How I Lost My Magic

Some people find their magic early. I found mine by losing it first.

Connecting with those of magical nature — those who notice what others walk past, who feel the weight of an ordinary Tuesday — this is my greatest delight in life. I know this now because you showed me.

When I shipped The Secret Book of Soap Magic, I tucked in treats, curiosities, and small treasures. You responded with five-star reviews — not just on the book, but on the packaging itself. You noticed the care in the wrapping before you ever reached the words inside. That told me everything I needed to know about who you are, and therefore about me.

And it gave me an idea.

What if I offered you a moment — one genuine moment of inspiration each month — that you could keep with you until the next? Real magical recipes. Bookmarks. Cards of inspiration. A peek into a witch's private letters.

Here is the honest part.

A few years ago, I hit a wall with soap making. I had poured myself into it completely — my creativity, my energy, my unseen connection — until I was working as hard and as fast as I possibly could, and it still wasn't enough. The demand severed something. The thread I had always followed from the seen world into the unseen went quiet.

I looked around for a different kind of inspiration and found very little of genuine authenticity. How does one create an enchanted life? Not as occasion. Not as costume. As daily practice — as the actual texture of a day?

The answer, when it came, was unglamorous.

I had to look inside. Start with what I had and the ground beneath my feet.

Words. Always, words. 

That simple truth led to writing more books, telling more stories, and calling into being a circle of sisters — steadfast, stubborn, and entirely devoted to the encouragement of those who practice magic in the real world.

This is the world I want to invite you into.

Where each moment holds magical possibility — not as metaphor, but as method.

Pouring your morning coffee is an enchantment on your day. Making a meal is a spell upon yourself, one that conjures the state you most need. Doing laundry is a conjuration — the old transformed into the new, the worn made ready again.

Magic is not elsewhere. It lives here, in the ordinary, waiting to be named.

As you may know, I tuck treats and delights into every order I ship. It brings me deep joy — and, fingers crossed with an old witch's full intention, it carries that joy forward into your hands.

So I asked: what if that moment of delight arrived at your door every single month?

Paper, as it turns out, is something I understand entirely. It moves through the unseen realms with ease — or at least, I understand the postal system well enough to deliver it to your doorstep intact and on time. Paper takes up little space. It carries enormous weight.

And after all — who doesn't love a bookmark?

If I tuck in a clever postcard, you may have someone to send it to — and the magic multiplies, hand to hand, doorstep to doorstep.

The more enchantments folded into one envelope, the more moments of genuine inspiration will live in your world.

But here is what matters most.

An opportunity for us to connect. You will know someone who conjures from the unseen into the seen. And you will be reminded — because we all forget — that you can do the same.

Bookmarks, recipe cards, private letters, cards of inspiration, small pieces of artwork — all of it designed to help you remember and practice your own conjurations.

This is The New Misunderstood Magic Society. 

One envelope. One month. One moment that belongs entirely to you.