The Silver Pen
Welcome to The Silver Pen, the heart of my writing world. Here, every shelf holds something different: Victorian romances, fairy-tale fables, gaslamp mysteries, reflections from the forests of Montana and Yellowstone, as well as environmental articles and quiet spiritual musings and occasional book reviews, and my thoughts on being an author.
Choose your path below, and stay as long as you like. There’s always another tale waiting on the next shelf.
You'll find:
The Teacake Gazette - tales of love, mystery, and magic
Truth & Tradition - historical and factual articles in the Victorian and Edwardian eras
Notes From the Tree Line - essays on belonging, nature, and slowing down
Pagan Wellness - spiritual and magical musings and earth-based wellness
Off the Shelf - book reviews and one-off articles or stories that don’t fit elsewhere
(See below for all of my posts.)
Each post is tagged with its world or theme, from fairies and flower lore to forest walks and tarot cards.
*if you don’t like more erotic stories, avoid the tag/category *spicy*
Yellowstone: Living Close to the Wild Edge
The mountain air doesn’t just soothe. It restores. It reminds me that my nervous system was not designed for 24/7 notifications and five-lane traffic. It was meant for wind in the pines, the rustle of wildlife in the brush, the surprise of an owl in daylight.
Fairy Roads and Forgotten Paths: When Victorian Travelers Feared the Otherworld
Pioneers spoke of wandering lights—will-o’-the-wisps—that danced across the plains. Some called them swamp gas, others fairy fires, but the effect was the same: men and women followed them, entranced, until they were thoroughly lost.
A Conversation with Annabelle Greystone
The halls creak when no one walks them, and some of the mirrors don’t reflect quite right. But it’s home—cold, drafty, and full of ghosts… of memory, if not of men.
The Willow's Lament
She knew these woods. She passed the ruins of what were once the slave quarters. Sadness lingered there, and Marian hated that this was her family’s legacy. She had spent the better part of her adult life trying to rectify it.
A Gaze Beyond the Veil
Charlotte stared, and her breath caught. She had never liked the way some photographers left the deceased with eyes wide, gazing eerily into the lens. And she knew Catherine would have wanted it to appear as if she were peacefully sleeping.
The Schoolmistress of Cottonwood Springs
The schoolhouse stood at the edge of town, a simple building with fresh whitewash and newly mended steps. Inside, she found the windows cleaned, the floorboards swept, and the stove blackened and ready for the coming winter.