"I am that very witch..."

the sensory aesthetics of 'Fireside Magic'

Hello friends,

I write to you as best I can, with frozen fingers and numb toes! I’ve recently returned from playing ‘witch of the woods’ - on the coldest day of winter. Frost rimed root and branch, I lay upon leaves gnarled with ice, and my breath hung in the air like a cloud. A steely sky whispered of snow.

What inspired this wintry expedition? Well, my book Fireside Magic was published yesterday. To celebrate, I thought I’d share these photos, alongside sensory aesthetics for each story in the Fireside Magic collection.

(I was inspired to try this trend by author Lyndall Clipstone, whose beautiful books are a delight for the senses).

---

Auntie Hare

the fizz of champagne; moonlit October fields; family folklore spoken in hushed whispers; soap-scented tearooms; lilac envelopes with wax seals; silken limbs and porcelain skin; a drop of blood on satin sheets; perfumed twilight; a tawny hare cavorting under the stars; creeping into secret chambers; sacred spells uttered to the moon.

Granny Black

cracked mirrors veiled in lace; solitary mourners trooping between graves; the tang of salt, a hiss of fat; the brush of your sister’s hair tickling your cheek; shadows gliding up the wall; a spectral hound with eyes like moonbeams; gut-wrenching nausea; fevered pleas murmured under the bedcovers; lips sealed with spells; the mantel clock ticking closer to the witching hour; orb-bellied spiders; the scuttle of dried leaves; a whisk of otherworld cold.

The Raven Knight

pulse fluttering like a moth’s wingbeat; crying out in sleep; clammy skin following a night terror; fogged windows; December mist; the comforting weight of pewter; trees laced with mist and memory; tombstones crowned in ivy; a breath of winter; the rattled of corroded armour; a blade pressed to throat; musty air that tastes of bitter earth; opalescent light shimmering across your vision like gauze; the lonely flight of a circling crow.

Blackthorn Winter

the bitter stab of winter; smoky fires; the prick of thorns; twirling in the drifts; a single candle burning against the depths of winter; the pungent warmth of the byre; white locks twined around branches; numb fingers and toes; rowan charms pressed to your breast; dawn prayers for snowdrops; snow gilding the mountain top like a crown.

The Coming of Brìde

a grim manse at the wood’s edge; emerald velvet; neck stiff from reading; discordant wailing; snowy feathers; strained whispers from the wood; thunder bruising the sky; eldritch cold; fist-sized hailstones; library shelves thick with dust; inky scribbles in the margins of ancient tomes; shared secrets; ghosts in the glass; candle wax dripping on leaves; wounds opened for the forest; the snap of bone; a lock of hair pressed to the earth; one sister’s hand linked with another’s.

As you know, witches and magic are the main inspirations behind Fireside Magic.

Something which I kept in mind throughout writing the stories is an inscription on a local stone, erected in memory of the women killed as ‘witches’ during the Scottish Witch Hunts:

Simple but powerful. The nuanced interweaving of witchcraft, folk magic, and fairy belief is outwith the scope of this post, but I hope that Fireside Magic strikes a balance between the fear of uncanny practices, respect for the wronged, and celebration of the unseen forces that breathe life into every cell and keep the seasons turning.

Read Fireside Magic now on Kindle, Kobo, and my website. Currently, it’s on offer at a special launch price of 3.99. You can also get my first book for just 1.99 during launch week!