Date: 10 August 2025
Mood: Reverent, Kindled, Listening
Echoes from the Hearth
Creativity, in my world, is not a solo pursuit. It’s a hearth—a place of family creativity, where voices gather, flicker, and rise. Some burn with quiet intensity. Some leap with spontaneous joy. Some wait, patient, for the right breath to awaken them.
My wife writes poetry. Rarely. Privately. But when she does, her words carry the weight of truth unvarnished. They are not performance—they are presence. I’ve invited her to step into GoldNautilus Press when she’s ready. The imprint is not just mine—it’s a vessel for her voice, too.
My daughter writes stories. She crafts illuminated scrolls for her SCA kingdom—ritual documents that blend calligraphy, heraldry, and mythic lineage. Her work is sacred in its own right. I’ve encouraged her to write one hour a day, not to produce, but to listen. To let the ink trace her own descent.
My brother writes novels—thirteen and counting. Middle-grade adventures, spontaneous and full of life. His storytelling flows freely, shaped by his own rhythm and joy. We walk different creative paths, each tuned to our own needs and ways of working.
GoldNautilus Press began as my journey. But it was never meant to be mine alone. It is a chamber. A vessel. A hearth. A place where the echoes of family can find form.
The fire is quiet now. But it is warm. And the voices are stirring.
