowful world.
Editing is easy to overdo. You open your latest draft to restructure a scene, but as you reread your work to get your bearings, you can’t resist tinkering with a clunky paragraph in the previous chapter. Then you remember a worldbuilding element you need to research so you can use it to set the mood when your protagonist meets her love interest. And soon you’ve spent an hour brainstorming the perfect analogy for his blue eyes.
So it begins, the smell of freshly spread paint mixed with sweet-sticky perspiration. Tireless preparation. Scrub the stains, pack what remains, stack boxes in bedrooms, eat lunch (Oreos and applesauce) while sitting cross-legged on the floor, write up a laundry list of things to do and realize there isn’t yet a washer, make a conscious effort to avoid spilling on new carpet but do it anyway.
While scrolling through Instagram the other day, I came across a recent quote by S.D. Smith, author of The Green Ember. The words made my head snap up and the gears in my brain start turning.
As far back as extends the human brain, did words by virtue of themselves enchant, aligned, symmetric, synchronized refrain, a verbal song, humanity’s descant.
