welcome to emma woods.com.au
Thanks for stopping by! I'm an Australian fiction writer. Right now I'm working on a manuscript for a historical fantasy novel for adults called Gingerstruck. Set in the Black Forest in the mid 17th century, it's a re-imagining of the 'Hansel & Gretel' fairy tale.
The manuscript was accepted into the 2014/2015 Australian Society of Authors Emerging Writers and Illustrators Mentorship Program, and I was (and still am) mentored by best-selling Australian fantasy and historical fiction author Kate Forsyth.
You can read more about me here. In the meantime, feel free to have a wander around my website. You'll find my blog, more about my writing, and an image gallery of the Black Forest, which I visited in late 2014 while researching Gingerstruck. Enjoy!
From the blog...
'o the Bright Edge of the World blew a cold breath into my heart. The landscape – its wildness and its history and its beauty – intrigued me; as I read I felt the relentless pull that urged the Colonel and his men northwards into unexplored territory. Gladly I went with them, drawn on by a combination of curiosity, fear and dread, turning the pages faster as they raced against weather, starvation and harsh conditions. Eager, like Sophie, to see such grand wilderness.
'We're novelists, not historians - we're looking for things that historians can't tell us. Novelists step in and fill the blanks left by history. That's what makes it interesting.'
There was hardly anyone else at the Museum, so it was easy to find pockets of quiet stillness in which I could imagine what the house might have felt like when the Austens lived there...
'Are you the writer? You look like a writer.'
The miller was a big guy, solid and broad, with a dusty workboots and shoulders that seemed made to heft sacks of flour.
'Yep,' I said. 'That's me.'
He grinned and introduced himself as Corry, then unlocked and swung open a set of large gates. Beyond them the Thames languidly flowed, its surface calm and greenish, brushed by willows. A creamy-pink building crouched on the bank- Mapledurham Mill, a 17th century water mill and the last working grist mill on the River Thames.
The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow;
But a tyrant spell has bound me
And I cannot, cannot go...
I looked out my kitchen window this morning to see the backyard shrouded in fog. It was all sorts of magical, and after I took my kids to the school bus stop I rambled on, down to the beach, which was silent, empty, and eerily beautiful.