The Violet Hour
A love story that begins in last light
The hour when the room turns violet, the street goes quiet, and two people discover what they have been holding back. What they do not say becomes the thing they carry longest.
Quiet stories
Stories written without noise. Love, memory, and the people we hold close, meant to be read slowly.
Held close
Each book stays near the life it came from. The afternoons, the letters, and the rooms we still walk through.
Meant to stay
The newest is The Violet Hour. The others wait together on My Books, ready when you have an hour.
Hello, I am Margot.
A writer of quiet stories
I spend my days with love, memory, and the people who remain after a door has closed. These novels are written without noise, for readers who like to stay with a page. They are set in ordinary rooms. Late light in a window. A letter never posted. A name kept long after the visit is over.
The Violet Hour is the newest, a love story that begins in last light. The rest of the books live together on My Books. Begin with whichever one you pick up. They are short enough for an evening, and they are happier left nearby than finished and put away.
Where the stories begin
They begin at home, in the hours after everyone has gone. I write from letters never sent, from names still said softly, and from rooms I walk through long after I have left them. The life on the page is the life I kept.
What the books are for
Why these books
Newest novel
The Violet Hour
The others, together
On My Books
How to read one
A chapter, to begin
The opening of The Violet Hour
Before the book is in your hands, you can have the first chapter. It begins in last light, when the room turns violet and two people are still deciding what to say.
It is one sitting, no more. Read it slowly, then leave it open if you want to come back.
I will send it to the email you leave here.
The Folded Letter
A letter written through one long winter and never posted. Two people still go on living beside the words that were never sent.
Sunday Rooms
The day after the visit, the house still holds it. Cups left out, a chair pulled close, and the quiet that follows people home.
A Name in Pencil
From my blog
Recent articles
The hour
While you read
The page
After you close it
What stays
