For a while now, I've flirted with the idea of beginning a newsletter. But... the hyper promotional "buy now," "OMG I have a sale!!" "you need to do this or you're doing EVERYTHING WRONG!!!!1!!" feel of many newsletters is just gross.
I knew that if I were to put out anything for you lovely people that it would have to be something that I would not only love to put together, but that I would love to receive. Time is too precious to all of us and I don't have time to waste writing words that none of you want to read.
Conversations with a few dear friends on twitter guided my thoughts and in the end the idea coalesced into something that is nostalgic (especially for you 90's witches,) wistful, and potentially inspiring at times. It's also about as un-newslettery as a newsletter can be -while still providing you, dear readers, with something of value.
Every Dark Moon, I'm going to write you a letter. It will be filled with musings, tales of my latest adventures (did I mention I'm traveling about the country again?) and filled with practical, experienced based witchcraft that you can put to use now. None of that sparkly-crystals-light-a-candle-and-think-happy-thoughts shit (because we all know I could only fake that for half a paragraph) but pragmatic witchery that I've used effectively and want to pass on to you because I know it works. Plus, I want to babble to you all about random witchcraft centered things that are perhaps too intimate for a blog post and too convoluted for social media. And, because I love you, there will be offers for free bone readings every now and then, too.
Consider me your penpal you never have to write back to (though I'd love it if you ever do!) If a once a Dark Moon letter from a witch-friend sounds good, you can subscribe here. Of course, as someone who tends to be reclusive more often than not, your privacy is respected and email addresses will never be used for anything other than this Dark Moon Newsletter.
First newsletter comes out this next Monday, November 28!
The road crawled lazily across a landscape rich in texture and dominated by hues of burnt yellow and dusty browns. It was easy going, a gentle road over gentle hills. In the distance no more than 20 yards from the edge of the road, something caught my eye.
A tree stood, solitary. It was a gnarled beast, growing out in two directions rather than up. A contradiction to itself, one side was vibrant, a kaleidoscope of Autumn colors; the side closest to the road was dry, dead, the bark peeled away by the relentless wind let bone white wood shine through.
From that bone dry branch hung a body. Its face, swollen with the early stages of decomposition, bulged above the length of rope wound about its neck and flung over the tree branch. The body hung heavily, as swollen rotting bodies are wont to do, but managed to find the desire to swing with a breeze that didn’t touch any of the surrounding vegetation.
Throwing the Bones