Pen to Publish
Bio
Pen to Publish is a master storyteller skilled in weaving tales of love, loss, and hope. With a background in writing, she creates vivid worlds filled with raw emotion, drawing readers into rich characters and relatable experiences.
Stories (40)
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What The Data Says On The U.S. Department of Education.
U.S. Department of Education Established (1980) As a department of the federal government, it oversees hundreds of programs that touch students, teachers and schools across the country. Its efficacy and the effectiveness of its policies have been hotly debated over the years. What does the data really show about the impact and role of the U.S. Department of Education? So let’s take a look at the numbers to see what the department has accomplished, and what it faces.
By Pen to Publish10 months ago in Education
8 Beautiful Historic Towns in Pennsylvania.
Pennsylvania is home to some of the most picturesque and historically rich towns in the United States. From colonial-era architecture to charming cobblestone streets, these towns offer a glimpse into the past while providing modern-day charm. Whether you’re a history buff or just looking for a scenic getaway, these eight beautiful historic towns in Pennsylvania are worth a visit.
By Pen to Publish10 months ago in History
Warrior Women: What Players Might Believe, Ancient History Was Packed with Female Warriors.
Warrior women have become popular in recent times, particularly in film and video games. As hard-as-nails, combat-ready warriors in fantasy images and as tough female heroes in action images, women being sent off to war are romanticized. And even as all that new drama is being acted out, the past itself has a pretty smug choice: one in which women's domestic sphere kept them in, closed them out of war, or declined to count them among the ranks. In reality, however, the truth is much more low-key and infinitely more freeing. And yet, there were more than enough real women warriors throughout the history of the past, their strength, their courage, and their fighting ability standing in the way of any present-day myth.
By Pen to Publish10 months ago in History
The Trojan War and Ancient Language To Ithaca.
Homeric mythological island Ithaca is a landscape of adventure, heroism, and distant return, and a hub of ancient myth and ancient language. That passage is one of belonging to just one such mythology of the myth of the Trojan War, retold since millennia ago and conditioning historic study and imagination and culture and defining it in its aftermath as well. What if, then, the tradition of Troy does not so much end with the ancient sources and oral tradition but go on somehow up onto the shores of Ithaca itself?
By Pen to Publish10 months ago in History
The Enchanted Forest.
They all had always spoken of the Enchanted Forest, a fabled forest deep in the mountains where time froze and trees whispered secrets of the ages. No one human had been in decades, yet tales of its enchantment populated her mind from when she was a little girl. She was seventeen now and weary of the humdrum ways of life in her village. She passed the prosaic days by running errands and monotonous, lifeless nights, and she hoped for more—something extraordinary. One day, after hearing yet another story about the forest from the village elder, Lena made up her mind. She would venture into the Enchanted Forest herself. Her heart raced at the thought of the adventure that awaited her. She stuffed a small backpack with a loaf of bread, a flask of water, and her grandmother's old journal, which contained sketches and writings about the forest's many secrets.
By Pen to Publish10 months ago in Fiction
The Last Grocery Run.
h The wind gusted down the streets as Sarah Mitchell pulled her coat tighter around her, hurrying toward the small grocery store at the end of the block. The neon "Open" sign swayed, signaling she had minutes until closing. She pushed through the door, breathless.
By Pen to Publish10 months ago in Humans
A new love was born.
h The streets of the charming coastal town of Cedar Bay were always filled with the scent of salty air and the sound of waves crashing against the shore. Cedar Bay was the place where childhood friendships developed and memories were made, and it was renowned for its close-knit community as well as its serene beauty. That enchantment had once been a part of Emma Sullivan. Growing up next door to Jack Matthews, she had spent her summers at the bay, swimming and laughing with him. Many believed they would grow up to marry and live happily ever after because of their unbreakable bond. But life, as it often does, pulled them in different directions.
By Pen to Publish10 months ago in Marriage
Whispers in the Cornfield.
h Ethan Carter never put much stock in ghost stories. He was a pragmatic man, a struggling farmer who had just come into his recently departed grandfather's estate in the heart of the Midwest. The old house still stood at the edge of a very big cornfield that stretched for miles, their yellow stalks gently bobbing in the fall breeze.
By Pen to Publish10 months ago in Horror
Rise Like the Sun: A Women’s Day Story.
h In a quiet village where traditions ruled, Meher grew up watching women lower their eyes and silence their dreams. But she was different. She had a fire in her heart and a dream in her soul—to become a teacher and change the lives of young girls who, like her, longed for knowledge.
By Pen to Publish10 months ago in Lifehack
The Unfinished Letter.
h Mira sat by the window, her fingers tracing the creases of an old, yellowed envelope. The ink had worn off a bit, but the name on it remained clear: Ayan Rahman. Her heart tightened as she held the letter that never arrived at its destination.
By Pen to Publish10 months ago in Fiction
The Last Train
Eleanor stood on the cracked concrete platform of the train station, the wind tugging at the hem of her coat, the evening air nipping through the material. Her suitcase, a battered leather affair that had seen too many years, rested firmly on the ground beside her feet. It contained all she had left, all she could carry away.Everything else was gone—thrown away like memories that no longer had a place in the life she had left behind.The city itself was a remote, stifling presence now. Its sound, its heartbeat, the constant hum of cars and people—it had assaulted her for too long. There was no room for her anymore in its narrow streets and smog-filled air. Every place had some memory of the past she was trying to get away from, but it was always there, lurking in the recesses of her mind.She looked up when the distant train whistle cut through the air and gave her a shiver. She didn't know where the train was headed and didn't even bother to try to learn. She only knew the train was in motion, and that was just as good for her. Her hand clenched around the suitcase handle, and she stepped closer to the tracks. The platform was deserted at this hour of the night, the dim orange lights creating long, solitary shadows. The city was closing down for the night, but Eleanor's world had ended.The train's roar grew louder, the thrumming vibrations making the ground tremble hard beneath her.The headlights of the approaching train sparkled through the smog haze, shining with an otherworldly glow in the dense, dirty air. It was a dream—distant and unreal—but it was happening. It had to be. There was no going back now. The train glided into the station in a shrieking halt, the wheels complaining on the tracks, and the doors slid open.There was a vortex of sound and activity as they streamed out, their faces vague and dark in the bad light. Eleanor stepped forward, breathing in the metallic scent of the train and the subtle smell of used leather.The cold of the air nipped at her skin as she got to the conductor, who was waiting at the door.Ticket?" he asked, his tone crisp and businesslike.Eleanor pulled the creased, half-creased ticket out of her coat pocket, her hands trembling a little. She passed it over in silence, and the conductor took a brief look at it before nodding.Final destination, he announced, his voice totally devoid of feeling. "Get out when we arrive.".She didn't respond, merely nodded in appreciation as she got on board. The interior of the train was dimly lit, and the seats groaned, were worn out, and hard. There was dust and leather in the air, a faint reminder of the years that the train had been running. Eleanor spotted an empty seat by the window and sat down, pulling her suitcase in close to her feet. She gazed out of the window as the station, and then the city, gradually disappeared into the evening darkness. The train jolted forward, the engine coming to life, and Eleanor felt a slight, almost imperceptible release. It was as though the city had been holding her captive for far too long, and now, as the train started to carry her away from it, she felt the strain inside her start to dissipate.She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so liberated, so unencumbered. Her fingers traced the ripped seams of her jacket, and she couldn't help but think about how it had all come to this. The arguments. The deceptions. The times she'd been invisible, suffocated beneath the weight of expectations and hollow promises of a life she didn't want. The life she'd been meant to accept. When did things go so awry? She recalled the day she'd packed her bags—how she'd stood before the mirror, gazing at the reflection of the woman she once was, the woman she'd worked so tirelessly to become. She'd gazed at a total stranger. It was then that she realized she needed to escape. The train swayed back and forth, and Eleanor's eyes closed, her forehead resting against the cold glass of the window. Her mind wandered back to what she had left—her small apartment with the shattered windows, the unspoken words between her and her family. There was no place for her there now. No home. Not in the sense that she understood. She opened her eyes once more and looked out into the distance in front of her. The city was behind her now, a blur on the horizon of the rearview mirror of her life. In front of her lay the emptiness. The conductor's words echoed in her ears: Last stop. Eleanor had no idea where this train was headed, but she was not worried about that. She wasn't fleeing; she was going forward, train ride by train ride. She would meet whatever was in front of her head-on. She wasn't looking for a new place to live. She was looking for herself. The train rumbled onward into the darkness, its wheels softly clacking along the tracks, and Eleanor, for the first time in years, allowed herself to believe that she was headed somewhere where she could finally breathe.
By Pen to Publish10 months ago in Fiction
The Forgotten Letter
Emily Carter found the old wooden box in her grandmother's attic on a chilly November afternoon in Boston. Dust floated in the golden light streaming through a small window, and the air smelled of aged paper and forgotten memories. She had spent countless summers here as a child, but this box was something she had never seen before.
By Pen to Publish11 months ago in Fiction
