The Silvershaw of Glenborn


Novel in Progress (on hold)

Title: Duh, The Silvershaw of Glenborn (pending)



(Who needs them, anyway?)


The forest does not forget.

In the Starlit Age of the Realm called Silver, when the bone of the perishable and blood of the undying mingled together in the streets of the same city, the trees watched. When oaths were taken and kinships formed between mortal and immortal, the trees stood witness. When battles waged and those of earth and those of heaven stood together to the bitter end, though the field ran red with death and the corpses were too many to count, the trees guarded the fallen.

And the trees remembered.

The trees were there when the ancient kings fell. They saw the decay of time and friendships. They watched the world grow dark, and the blood of mortality and immortality slowly part. They looked on as humans came into the world as babies and went out of it withered and old, while the Faeries lived on, ever young, retreating into themselves and the forests, never to be seen unless the world was in peril.

Oaths were broken. Kinships forsaken. Friends forgotten. Alliances died and races became strangers to one another.

The forest saw it all.

And the forest remembers.

Progress: Somewhere in the rewriting stage.

Status: On hold.

In Short: Don’t expect to see it on your library shelves any time soon.



Liriel Willowtree (protagonist)


Liriel is my black-and-white, cut-and-dried control freak who tries her hardest to ignore the fact that she has emotions.

She’s kind of a mental work job.



“Why do any of you mortals care about anything? How can you love so unreservedly, hate so fiercely, live so fully, when your lives are but a second of eternity? I am a Sprite. I am not supposed to understand these things. I am not supposed to question why you are called weak, even though I watch your people and see only strength. It is not for me to wonder why we look down on mortality when we were sent here by the Eldrest to protect it. All I know is that a human child has awakened something in me I was told I didn’t have.

“And it frightens me.”


Emolas Birchtree (prounounced emm-oh-less)

Yes, he has green hair. He’s not human, okay?

My idealistic, breeze in the tree tops, waves on sand, prince-turned-social-outcast dreamer.



“We are so determined to see only our strengths, that we have blinded ourselves to the truth. The truth is that our strength is our weakness. For what is strength, and what is duty, and what are noble deeds, when they were done only for the sake of nobleness? How can you slay a lie in the name of truth, when it was only done to hide another lie?”



My fun loving, bursting at the seams with joy, klutzy, cutie, half starved peanut.




But, she told them with a condescending shrug of her bony shoulders, one never knew what might happen when one went into the wild, for they might encounter brigands or gremlins or giant toe-eating spiders. She couldn’t say that she would not return wiser than old Hinky (the town’s self-appointed mayor), if indeed she came back at all; for she was going on an adventure.



My ridiculous, quirky, selfish, sociable idiot who draws on the walls and has no consideration whatsoever for emotionally charged moments.


With at least a dozen flourishes, the interloper bowed. He was an old man, with the strangest pale blue eyes Liriel had ever seen. Tangible joy burst from them in rays and beams, threatening to blind the room. It took a great deal of will power to stay sorrowful in the presence of those eyes—looking into them was like looking into laughter.

Yet there was something not quite right about him. Liriel had the feeling that if she were to go beyond the laughter and the joy and the sunshine, if she were to truly immerse herself in those airy deeps, she would find only emptiness and a dusty skull.



My wild medieval cowboy with serious anger issues and a enough bitterness to make coffee seem sweet.


“Do you know what it’s like to be trapped? To be treated like an animal, caged, alone in the dark? To have a mountain full of love forced into a tiny wicker basket in your heart?”




*BEEP* We’re sorry to interrupt this broadcast, but information concerning identified villain is classified. Try again at a later time. *BEEP*

Of all the nerve.


He winced. “Well this is awkward.”


Posts about the Silvershaw of Glenborn