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*
Jed's Wild Ride - A Pony Express Tale, part 2 (of 2)
A rifle shot cracked through the quiet, the bullet slicing past Jed’s ear with a hiss like an angry rattler. He kicked Comet into a hard gallop...
A Pansy for Eleanor, Epilogue (8 of 8)
A splash of color caught her eye near the garden fence; delicate purple and yellow blooms pushing up through the thawing soil. Pansies.
Jed's Wild Ride - A Pony Express Tale, part 1 (of 2)
Jed was a rider for the Pony Express, and tonight, he was carrying a vital message – news of a potential treaty with the Sioux, one that could mean peace or war. Jed had been riding for hours, swapping horses at relay stations every ten miles or so. His leather chaps were worn smooth, his face weathered like the canyons he traversed.
A Pansy for Eleanor, part 7 (of 8)
Henry stood beside her, his posture steady, his gloved fingers brushing hers in silent reassurance. He had asked her again that morning if she was certain, if she was truly ready to leave behind the name Ashcombe, to forge a new life without titles, estates, or expectations.
A Pansy for Eleanor, part 6 (of 8)
Eleanor nodded, letting him lead her down the main street, her boots clicking softly against the wooden planks of the walkway. At least it was cleared. The street looked like a muddy, slushy mess. She tried to ignore the curious glances from passersby, newcomers were surely noticed here.
A Pansy for Eleanor, part 5 (of 8)
The train jerked as it pulled into the station at Thistle Creek, steam billowing from the iron engine. Outside, the town was bathed in the golden glow of late afternoon. A row of wooden buildings lined the dusty main street, and beyond them, the towering peaks of the Rockies stood like silent sentinels.