Moongatherer Release
A novelette!
Honeycomb was not jealous. To be jealous, one would have to first be comparable. She and Pomegranate were different kinds altogether, as surely as if Pomegranate was a bird and Honeycomb was a rock. Pomegranate was made for this sort of thing, and she—Honeycomb—
She would ruin everything.
Hi friends! This isn’t a luxuriant letter—so if you’re seeing this message at 10pm and are like “oh gosh not another 12 minute read,” you’re welcome.
If you are up for some new reading material, I have good news for you! Tomorrow, June 22nd, my first standalone fiction piece will be released by Duck Prints Press: “Moongatherer.”
“Moongatherer” is a novelette that I’ve been working on for the past year, off and on. It’s a lunarpunk science fantasy story featuring queer characters overcoming trauma and familial expectation against the backdrop of a world changed by the climate crisis. At its heart, “Moongatherer” is about forgiveness, compassion, and love, and I poured a lot of love into it as I wrote, refined, expanded, and edited it.
“Moongatherer” will be available tomorrow on the Duck Prints Press website for $2.99. Please enjoy this excerpt, and check out the Duck Prints Press webstore on June 22nd to get your ebook copy!
“You know it’ll be Pomegranate.”
“Of course I know it’ll be Pomegranate, but who else?”
“One of the big lads, I’ll bet. Reed, or—”
“Shhh,” one of the Mothers nearby quieted the youngsters who speculated in too-loud whispers, and their little heads whipped around—caught!—before ducking with shame. Honeycomb stifled a laugh. She sat in the large circle around the fire, a few rows of bodies between her and Grandmother Flame, who was at the center. Honeycomb didn’t want to be closer, not like the little ones who crowded over the Mothers’ shoulders, nor like the people her own age who strained forward hoping to hear their names. Honeycomb didn’t even need to be here. What was the point, when there were wonderful people like Pomegranate, or Brushstroke, or Reed, who would bear their offerings proudly to the Moon?
Honeycomb was not like Pomegranate, or Brushstroke, or Reed.
That was fine, they had always told her.
“Clan Foxfire,” Grandmother Flame said, interrupting her thoughts. She hummed a soft melody, and the congregation hummed it in echo, a quiet chorus that Honeycomb had to hurry to join. “We gather for an important duty. The Long Day is nearly here, and it’s time to send our messengers to Moon’s Rest to make our offering.”
The fragrance of woodsmoke, clary, and mountain cedar suffused the air, making Honeycomb’s nose itch; she wanted to sneeze. She looked longingly out of one of the cavern’s gnarled, branching exits and could make out the twilight beyond. Perhaps she could sneak out—make a quiet exit—and no one would notice. Once she was outside, she wouldn’t have to smell the smoke, only clean air and the sky and the waters of the sacred spring. No one would notice if she wasn’t there. She just had to find the quietest way to leave. Honeycomb began to shift in her seat, stretching first, then moving to rock up on her heels. If she could get past the last few rows of—
“Honeycomb.”
The voice, heavy with something she didn’t have the context for, grabbed her attention and brought her back to the cavern. She looked around and found that the whole Clan was looking at her.
Oh.
Oh, no.