Jane Greensmith

As a native of Colorado and a first-generation American, I instinctively look west. All my life, layers of blue mountains have shaped my horizon, and the endless prairie ends at my home in the foothills of the Rockies. Sometimes my mountains are swathed in snow, sometimes they're dry and desolate. But they're always enchanting. They dictate our wind and our weather. They magnetize and electrify our lives. They hold a promise of riches and are a great equalizer. They are unforgiving. They are fragile.

My stories are shaped by my landscape. Whether I write of Regency England or Boulder, Colorado or places and spaces in between, I retell the myths born out of living in a land of little water and great beauty. I do believe the landscape of the mind is formed by one's physical landscape, and therein lies the soul of my tales.