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*
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 Mist at Greystone Hall
The candle on the table flickered violently, though no wind stirred. A sudden chill slid over her shoulders, and Tabitha looked past her—ears flattened, eyes wide.
A Promise of Spring
She dropped to her knees, the chill of the damp ground seeping into her skirts. The flowers had broken through despite the frost, their purple petals lifting toward the sky as if welcoming the sun’s hesitant return. A lump formed in her throat.
A Scalding Cup of Tea
As Mary looked out the gleaming glass into the courtyard, she shivered. Thick fog shifted and swirled between the walls of the large stone house.
Haunted Reflections
Johnathon stood at the end, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows. Cold seeped through the 100-year old panes of glass. He pulled his gray cardigan closer around his broad frame and gazed out at the English hills bathed in an unforgiving light from the full moon.