The Stitcher's Archive

A collection of objects and the stories that make them special.

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Learn more about Stitching and the world of Pilfer!

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What is Stitching?

Every object you've ever loved has a story.
Not a metaphor. An actual story, embedded into the material itself. The ring your grandmother wore every day for forty years. The baseball you caught at your first little league game. The jacket you were wearing the night everything changed.

To a stitcher, that story is a song. An echo of us. Our essence, embued into the things we hold close through the emotion we bind to them.

What a stitcher does is pull that story out of the object, twisting it to fill a purpose, giving the item magical properties. To a stitcher, sentiment is worth more than gold. Here at Stitcher's Archive, we catalogue such objects, bringing them to you to share their powerful stories.

Excerpts on Stitching

Supplemental Text for Pilfer | Gistrta and her protoge

The voices are sweet. They don't use words. It's as though I can hear feelings, sentiments, a latent warmth that has no name I know. It isn't really hearing either. Not exactly. But my, if the rain doesn't sing.

I wouldn't know what to call it other than a song. I want to dive into it. To touch the voice of it.

Gistra has warned me. She's told me to stay away from songs that are older than me, and the rain is far older than I.

But it feels like a father calling his child inside for dinner. Every time it rains I hear that voice, the same warmth each time, the same rhythm.

Chapter 7 | Gistra and the Courier

“Why’d you need copper from the people here?”

“These were the coins they brought with them upon fleeing their homes. I brought the coin's story out of them, twisting it to fit my purpose. They were things held close, kept track of, now, they keep track of themselves.”

Chapter 6 | Gistra and The Courier in the abyss

There’s nothing but black and me and her. Axel is gone. The Cavern is gone. The whole world is gone. It’s me, her, the coins she’s hunched over, and the black. “This is the abyss.” I whisper, turning in the void to look out into featureless dark in every direction. All I can see is her. “But a glimpse,” She speaks, but her mouth doesn’t move. Her eyes cast over the pile of coins like a dog guarding its food. A single hand bursts from below and grabs hold of her neck. “Gi-Gis?” I stammer.

Where to read more about stitching

My book is currently out on submission to literary agents. While I’m in this stage of the journey, I’m continuing to build the world behind it and share pieces of what it holds.

If you’d like to support the project, the best way is to follow along on my social platforms (links below). Every bit of engagement helps keep the momentum going and brings this story closer to publication.

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