Winter dreaming

Monthly newsletter, November 2024

Read on for some news about The Hearth, events, a special survey for If Women Rose Rooted readers, and a Wise Women discount. This message is likely to be truncated by your email provider, so please think of clicking through to Substack and reading it in your browser. And while you’re there, do join the conversation and leave a comment!

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Dear friends,

Samhain marks the sweet spot of the year for me; my favourite two months lie ahead. I’d include January if it weren’t for the fact that the energy of the year seems (slowly) to be building upward by then, with everyone returning to work and formulating bright plans and resolutions for the months to come. I, on the other hand, in full-on Canute fashion, will have firmly situated my stool on the threshold of the year, to face off against the return of the light for as long as I can.

Those of you who’ve been around here for a while will know that I’ve been banging on for years about the beauties of the dark, and about the need to reimagine our relationship with it. I waxed lyrical for the best part of a chapter about it all, in If Women Rose Rooted. Well, nothing has changed here, and already, my communion with the darkness this year has been particularly rich. Somehow – because of a six-month bout of intensely debilitating inflammatory arthritis; the shock-and-awe treatment for lymphoma; the death of two of our four dogs – for the past three years I’ve fallen out of the habit of taking the dogs out for a walk at dawn, which had been my practice for over a decade. David has been taking care of the early morning walks, and my contributions have gradually shifted to later in the day. But since we rescued the lovely Chase and for a while had to walk him separately from the other two until the rather chaotic settling-in period was over, I’ve been on dawn duty again.

I don’t know how I’ve lived without it, and I don’t quite have the words yet for the beauty and enchantment of walking down by the river with three collie dogs while it’s still fully dark. Of standing there, watching the tiniest flicker of light suddenly kindle in the ripples, as if the river knows that dawn is breaking before the sky has quite figured it out. And then the soft, suffusing glow behind Mallerstang Edge to the east, slowly, slowly cancelling out the constellations. Nothing else stirring, only the four of us and the river – and then, just as we’re getting ready to leave, the hoot of a tawny owl in the trees by the old stone bridge, and the pale shadow of a barn owl in the distance, flying low along the valley. The ghostly silhouette of the ruined castle across the river finally materialises, and by the time we’ve picked our way across the molehills back to the house, its resident jackdaws are clattering themselves awake.

All of this sets the tone for the morning’s writing ahead. It wipes out the increasingly dire distractions of the news, reminds me who I am and what I’m here for. This season, for me, is always a time to think about change and transformation, about all the ways in which we might allow the long, cold dark to strip us down to the bones of who we are. Every year, letting winter strip us bare; letting the final leaves that we’re clinging onto fall. Letting it all fall, and seeing what still holds us upright. And from that point of strength, choosing the ways in which we might bend. I take inspiration there from the row of ancient alders that stand firm along my riverbank – strong roots reaching down through the stones into the dark earth; long, fragile branches bending down to the water as if they’re wanting to borrow some of the river’s lightness of being. A tree knows how to balance it all. A tree – if we are paying attention to her lessons – will remind us that we need those roots that reach down into the nourishing dark, as well as the branches that reach out for the nourishing light. Either one of them alone just doesn’t work at all.

My alders are enchanted trees. Shy dryads live inside them, peeking out at you as you walk by.

One-eyed, wide-mouthed, enormous-pawed moss-gremlins cluster around their roots.

There’s always enchantment in the world, if you will only remember to look for it. And this old Hag of the North wishes you all the enchantments and the blessings of whichever season you’re in,

Sharon

Big Dreams and new dreaming around The Hearth – along with a special draw

The Hearth is an exclusive space within this publication for what Substack terms ‘founding members’: those of you who’ve wanted to deepen your work with the mythic imagination through extra online sessions, and who have been kind enough to support my work here in a more focused way.

I’ve been thinking for a good few months now about how I might develop The Hearth, and how I might introduce new aspects of my work to this smaller group within the paid community here. From January, then, there’ll be an additional thread, in which we explore contemporary faith and spirituality from a woman-centred perspective.

Why? Because twenty-five years ago, on the threshold of the new millennium, I had the first Big Dream (in a Jungian sense) of my life. There was an old-fashioned steam train at a station and I knew that I had to get on it, but it was already leaving. Unfortunately, I was caught in one of those irritatingly common dream-experiences in which you need to run, but it’s like wading through jelly and you just can’t make any progress. I couldn’t run for the train; I couldn’t keep up. I was going to miss the train. As it passed me by, picking up speed, I saw that one of the carriages had no doors, and a uniformed conductor wearing a peaked cap was standing in the opening, looking down at me struggling on the platform. I waved at him and shouted, ‘Stop the train; I have to get on!’ The train slowed down sufficiently that I could walk alongside it, but the conductor still blocked the doorway. (Yes, who’d have thought it: the man blocked the doorway!) He looked me up and down, and said, ‘This train is leaving.’ And I replied, in words that I’ve never forgotten and never will, ‘I have to get on this train. I’m carrying the foundation-stone of my Mother’s house.’ And I held out in my hands a heavy grey stone shaped like a rough brick. The train stopped, and the man stepped to one side. Carrying my foundation-stone, I got on the train and we left.

I’m carrying the foundation-stone of my Mother’s house. I’m capitalising the word Mother, because this dream had nothing to do with my birth mother. At the time, I’d been reading The Dance of the Dissident Daughter, by Sue Monk-Kidd. It was decidedly not the kind of book that I’d ever have sought out, but it sought me out, landed in my lap through some strange synchronicity, and read it I certainly did. It accelerated and transformed that process of changing everything which I’d kickstarted a few months earlier, when I took up flying to overcome a fear of flying, and of life.

Here’s what the publishers say about that book: ‘For years, Sue Monk Kidd was a conventionally religious woman. [A note to you all: she was a Southern Baptist.] Then, in the late 1980s, she experienced an unexpected awakening and began a journey toward a feminine spirituality. With the exceptional storytelling skills that have helped make her name, Kidd tells her very personal story of the fear, anger, healing, freedom, and empowerment she experienced on the path toward the wholeness that many women have lost within faith traditions. From a jarring encounter with sexism in a suburban drugstore, to monastery retreats, to rituals in the caves of Crete, she reveals a new level of feminine spiritual consciousness for all women.’

Well, she certainly raised my consciousness, and to cut a long story short, the outcome of that revelation was my focus on reimagining women’s stories and my own book of women’s empowerment, If Women Rose Rooted. I’ve been working with women’s stories ever since. But there’s more here to explore, because as someone who has focused for many years now on raising women’s lost and forbidden voices, I’m increasingly concerned about the rise in popularity of very patriarchal – by which I mean man-centred, woman-diminishing – forms of religion which Monk Kidd first wrote about back in 1996. In some circles, they’ve become really quite fashionable. And so I’d like to give the women – and the men! – who subscribe to this publication the chance to hold conversations around this and related subjects. How do we find meaning in an increasingly secular – and challenging – age? Why are women still not accepted as equals within traditional faith hierarchies? And how do we find our own authentic ways of honouring the sacred feminine, outside of those hierarchies?

These aren’t new issues and questions, of course; women have been grappling with them for a very long time. Many of you will already have your own answers. But maybe some will not, and maybe those of you who do can share your experiences. Maybe I have some insights of my own to offer, too, and maybe it’s about time I spoke a bit more about my own experience in a more concentrated way. Mostly, I’d just like to offer a space for discussion and sharing around this subject. So if you’d like to be part of these conversations, come and join us around the fire at The Hearth, where they will take place.

How this will work: all current offerings around story and the mythic imagination for paid subscribers will remain as they are, as will current offerings at The Hearth. So if this new subject area doesn’t interest you, nothing will be lost. But in addition, throughout 2025 and for members of The Hearth only, I’ll be producing regular (no more than monthly) written or video posts to introduce a topic for conversation around contemporary faith and spirituality. As well as the currently scheduled quarterly sessions focused around the qualities of the seasons, there’ll be the opportunity for a couple of extra live sharing circles during the year to talk about women’s spirituality. And then we’ll just see how it goes.

Because it has included an element of supporting my work, membership of The Hearth has formerly been set at £150 per year. I realise that this is beyond the means of many of you, and it’s compounded by the fact that Substack only allows the ‘founding member’ subscription level for all publications to be paid annually – you can’t do it monthly. (And nor does Substack allow writers to give away complimentary subscriptions to this membership level, I’m afraid.) What it does do, though, is allow subscribers to choose their own membership price – as long as the amount they choose is higher than the price of an annual paid membership, which for The Art of Enchantment is currently £60.

And so, if you’d like to be part of this group and to join these conversations, from now on you can upgrade to The Hearth by choosing your own level of support. Upgrade your subscription by going here; delete the suggested contribution of £120 which will automatically pop up and which now represents the recommended price, and simply type into the box the amount you’re able to afford, either more or less – as long as it’s over £60. Again, with apologies, Substack only allows founding member subscriptions across the platform to be paid on an annual basis and so there’s nothing I can do about that.

If you upgrade to The Hearth before the end of the year, you’ll automatically be entered into a draw to win a special gift bundle from me – including a signed and dedicated copy of a book of mine of your choice, and a small collection of specially chosen items – including one simple handmade thing – that I think will enchant you. To keep this fair to existing members of The Hearth, you’ll all be automatically added to a second draw for another such bundle. And when your annual membership comes up for renewal, you’ll be able to renew on the revised terms. I hope you’ll stick around and see what new magic we can conjure up together.

A message from the publisher of If Women Rose Rooted

I’m delighted to say that the lovely folk at September Publishing (now an imprint of Duckworth Books) are putting out a brand new, very beautiful paperback edition of If Women Rose Rooted in February next year. They’re looking for input from readers, so please read this message from them below, and see if you can help!

Calling all fans of If Women Rose Rooted!

Did this book change your life?

Word-of-mouth international bestseller If Women Rose Rooted has been described as worldview-shattering, empowering and life-changing.  Everywhere we go, it seems, people want to talk to us about this cult classic and how it changed them and the course of their lives.

September Publishing is on a mission to find contemporary Women Who Rose Rooted, to help us with a marketing campaign for a new edition of the book in early 2025.

If you have been deeply impacted by the book and found it changed your outlook, or your trajectory, in small or big ways, we’d love to hear from you! As a consequence of reading Sharon’s words, perhaps you gave up your job, moved to a new place, started a new project? Or maybe your mindset shifted and your outlook was forever changed? 

If you have a If Women Rose Rooted story to share, please complete the following form and a member of September Publishing will get back to you: https://forms.gle/qaB2r1cRQxcDq7AB7 

Wise Women on the road

It’s been such a pleasure to take Wise Women out on the road over this past month – and there’s still more to come. Thank you to the huge audiences of warm, whooping women at the Ilkley Book Festival, the Dartington Trust in Totnes, and 5x15 in Bristol – in the latter two cases, the hundreds who made their way to the events through downpour and deluge. Gratitude to another big audience in another beautiful church convened by Topping & Co Edinburgh, and the lovely audience at the Topping & Co store in St Andrews. It’s been such a joy to share with you some of the stories I collected for the book, and to engage in the heartfelt and laughter-filled conversations that always follow about midlife, menopause and elderhood. We were watched over always by that gaggle of very serious hags that pepper the pages of the book: the ungainly giantesses and sequin-strewn fairy godmothers; the misunderstood witches and craggy crones. Long may they thrive.

There are three more scheduled events to come, and then I’ll be hunkering down for the next few months to complete my next contracted book. (More of which next year. It’s too early still to talk about the detail. Writers can be superstitious creatures!) Two of them are close to home: readings and story-sharings will take place at Bookends in Carlisle on Wednesday November 6 at 7pm (info and bookings here) and at Collected Books in Durham on Wednesday November 27 at 6.30 pm (info and bookings here).

A full-day workshop on navigating the second half of life

On Saturday November 23, I’ll be offering a full-day workshop on navigating the second half of life, hosted by the fine folk at Alternatives. It’ll take place at Regent’s University in London, and you can book here. A full-day live workshop is a pretty rare event for me to offer, and I’m unlikely to be doing another next year, so if you’re interested, do come along. Here’s what it’s all about:

The second half of life is a psychospiritual journey, focused on the process of individuation – in which each of us becomes more whole, more authentic, and fully embodies the unique gift which we bring to this world at this time. And as more and more mature women today are looking for ways to reimagine and reclaim their power, it’s time to challenge the narrative that the second half of life is a time of decline.

In this workshop, you'll learn to navigate the choppy waters of midlife and menopause and find continued growth, meaning and authenticity in the decades that follow. We'll work with the many diverse stories of the little-known but powerful elder women in myth and folklore, drawing inspiration from archetypes including the Wise Woman, the Creatrix, the Trickster and the Medial Woman. We’ll learn how to create new stories of our own, and to imagine that the second half of life might be the most dynamic of all.

We’ll also explore the following questions:

– What is the nature of older women’s wisdom?

– How do we identify and let go of outworn roles and stories, leaving room for a new story to be born?

– How can myth and fairy tales help us to transform our old and dysfunctional narratives and step into a brighter, more meaningful future?

A 20% discount on Wise Women, purchased direct from Virago

It’s time to think about seasonal gifts, and I hope you’ll agree that the beautiful hardback edition of Wise Women is a perfect choice for the women in your life. Use the code WISE-WOMEN to obtain a 20% discount on copies of the book sold directly by the publisher: find Wise Women at the online Virago store here. This discount code is valid to the end of the year.

Please note that this offer doesn’t apply in North America as Virago do not own the publishing rights there.

Apologies for the lack of reading recommendations this month – I ran out of time. There’ll be a roundup of this and that at the beginning of December.

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