Writing a grimoire is an intimate act of devotion, but right now, I find myself writing not just one, but two. One is for my wife and me, a sacred space where our individual practices intertwine, strengthening both our craft and our bond. The other is a resource for the wider magical community—an offering of knowledge, shaped by my belief that magic should be accessible to all who seek it. In crafting these books, I am preserving, sharing, and evolving magic, ensuring that it remains both a deeply personal experience and a gift to others.

For a long time, I used the term 'Traditional Witchcraft' to describe my practice, but over time, I found it no longer fit. While my craft shares some structural elements with Traditional Witchcraft, its true foundation lies in historical magic—early grimoires, folklore, and the practices of cunning folk. My goal is to honor those who came before me, not through modern interpretations, but by reconstructing my craft from historical sources. That’s why I now call it 'Old-Style Witchcraft'—a term that better reflects my approach, rooted in authenticity and tradition without being bound to contemporary frameworks.

Writing about witchcraft isn’t difficult because I don’t know enough—it’s difficult because no single post can capture the depth of a magical worldview. Every time I try to put my thoughts into words, I feel the weight of what gets left out: the context, the nuance, the alternative perspectives. Will someone misinterpret a metaphor as literal? Will they assume my personal practice is a universal truth? It’s a narrow and winding path, but one worth walking. Because even if I can’t say everything, that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t say anything.