The Glass Inkwell

On rereading a beloved series, craft study done right, and why you don't actually want to write like your favorite author

Cressida Vale has opinions. She has been given the blog. This was either a brilliant idea or a catastrophic one — possibly both.

On editing Vale & Stone Book 2 and what waits in the shadows of a town I thought I knew There's a version of Blackvale that most people never see. Not because it's hidden, exactly. More because it requires a certain willingness — to stay past closing time, to take the long way home, to linger in the kind of light that turns ordinary storefronts into something else entirely. Something older. Something that breathes. I've been deep in the editing trenches of Vale & Stone Book 2

Ghost tours are a funny thing. Everyone pretends they’re there ironically. For the history. For the vibes. For the camp. We insist we’re not scared even as we cluster closer together, listening a little too carefully, glancing over our shoulders when the guide’s voice drops. I went on mine at night, when St. Augustine feels like it’s holding its breath. Cobblestones slick with age and humidity. Streetlamps casting that specific kind of light that turns every shadow into a pos

Some places don’t ask who you are. They ask who you’re becoming. I arrived at Bliss By The Sea  the way I arrive at most new places. A little tired. A little guarded. Carrying more versions of myself than would comfortably fit in a carry-on. From the street, the hotel looks composed. Confident. All clean lines and colonial symmetry, like it knows exactly what it’s doing and doesn’t need your opinion about it. The front facade is polite. Well-mannered. It says welcome  in the

"Discover the cozy mystery 'Murder at the Midsummer Feast' by J.P. White, now available on Amazon. Dive into a world of gothic vibes, small-town secrets, and a feast turned nightmare, available in both ebook and print." There is a very specific kind of joy that sneaks up on you while writing a book. Not the fireworks kind. More like the quiet hum you feel when the scene clicks, the characters stop arguing with you, and suddenly you are smiling at your screen like it just told

If you give a writer a summer festival—all sunshine and celebration and communal joy—they will inevitably imagine someone dying there. I don't make the rules. I just follow them with enthusiasm and a notebook. (Don't blame me. Blame the vibes. Blame the fact that nothing says "prime murder opportunity" quite like a crowded event where everyone's drinking cider and pretending to like their neighbors while secretly nursing decades-old grudges.) The Midsummer Feast & Fair in Mur

Happy New Year! I'm starting 2026 the most on-brand way possible: with a dead body. (In fiction. Obviously. I promise no actual murders were committed in the making of this announcement.) Today—January 1st, 2026— Murder at the Midsummer Feast  is officially out in the world. Which means you can now spend your New Year's Day exactly how it should be spent: curled up with tea, a blanket, and a mystery that starts with summer sunshine and ends with secrets bleeding through the f

I genuinely thought I’d coast into the new year with a mug of tea, a blanket, and zero surprises. But apparently I’m ringing in January 1st with… fictional crime. As one does. Somehow — and I’m still not convinced time works correctly — I came up with the idea for Vale & Stone just a few months ago, and now their first case is practically knocking on the door, asking if I’ve got room for one more in my end-of-year chaos. (Answer: always.) So yes, it’s happening. Murder at the

There’s something people don’t tell you when you decide to write a “cozy gothic murder mystery.” Namely: Everyone has an opinion about what that phrase is supposed to mean. Cozy readers expect warm drinks, low stakes, and the guarantee that the cat survives. Gothic fans want decaying manors, ancestral curses, and at least one scene where someone drifts dramatically down a hallway with a candle. And mystery diehards… oh, they have spreadsheets. Meanwhile, I’m over here like: “

There’s a particular kind of quiet magic that lives in late-night reruns. The soft hum of the TV, the glow flickering across a dark living room, and the crunch of cereal that was definitely more sugar than grain — these were the rituals of my childhood. That liminal time between homework and bedtime when the world softened at the edges and anything felt possible. When I sat cross-legged on the couch, remote in hand, letting fictional strangers teach me how to be human. Thes

Welcome to a Town That Probably Should Come With a Warning Label Every town has quirks. Mine has… more . The kind of “more” where the fog doesn’t simply roll in—it sweeps dramatically across the street like it has a main-character complex. Church bells chime at hours no church committee ever approved. And at least one cat is always perched on a wrought-iron railing, judging you with the withering disdain of a Victorian magistrate who’s deeply disappointed in your life choic