On Magic and Spirituality in Story
By Vaughn Roycroft | February 27, 2023 |
It might be a surprise to some of you that, when it comes to magic in story, WU’s resident fantasy geek (yours truly) is not the most ardent proponent. This is the case in regard to both my reading taste and my storytelling. A simple internet search of the essential elements of a fantasy story reveals how odd this is. Most every list contains the existence of magic, and the majority have magic at the top. Seems like a skillful marketer of epic fantasy would lean in to an element like that, doesn’t it?
Setting aside my lack of marketing skill, it’s not that I always dislike magic in stories. I am very fussy about it, though. There’s a lot of talk in SFF communities about hard versus soft magic systems—hard magic systems being the most well-explained and intricate. Heck, I’m not even fond of the word “systems” when used in conjunction with magic. For me, explaining magic makes it more like science. I like magic to have an unknowable quality to it. I like magic to be just beyond the grasp, of the characters and thereby of the reader.
In addition, since my favorite part of storytelling, as a reader and a writer, is character exploration, I like it when magic is used to reveal something about the characters. I want magic that pushes their boundaries, creates conflicts, and adds obstacles and nuance to the circumstance they’re navigating. I’m not interested in magic that presents easy solutions. I also consider magic to be akin to a character’s spiritual development. Not necessarily their relationship to religion, but religion and spiritualism are often connected—even if it’s an adverse or contentious association.
Getting to the core of what it is about magic and spiritualism that I feel enhances a story is a sense of wonder. I don’t consider it something that’s exclusive to SFF or speculative fiction. I love stories of any genre that can incite me to feel it, even as an underlying feature.
Sense of Wonder
As we often do, let’s lay down some definitions for this discussion.
Magic—the power to influence the course of events by using mysterious or supernatural forces. Or, the use of means which are believed to have supernatural power over natural forces.
Spirituality—the quality of being concerned with the human spirit or soul as opposed to material or physical things.
Spiritualism—the assertion that the spirit exists as distinct from matter. Or, the belief that the spirit is the prime element of reality.
Religion—the belief in and worship of superhuman power or powers. Or, a system of faith, belief, and worship; a personal set, or institutional system, of attitudes, beliefs, and practices.
Wonder—(for today’s purposes, let’s use Merriam-Webster’s #3) rapt attention or astonishment at something awesomely mysterious or new to one’s experience. Or, a sense of uncertainty or doubt.
Transcendence—extending beyond the limits of ordinary experience.
I’m just finishing up reading a sprawling epic fantasy. The world-building is phenomenal, the scale of the story is gigantic, and the political maneuvering is elaborate. And I’ve been wondering why the story is feeling flat, lifeless. The story has kept me intrigued enough to keep going, but just barely. As I considered writing this post, it hit me: it’s failing to incite a sense of wonder. There is little in the way of overt magic in the story, which for me would typically be a good thing. There is, however, a set of deities, and we actually get to experience their interactions with one another. You’d think that would do it, wouldn’t you? But I don’t have to wonder whether or not these gods are interfering in human affairs, or even tipping the scales. Let alone whether or not they actually exist. These deities are right there, on the page, telling me exactly what they’re up to.
For me, my rapt attention or astonishment has been wiped away by this lack of mysteriousness.
I’ve noticed a compulsion by some storytellers to explain the magic. As if they need to define a consensus reality for the reader. When I look at the definitions above, the key terms are: mysterious; belief; assertion; personal; uncertainty; and doubt. Why would I want to take those very human aspects of life out of my story?
Can astonishment exist without mystery, novelty, uncertainty, or doubt? I suppose rapt attention can be gained without them, but to me they feel like excellent tools to use in seeking it.
When I’m told in a story what to believe, what is certain—if I’m taken by the hand and shown a consensus reality—it can diminish my sense of wonder. On the other hand, if I’m experiencing the story’s world from the characters’ shoes, with a grasp of their beliefs, uncertainties, and doubts, my attention is more likely to be rapt. I’m more likely to be led to astonishment. I’m more likely to gain a sense of wonder.
Mysterious Or Clueless?
When I started writing my first story set in Dania, I was clueless about the elements of fantasy. Honestly, I really didn’t exactly know which genre the work might fit into. I think my early cluelessness turned into an advantage. I found my way to a level of magical inclusions, and sought a portrayal of spiritualism, without striving to meet any perceived guideline or genre requirement.
So what did a fantasy writer who doesn’t particularly love magic end up with, magic-wise? By the definitions above, there are two main aspects of my storytelling that are magical. So far, that is. The first involves human interaction with the story-world’s deities. This comes primarily in the form of the imbuement of humans by a deity. This divine gift provides characters with elevated skill, endurance, and valor in battle. There are also instances where characters claim to hear, and even to speak with the voice of, another deity. Mind you, both of these types of interaction are presented to the reader as the perceptions or claims of characters.
I think most of us have heard claims of interaction with the supernatural, and a few of you might even have perceived to have had an interaction yourself. We all have to choose which of those perceptions or claims to believe, and to what degree. As in: does the claimant truly believe it? Are they in their right mind? Also, is there an agenda in the claim, whether it’s apparent or veiled, innocent or willfully deceptive?
The second type of magic I have always utilized in my storytelling is foresight—particularly as it relates to prophecy. I’ve always been intrigued when someone claims to know the future. Of course any real foresight would be magic, as it would undeniably be a supernatural power that could be used to influence an outcome over the natural world.
I’ve lived with the claims of foresight around me throughout my life—many of them made in the name of religion. Even at an early age I began to notice how the claims changed as any error in the foretelling grew likely or apparent. I’ve often found myself questioning the motives of the claimant, even if I found myself believing that they believed their claims.
In the use of both types—interaction with divinity and foresight—I portray my characters questioning their own beliefs and perceptions, as well as the beliefs and perceptions, and motives, of others. I hope the mysterious aspects of the portrayal invite the reader to form their own questions. Which I hope will offer a sense of wonder. But then again, I may still be clueless when it comes to magic.
From the Mundane to Transcendence
I can look back on big chunks of my life during which I was consumed by what I’ll call mundane living. It’s not that these periods were uninteresting or dull, it’s just that all of my time and attention were devoted to ordinary, material goals. You know: getting food on the table, gas in the tank, a proper night’s sleep—even getting caught up with a favorite show. I particularly recall feeling this way during the years when my wife and I were in the business world. Don’t get me wrong, they were wonderful years, full of fond memories and proud achievements, and I wouldn’t change a thing about them. But in hindsight they sort of blur together.
After we sold our stake and moved to our cottage, I immersed myself in reading fiction again. For me, particularly at that time, reading became like a form of meditation. Through reading, I was able to still my mind, and create a state of openness. Once I was open, I found myself able to consider not just the work of the author, but the bigger questions good fiction so often commends. Story, of most any genre, so often extols us to consider things beyond the mundane. Particularly story conveyed through literature, as reading can provide us with the meditative space–the time and openness–for such consideration.
Things like: the nature of friendship, of loyalty, of love. Or even bigger, existential things. What is the nature of consciousness? Is it a fluke, a byproduct of our species’ striving for survival? Is it natural selection gone wild? Or something deeper, more meaningful? And what does the subconscious know about it? Are the dreams of man forever seeking to inform us, to guide us to a higher level? And of course there’s the mother-lode: what is the nature of mortality?
By the definitions above, this is the very essence of seeking spirituality. By stepping free of the mundane, we readers and writers of fiction are, in our own time and way, seeking transcendence—to extend our understanding beyond the limits of our ordinary experience.
Looking back, I think my storytelling began as an extension of the seeking implored of me by reading fiction. I have striven to create characters seeking their own answers. I’ve put them on their own quests for their own version of spirituality as a means of better grasping my own.
Today I can see that, through storytelling, I continue to strive for transcendence. The only way the quest could be made any better is if I manage to implore others to step free of the mundane, and to strive for their own transcendence.
How’s that for putting magic in story?
How do you like your magic, WU? Do you long for a sense of wonder in your reading? Have you been able to step away from the mundane much lately? Do you think that your writing journey is a means of striving for transcendence?
Vaughn Roycroft’s (he/him) teacher gave him a copy of The Hobbit in the 6th grade, sparking a lifelong passion for reading and history. After college, life intervened, and Vaughn spent twenty years building a successful business. During those years, he and his wife built a getaway cottage near their favorite shoreline, in a fashion that would make the elves of Rivendell proud. After many milestone achievements, and with the mantra ‘life’s too short,’ they left their hectic lives in the business world, moved to their little cottage, and Vaughn finally returned to writing. Now he spends his days striving to finish his epic fantasy series.
I like my magic conscious. I take a spontaneous what-if premise into my writing space and let it unfold in a natural supernatural way. Creating novels steeped in mythology with imaginative elements of spiritual science is an extension of playful beliefs (definitely not a ‘system’) inspired by the ‘Desiderata’ as a parallel literary universe unfolding as it should.
Hey Veronica — Oh how I love the phrase, “…and let it unfold in a natural supernatural way.” I enjoy the addition of mythology very much, and I think magic can be a wonderful part of it. Thanks much for weighing in! Here’s to natural supernatural unfolding (so great).
Holy crap, Roy! I’m only halfway through my coffee and you’ve driven me back upstairs to the writing chair after a long drought. Born a lawbreaker, I also don’t care for fiction laying down the laws of magic and I think readers are getting tired of it. All that you’ve shared here comes on top of a dream visitation by a very bossy and as yet undeveloped character who just demanded second billing in my WIP. Prophecy and clairvoyance will intersect at danger. You can bet I’m a believer. Thank you!
Hey Deb — Ah, my day is made. I love the idea of the storytelling of born lawbreakers! I’m so delighted to have been in a tag-team situation with a very bossy character, and to have inspired you to get to the page. Thanks for letting me know!
I think you nailed it when you talked about not feeling a sense of wonder, Vaughn. As a lover of magic, myth, and lore, I, too, have been disappointed by the flatness in some of the Fantasy I’ve read. I think it comes down to craft. Is the ‘world’ unfolding through the eyes and heart of the characters, or am I being bombed with exposition about the rules? I felt, when reading the Severing Son, that you showed me the world through your characters. The magic felt organic, as did the spiritual beliefs of the various players. When this is done well, the ‘system’ becomes a given for me. If I believe in the characters and am engaged by their story, I’ll happily live in that world for the duration.
Aw shucks, Susan — I’ve been so honored and humbled by your support. And I’m delighted that the magic worked as intended for someone I trust and admire. As an aside, I get a very strong feeling that you’re living life in a way that strives beyond the mundane. Just taking a look at your IG profile tells that tale. As always, I’m so grateful!
Hello Vaughn. Thank you for your thoughtful examination of magic, and what it means to you. At the end, you ask your readers a number of questions, beginning with how they like their magic. In general (but not entirely), I like mine when the sense of magic is achieved without wands or piercing gazes. In other words, without magic.
As you say elsewhere in your post, you sometimes think magic is used to simplify the demands of storytelling. I’m with you on that. I see magic as serving as a kind of fix (but not a quick one), a means of liberating the writer from the world we know. Instead of confronting our reality, she concentrates on the complexities of magic systems and world-building. She sets it in a fictional distant past, a radically altered present, or future. The same can be said of sex and extreme violence. For most of us, the real world isn’t wall-to-wall lust and carnage, but they “work,” and get a lot of use.
The fantasist will probably argue that we don’t know how much we don’t know, and that if the imagination can free us from “the surly bonds of earth,” all the better. I don’t happen to agree, but I take nothing from serious fantasy and science fiction writers. For instance, you have educated me on how SFF can take up political questions that have become all but impossible to deal with in terms of strict realism.
About “wonder”: I would match that word with “delight.” I don’t need paranormal this-and-that to enjoy wonder and delight on reading the following sentence. It’s taken from Agatha Christie’s Cards on the Table. The writer has just described a stout woman’s struggle to extricate herself from a small car, a woman who loves apples: “With a final determined heave and a sharp shove with the knee against a recalcitrant door, Mrs. Oliver arrived a little too suddenly on the sidewalk outside the gate of Wendon Cottage, showering apples cores freely around her as she did so.” Action, character, wit—it’s all there. I am filled with wonder and delight.
Hey Barry — You make many excellent points here. I’m with you on skipping the wands and hypnotic gazes. I like what you’re saying about the distance gained through world-building, and I doubt we’re as far apart as you would guess. For me, it was essential that the world I convey has enough familiarity that the reader is grounded in reality. It’s why I leaned so heavily on actual history.
I also love your addition of delight, and the way that you define it and tie it to wonder. Very cool example, too. My inclusion of other genres in the piece may have felt like lip-service, but I honestly believe there can be magic and wonder in most any genre. Thanks for enhancing the conversation so richly.
Hey, Vaughn — thanks for your thoughtful post. I think this is something we could discuss into the wee hours! Wonder, supported by consistent values and logic, is the essential to magic for me. Moral magic, as in the great question, “Whom does the Grail serve?” with its inherent requirement of context and connection, makes magic work for me. That way a protagonist can grow into her/his magic through her/his own growth, and exercise its power in a way consistent with her/his character. What a challenge for an author! (and one I am facing in my current WIP).
Hi Lloyd — I certainly agree, this is one we could carry into the wee hours, for sure. I had so much to say about it that I had to stop and redirect and focus my thoughts several times as I drafted it. Moral magic is an excellent addition to the conversation, as well. I do enjoy the magical mentor/mentee trope, as well. Thanks for your thoughtful additions, my friend!
Hey Vaughn – Thank you for this against-the-grain post. Indeed, no fantasy novel these days seems to be complete without an elaborate concept of magic, and some of these concepts are miracles of imagination. Being the rational person that I am, I like magic that’s logical and that works like any other scientific principle. Except that it doesn’t work for everyone, but only for a subset of the population. That, to me, is the essence of magic: A natural law with exceptions. Awe and wonder, on the other hand, stem from those things that cannot be explained (yet) and that transcend magic and veer into spirituality.
That said, in my own writing of fantasy, magic plays no role whatsoever, and the only unexplained element is an opinionated sword. I as well am fascinated by the characters in a novel, and if it takes a magic system to showcase their strengths and weaknesses and humanity (or lack thereof), I bow to the authors who can pull it off without getting bogged down in their cool magic systems to the detriment of character development.
Definitely a subject with lots of room for discussion.
Hey LK — First things first: an opinionated sword is one of the coolest unexplained elements ever! I think we’re probably pretty close to one another, although I do prefer soft magic “systems.” I have enjoyed fairly elaborate magic systems in stories. Quite a few of them, actually. But you also hit on the critical key to that enjoyment –how it relates to the development of the characters.
Thanks for all of your awesome support, my friend. Here’s to not getting bogged down, and getting to the strengths, weaknesses, and humanity of characters. Can’t wait to see your stories in print!
This post lent levity to my WIP in which one of my characters reveals himself as a spirit/ghost. I hadn’t intended this until (in a dream) a ghost inserted himself into the story. (A bit of mystery, that dream.) Thanks for sharing.
Hi Arvilla — Darn sneaky ghosts are like that, being all mysterious, coming via dreams. Here’s to levity and happy and surprising additions. And to the sense of wonder they can inspire. Thank you!
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are found in your philosophy.” I may be slightly mis-quoting Hamlet, but that line always sums up so well for me the idea of the mysterious and the unexplainable in a story. It’s what I enjoy in magical realism (which almost never explains, thankfully) as well as a lot of fantasy, so I’m inclined to agree with you on the whole sense of wonder front. :-) I don’t mind if the magic has a consistent system–in fact, inconsistency/discontinuity will throw me out of the story–but I don’t need it spelled out (er, no pun intended) to the point where there’s no surprise, no stakes or emotional connection. The human aspects, as you put it.
It can be tough, as a writer, to balance the delicate bubble of mysteriousness without letting it pop. But one of the things I love most about a magic/mythical system done well, is the extra resonance for the characters and the reader: transformation, transcendence, heightening the emotional experience beyond the rational. Brighter highlights, deeper shadows…ok, that’s just good storytelling, period! Good food for thought today, thanks!
Hey Alisha — Even slightly mis-quoting The Bard is almost always a fitting addition to any conversation. Another great addition is how inconsistency can throw one out of the story. I also like when magic has consequences, which is more consistent with magic on the harder end of the scale, I suppose. The delicate bubble is a wonderful metaphor for how tricky this darn thing can be. But I bet we can agree that it’s worth pursuing the perfect balance.
Glad to have provided the food for thought! Thanks for the thoughtful addition. :)
Vaughn, I am a short distance into Haruki Murakami’s “Kafka on the Shore,” which has discrete, developing storylines that are beginning to intersect. The chapter I just read has a character with a brain impairment from his childhood (a mysterious incident, as depicted so far) and one of the results is that he can talk to cats. The conversation (the first in the book) he has with a cat in this chapter is magical in its banality.
The cat is attentive and conversant, but essentially says “OK, whatever” to the other character. As you might imagine, from having had conversations with cats, as I have, their apparent indifference is clear, though they never speak English back to me. To me, the very mundane exchange they had was magical in the context of the book (which suggests odd portents to come) and in its everyday description.
As for transcendent experiences, I’m trying to find little sparks in everyday things, since I can get fairly low at times. Today, it is wet and blustery, and the wind has been throwing the plum and apricot blossoms (which seem early to me) around our driveway and backyard, and seeing them whizzing around gave me a moment.
Hey Tom — I’ve been meaning to read Murakami, who is getting great traction on Fantasy BookTube (which is mostly populated with much younger readers, so that’s heartening). Is ‘Kafka’ a good place to start? I’ve heard several readers name it their favorite.
I haven’t lived with a cat in years, but the indifference is unforgettable. And seems pretty much unalterable. I love the mysterious portending you describe. As I do the thought of the blossoms blowing. Definitely has the sad beauty and seems to portend a sort of beautiful decline (especially considering our most recent conversation about climate change). I recently heard The Lord of the Rings described as being fundamentally about reconciling oneself to loss and the passing of all known things (by fantasy author Scott Lynch) and I haven’t been able to get it out of my head since.
Thanks for the thoughtful addition. Wishing you beauty and heartening and spirit-raising augurs, my friend.
Vaughn, “Kafka” is a delight so far, but I’m only 40-50 pages in, so I can’t give you a full rec. But the structure and the confidence of the writing make me think it’s going to be great (if sometimes puzzling). I have “Norwegian Wood” too to read later, which is also one of his acclaimed ones. If you don’t believe me, ask a cat.
Vaughn, this post is timely for me as I am in the final stages of writing a supernatural tale of magick and romance. While I am experienced in writing supernatural ghost stories, writing in the magickal world was slow going and maddening. But I loved it. A brand new adventure. I am not scifi at all; I prefer natural magickal worlds (like water magick). For me, it’s all about the mysterious other worlds of magickal powers. I like when you say writers are ‘seeking transcendence—to extend our understanding beyond the limits of our ordinary experience.’ It’s like diving in cold water that is far too deep and wide to handle, but boy oh boy is it ever beautiful when you come up for air under the big sky. Wonderful post today!
Hey Paula — I’m loving the image created by the spelling of magick. It’s putting me right onto the path to experiencing a sense of wonder. I also love your metaphor of diving into cold water. Gorgeous addition to the conversation, Paula, thanks! Here’s to the beauty found upon bursting out and finding ourselves under the big sky.
I remember an interview with Madeline Miller, about how very early in her work she ran up against the same problem you described, which she called “Are centaurs real?” She thought the answer “yes” would take her in a more fulfilling direction, so she went with it.
I am making the complete opposite decision, actually for Madeline’s reasons, and for the same reasons you describe– my story largely deals in the mundane details of the world, and I wanted the supernatural leaking in very slightly around the edges for that sense of transcendence.
And, for extra fun, my first-person protagonist is largely unaware of it. Prayers are answered and he has true prophetic dreams, but he only catches, I dunno, twenty percent of this. The rest is there as a reward for the reader, for thinking deeply about the story structure.
Let me just start by saying: Isn’t Madeline Miller a delight? I had the good fortune to meet her, and all of that magical goodness and wisdom come right through in person. I do like what both she and you are saying. I think magical interruption of the mundane world can be rapt-inducing, and — better still — it has great potential for astonishment.
Thanks for sharing, and I wish your poor protagonist the very best, lol.
This one really resonates for me, Vaughn. Like several other writers here today, my WIP involves magic in an otherwise mundane present. No magical swords, dragons, sparkly vampires, potions, or books, but I do have an ancient carving that offers great “abilities.” Unfortunately, there’s no users’ manual. My MC wants nothing to do with it, but a lot of other characters both human and otherwise do (it’s a trilogy), so tribulations ensue. The main connection to your discussion is that the magic (and we will accept *magick*) cannot be tapped without consequences. Specifically, rapid aging on the part of the tapper. The more impressive the action, the sooner you’re a goner. What’s a hero to do?
Damn, Michael, that’s one helluva premise for the incorporation of magic(k)! You also mention magic needing consequences, which I neglected to mention in the piece, but I think it’s critical to my enjoyment. Thanks for the solid addition to the conversation, my friend. Wishing you the best with the trilogy!
Hi Vaughn! This was fabulous to read! You’ve give me a lot to think about. I think your post is about so much more than magic. The ideas you are discussing transcends genre. I write women’s fiction with romantic elements and I don’t have any fantasy-based magic in my story and yet I want to have magic in my story. The part of what you wrote that most resonated with me is the idea that we as humans don’t go around explaining our experiences to other people. We are unpredictable and surprising to be around. We don’t explain what we think or do or say most of the time to ourselves or other people most of the time. We just do what we think makes sense to us at the time. And then things happen as a result of what we did and that perhaps cause us to further reflect on who we are and why we do what we do. It’s through the living of life that we understand who we are and who we want to become. And I think this is also true for our characters. So, my big takeaway is that I don’t need to explain things to the reader. I think I’m going to let the reader have the experience for themselves rather than telling them what to think and feel. I’m going to let me characters be who they are and let other characters be who they are and put them together and see what happens. I’m not going to tell them what to think or feel either. I’m going to let them have their own experience as well. Each person’s experience is comprised of a physical experience, an emotional experience, a thinking experience and spiritual experience. And when we put those elements together in a way that makes sense to the character, we can create awe-filled moments for both the characters and the reader. The magic is in the discovery of ourselves. And this is true for the characters and us the writers, and the readers. Again, thanks for writing such a thoughtful piece.
Hi Diana — Reading your insightful and thoughtful response makes my heart happy. I totally agree with you, that there is so much to discuss about this topic, and that it transcends genre. Btw, I actually enjoy reading women’s fiction with romantic elements, very much. And from what I’m seeing about the very astute approach you are taking, I definitely will watch for yours.
Thanks for letting me know that it resonated, and for sharing your very wise thoughts on the subject. Wishing you the very best!
The gift of friendship is a kind of transcendence, kind of magic. When we understand what a character seeks and are able to create barriers that we know he or she can overcome, that is transcendence. It might emanate from the soul, though in fiction, I often feel it comes from love, from the heart. In my WIP there is so-called “magic” but it is the magic of making connections, of seeking revelation in the presence of a black dog, a yard sale doll…it is comfort which in the context of suffering IS a spiritual experience. So much written here to today is inspiring. I credit that with this forum and the writers and thinkers who share their ideas. I find magic here. It might even be spiritual. (Sorry for the late post, Beth)
Hey Beth — I’m so glad you write from the heart. That creates the very best sort of fiction, in my opinion. And I so agree with you about the magic that can be found here. Don’t ever worry about when you comment on WU — we’re open 24/7. Thanks for being a part of the magic here. Wishing you the best!
I love this so much Vaughn: “Today I can see that, through storytelling, I continue to strive for transcendence. The only way the quest could be made any better is if I manage to implore others to step free of the mundane, and to strive for their own transcendence.”
Thank you for giving me so much to think about (and strive for) this evening.
Hi Liz! I’m so glad the piece resonated for you. Here’s to striving side-by-side. Thanks for all of your support, my friend!
This was a really interesting and nuanced post, Vaughn. I’ve never seen this topic discussed quite like this before. I loved this, where you were talking about the questions you began to ask yourself in your cabin as you read more and began to write:
“Things like: the nature of friendship, of loyalty, of love. Or even bigger, existential things. What is the nature of consciousness? Is it a fluke, a byproduct of our species’ striving for survival? Is it natural selection gone wild? Or something deeper, more meaningful? And what does the subconscious know about it? Are the dreams of man forever seeking to inform us, to guide us to a higher level? And of course there’s the mother-lode: what is the nature of mortality?”
Big, big questions and I agree that through our writing (and reading), we’re truly seeking the answers to these questions. And to answer your question, I love magic in stories, too, (especially love a good witch story) but like you, I prefer it less developed and grandiose. It does, in fact, lose its sense of wonder once it becomes part of a complex world and has clearly defined rules. Great post!
Hi Heather! Aren’t we lucky, that our passion led us to an enterprise that gets us thinking and feeling like this? Ooo, I often love witch stories, too – that’s the perfect vehicle for the sort of magic I think we both like. Thanks so much for reading and for your kind praise, my friend!
You know, I’ve come at magic many different ways throughout my life, and I still love them all.
Your description of reading as meditation really tickled my brain today. I miss that feeling. I need to find a pocket of hours and kick back with a good book.