Unquiet
Things

BPAL Antique Lace Through the tiny gabled window of a dollhouse attic, a secret scene unfolds: a miniature lace shawl lies draped across a trunk, its delicate stitches dusted with what could be petit four crumbs, could be breakfast cereal marshmallows – fairy-sized sweets scattered by some forgotten child’s hand. Beside it, pearly mothballs like strange sugar drops rest among cobwebby linens that exhale their milky-musky-powderiness. From a diminutive crystal perfume bottle in the corner, phantom florals and delicate vanilla mingle with dust motes in the afternoon sunlight, the whole tiny world held in perfect, timeless suspension. (This is a scent I have had for a long time but have never reviewed until now. I am sad to say that I think it is long discontinued)

In Arquiste Venice Rococco, I am reminded of that iconic scene in The Company of Wolves, and my imagination does the rest: the wedding party dissolves into wolves, but their powdered costumes and countenances still hang in the air – rice-white, chalk-soft, cloud-thick, falling like snow in a fairy tale gone corrupt and perverse. Powder piles in drifts against the walls, powder floats in sheets through candlelight, powder settles like ash on abandoned masks, powder dusts every surface until the mirrors suffocate in white. The scent floats between reality and nightmare, each breath drawing in more sweet, choking powder. Underneath all those layers of white lies something wild – teeth behind the powder puff, claws stirring up fresh clouds with every step. This is what’s left at the banquet table after the cursed aristocrats’ lycanthropic transformations, their abandoned feast drowning in drifts of violet-white dust, confections, and silverware scattered like bones beneath a blanket of perfumed snow.

I have a discovery set from Anjali, whose only scent I have had any previous experience with was Under The Mango Tree, via the Seattle Perfumers discovery set.

I am still in the midst of sampling them, but here are thoughts on a few so far:

– Monsoon Madness: Sitting by an open window on a rainy morning, curtains fluttering in the damp breeze, a single rose in a vase before you. Its crimson blooms, a vivid velvet contrast to the early glooms, offer their dawn song to the ghostly morning light. Beneath it, a misty musk mingles with barely-there spices, like steam rising from wet earth. The fragrance undulates like those curtains – whispering past, then drawn back, never still, never quite solid.

– Mantra: Where pools of clearest water catch the light, seek the violet that blooms beneath no soil. Bright as amethyst, suspended in golden amber, yet flowing like honey through crystal streams. Each ripple reveals its secret – a flower preserved in liquid that cannot wet, a sweetness that flows yet never moves. Beneath it all, warm amber holds these fragments, a fleeting eternity captured in impossible depths.

– Tiger Bright: In halls of cedar and cypress, vetiver traces a map in sharp strokes. In the shadows, leather guards ancient secrets, pepper sparks like flint on stone. Then – at the perfect moment, revelation: when sun meets crystal – hold aloft the light of spice through smoked glass. Turmeric and coriander illuminate what was always there and mark an X in gold. The fragrance hovers like illuminated dust – austere yet radiant, earthbound yet strangely weightless.

Eauso Vert Fruto Oscuro: In the basement of an ancient Spanish mission, there’s a forgotten wine cellar where the air is thick with centuries of fermentation. The massive barrels have burrowed into the cellar floor, their wooden staves blackened with time. Here, the California Raisins – those claymation creatures of 80s fame – have found their true calling as bacchanalian priests of a midnight sabbath.

They dance in the dark, their wrinkled bodies glistening with communion wine that’s gone deliciously corrupt. The sacrament itself has evolved, developed consciousness, learned to crawl out of its casks at night. It carries the memory of fruit that ripened past the point of virtue, fruit that chose to embrace decay as a form of transcendence.

Black cherries prowl, lush, wayward creatures of the night, leaving trails of wax and ink in their wake, while patches of moss grow in impossible shades of purple. Somewhere in the darkness, a quince tree has taken root in the stone, its fruits fermenting on the branch, dripping jam that tastes like the midnight confession of wicked ghosts.

This is fruit that has rejected the sun, each drop a tiny black mass, an unholy celebration of fruit that’s gone ravenously feral in the dark.

TLDR; fruit as creature of the night; goth California Raisins; a black mass of unholy cherries

Born to Stand Out Be My Cookie What begins with the promise of toasted grains and caramelized sugar spreading across a baking sheet in a pre-heated 350 degree oven. soon collapses into an unpleasant fruity morass of rehydrating dried fruits – raisins, cranberries, apricots, dates – forgotten in weak rum and lemon juice until they’re all swollen and sodden and gross. (I was trying to come up with a really disgusting Lovecraftian adjective to describe the distended, grotesque nature of the scent at this point, but I gave up. These pulpy masses dissolve murkily when stirred reluctantly into lumpy, sticky porridge whose very revolting nature renders it immediately abandoned. Time passes, and what remains is merely a cloying potpourri, less a deliberate composition than a reminder of culinary aspirations left to wither on a countertop. Alternately, a fruit cake that mysteriously drowned in a lake in 1984 but somehow appears on your holiday table every year like clockwork, bloated and putrid, its origins forever unknown and unspoken.

A Lab On Fire What We Do In Paris is Secret is a perfume I reviewed several years ago, but after recently catching a whiff of it, I concluded that I wasn’t mean enough the first time. In this perfume, I catch whiffs of three fragrances I absolutely loathe – the worst of the worst: KvD Saint, Thierry Mugler’s Angel, and V+R’s Flowerbomb, each contributing its own special brand of cloying falseness, lurking in here like problematic d-list influencers. The combination of bright, honied heliotrope, candied litchee, and powdery vanilla marzipan creates something so aggressively artificial it’s like that specific brand of try-hard glamour that screams, “I learned about luxury from watching unboxing videos.” It’s not badly made; it’s just so deliberately vapid and performatively trendy that it makes you wonder if it’s trolling you. The kind of perfume that would absolutely post a Mukbang video of itself eating other, better fragrances and then crying for the camera in a halo of ring lights.

DSH Perfumes Manhattan is firelight through a vintage lens – all warmth and no flame, the way old films captured hearths in silver-screen shadows. The glow feels richer than memory, grounded in something earthy and lush, a cherry left at the bottom of a glass, soaked in honeyed spirits, plummy with promise. A bitter note cuts through the sweetness, a tiny nibble under the gazes of those who love you, a warmth so enveloping and tender it breaks your heart just a little and brings tears to your eyes. You recognize it instantly: that feeling of safety and love that you can only experience now through the lens of nostalgia because you’ll never be that young or small or loved that way again.

The scent wraps around you like a childhood memory that softens into sadness when held too long. It’s the kind of velvet golden haze that catches in your throat now, because you know such perfect shelter can’t exist outside of memory, outside these few precious frames of black and white film where the firelight always burns just right, and everyone you’ve ever loved is still young and beautiful and waiting in the next room. This is a softly devastating scent, and one that requires emotional steadiness to wear – it has a way of dissolving the present and opening rooms in the memory where beloved ghosts forever wait patiently for you with open arms, where the little heart you long outgrew is forever full.

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Eye of the Beholder by Emma Bamford lures you in with an irresistible setup – a ghostwriter arrives at a glass mansion (writers! rich people’s excess! all the stuff I love!) in the Scottish Highlands to pen a famous cosmetic surgeon’s memoir, only to find her subject mysteriously absent. Despite its predictable twists and stupid, unconvincing romance, something about this moody thriller kept me turning pages. The atmospheric setting and beauty industry backdrop create an intriguing world, even if the story doesn’t quite deliver on its promise. As a writer, I found myself particularly invested in Maddy’s professional journey, though the resolution of her work situation left me fuming. A flawed but weirdly compelling read.

Glass Houses by Madeline Ashby follows Kristen, a “chief emotional manager” at a tech startup, who along with her colleagues and their eccentric billionaire CEO Sumter, finds themselves stranded on a mysterious island after their plane crashes. The survivors discover a high-tech mansion that proves to be both shelter and threat, as people start dying one by one. The story weaves between island events and Kristen’s questionable character and complex past, creating a tense thriller that mixes near-future tech with classic locked-room mystery elements.

Parents’ Weekend by Alex Finlay follows five college students who vanish during a campus event, leaving their parents to confront both their children’s secrets and their own. While Finlay’s writing is formulaic – so much so that I can’t even remember characters who apparently appear in multiple books – his short chapters and quick pacing make this a dependable palate cleanser between more intense reads. Not remarkable, but it serves its purpose as a literary breather when you’re tackling denser works alongside it. Publishing May 2025

The Blue Hour by Paula Hawkins unfolds on Eris, a tide-locked Scottish island – that eerie claustrophobic setting that has served gothic horror so well in works like The Woman in Black and The Third Day. Like those stories, here the tide itself becomes an antagonist, twice daily conspiring to trap you with your fears. When human bones are discovered in a famous artist’s sculpture, an art curator must visit the island’s sole inhabitant, but can only leave during the brief windows when the causeway emerges from the sea. Hawkins uses this natural prison to amplify questions of creativity, isolation, and control through a slow-burning mystery that’s more interested in the psychology of its characters than shocking twists. The rising waters become a countdown clock that transforms every decision into a possible trap.

The House That Horror Built by Christina Henry drops us into a horror fan’s dream job – cleaning a reclusive director’s mansion filled with creepy movie props. The premise sounds like a wonderland for horror fans, but the execution stumbles with repetitive internal monologues (how many times can our protagonist second-guess a moving prop or remind us she needs a new job?) and a rushed ending that fails to deliver on the setup’s promise. While I appreciate any story that features horror-loving characters, this one needed tighter editing to trim the padding and build actual suspense.

Darkly by Marisha Pessl Louisiana Veda, the enigmatic creator of the Darkly game empire, crafted board games that pushed well beyond simple entertainment. Her elaborate puzzles, steeped in Victorian gothic aesthetics, garnered a cultish following before her mysterious death rendered them collector’s pieces worth millions. Enter Arcadia “Dia” Gannon and six other teens, chosen from across the globe for a coveted internship at the Veda Foundation. Their summer quickly transforms into what appears to be Veda’s final, unreleased game – one that never made it to production, perhaps for good reason. Pessl’s world-building shimmers with dark imagination, carrying forward the same haunting intrigue that made Night Film so compelling. The games she’s invented feel startlingly authentic, each one a clever fusion of artistry and psychological manipulation. Dia’s sharp perspective keeps us invested as the mystery deepens, and the plot unfolds in clever layers. A swift, addictive read from an author who excels at crafting dark tales about brilliant, enigmatic creators and the chaos they leave in their wake.

Victorian Psycho by Virginia Feito introduces Winifred Notty, a governess who arrives at dreary Ensor House, where in three months’ time, she informs us that everyone living there will all be dead.  Winifred is tasked with educating the Pounds children in subjects ranging from English and French to ornamental needlework, and in the course of their lessons and bedtimes, we learn that while outwardly embodying Victorian propriety, Winifred’s carefully constructed persona belies a chillingly dark imagination and inner world. As she becomes further entrenched in the estate’s oppressive atmosphere and uncovers the Pounds family’s peculiar proclivities, Winifred finds it increasingly challenging to maintain her façade. If you relished Maeve Fly’s violently irreverent antihero and unhinged plot, you’ll find Winifred Notty’s distorted and uniquely vicious mind equally captivating in this eerie, blunt, and grotesquely humorous masterpiece. Warning to sensitive readers: maybe don’t. Publishing February 2025

Rivers Solomon’s Model Home is an unrelentingly haunting tale centered on the Maxwell siblings – Ezri, Eve, and Emmanuelle. Their childhood in a gated community outside Dallas, where they were the only Black family, was marred by strange and terrifying events in their home at 677 Acacia Drive. This traumatic past has kept them at a distance from both the house and their parents in adulthood. The siblings’ forced return home following their parents’ mysterious deaths sets the stage for a confrontation with their history. As they delve into family secrets and attempt to unravel the truth behind the house’s disturbing occurrences, Solomon crafts an atmosphere of intense unease and palpable dread. I already love reading about the complex dynamics between the siblings, and Solomon’s portrayal of the family kept me invested throughout. I found myself particularly drawn to Ezri’s perspective, though it was often a difficult and heartbreaking place to be. Spending time in Ezri’s head was truly horrifying at times, as their trauma and struggles were so vividly portrayed. Model Home was not anything like I expected. Solomon doesn’t pull any punches when it comes to dark themes and disturbing scenes – it’s a brutal read, no doubt about it. But I found myself unable to put it down, even when it made me uncomfortable. If you’re up for an intense, unsettling read, this book offers a bold, unconventional take on the haunted house story. It’ll make you think, and it’ll take you deep into the heart of family secrets and hidden horrors.

The Unworthy by Agustina Bazterrica Religious extremism meets environmental apocalypse in The Unworthy, where Bazterrica continues her exploration of how quickly humanity devours itself. Inside a mysterious convent, an unnamed woman documents her experiences among the “unworthy” using whatever materials she can find – including her own blood. While less viscerally shocking than Tender is the Flesh’s literal cannibalism, this tale of a brutal religious hierarchy creates its own kind of horror as it examines how power structures consume the powerless. I didn’t find this one as strong or as compelling as her previous work (in fact, it was a bit of a slog in some parts), but Bazterrica’s unflinching style still provokes profound discomfort. Publishing March 2025

In Beta Vulgaris by Margie Sarsfield,  the mundane task of harvesting sugar beets in Minnesota becomes a surreal descent into one woman’s spiraling depression. What begins as a straightforward story about seasonal work to escape debt becomes something far more devastating – and weirdly compelling. Through Elise’s eyes, we experience not just the physical labor of the beet harvest, but the exhausting weight of existing in a mind that’s constantly at war with itself. Sarsfield renders disordered eating, self-loathing, and crushing anxiety with such stark familiarity that you find yourself nodding in recognition even as you wince at the truth of it. It’s all threaded through with a caustic, mean-spirited humor that somehow makes the relentless internal monologue bearable – even darkly entertaining. When mysterious voices begin emanating from the beet pile and workers start disappearing, you’re not quite sure if you’re witnessing a psychological unraveling or something more sinister. The genius is that both readings work, and both are equally horrifying. Publishing February 2025

In The Last Session by Julia Bartz, social worker/art therapist Thea can’t shake the feeling she knows the catatonic patient who shows up at her psychiatric unit – a connection that leads her straight into the tangles of her own messy past. When the patient briefly surfaces only to vanish, Thea follows her trail to a wellness retreat in New Mexico where couples supposedly work through relationship and sexual trauma. The retreat’s increasingly invasive exercises force Thea to confront not just her missing patient’s story, but her own complicated history with a predatory pastor and teenage experiences that left deep scars. The story veers into some wild territory involving reincarnation and cult dynamics, which might lose some readers along the way who are looking for more basic mystery/thriller business. Despite Thea making some questionable choices that stretch belief (especially for someone working in mental health), there’s something compelling about watching her barrel through every red flag in pursuit of answers. P.S. For fellow perfume enthusiasts like me who always notice perfume in their stories, there’s a Clinique Happy mention in these pages. Publishing April 2025

Absolution by Jeff VanderMeer returns us to Area X decades before its formation, weaving together three distinct timelines that demand your complete attention – I had to set aside all other books to fully immerse myself in its complex web. Through a doomed science expedition, a worn-out operative named Old Jim, and the first official Area X exploration team, VanderMeer crafts a story that feels both inevitable and horrifying. I found the novel’s most chilling insight in the insinuation that certain catastrophes are predetermined, but that their severity might be negotiable – if we could even recognize the difference between salvation and extinction when it stands before us. Like looking into an abyss that stares back, Absolution offers only the briefest glimpse of something vast and incomprehensible that will needle at your brain forever, maddening fragments of understanding you won’t even be able to articulate by the time the next book appears.

I picked up It Will Only Hurt for a Moment by Delilah S. Dawson, craving a spooky artist retreat story, and I wasn’t disappointed. To be fair though, I always crave thrillers or mysteries featuring artists or writers at the center! The plot follows Sarah, a potter escaping an abusive relationship, who joins a secluded artists’ colony. Things take a horrifying turn when she unearths a body, and it only gets worse as more corpses appear and her fellow artists start acting bizarrely (somewhat reminiscent of the possessed students in Lois Duncan’s YA gothic horror Down a Dark Hall, if anyone remembers that?) Sarah’s journey from victim to investigator kept me on edge, and she was an absolute hoot – her snarky inner monologue often had me laughing out loud despite the increasingly disturbing events. While the ending felt a bit rushed, I loved the vivid setting of the crumbling resort and the quirky cast of increasingly unhinged artists in this thoroughly enjoyable and very satisfying read.

Guillotine, also by Delilah S. Dawson serves up a fashion-obsessed protagonist who’ll endure a terrible date for a shot at her dream job, only to find herself trapped on an island with the ultra-wealthy family from hell. While it aims to skewer the one-percent with both satire and actual skewering, the story works better as an over-the-top revenge fantasy than social commentary. A quick, gleefully graphic read that’s entertaining enough if you don’t think too hard about it.

Starve Acre by Andrew Michael Hurley follows Richard and Juliette as they grapple with their young son’s death in their isolated Yorkshire house. While Juliette turns to occultists and Richard obsessively digs for an ancient hanging tree’s roots, something darker than grief begins to take hold. When Richard unearths the skeleton of a hare that slowly, impossibly begins to regenerate, Hurley’s folk horror takes a turn from psychological to supernatural. The ending refuses to offer even a glimmer of light in the darkness – what some read as peace feels to me like something far more chilling.

The Doll Factory by Elizabeth Macneal Victorian London seethes with dark possibility in The Doll Factory, where aspiring artist Iris works painting doll faces while dreaming of real canvases. When she meets Pre-Raphaelite artist Louis Frost, she strikes a deal to model in exchange for painting lessons, opening a door to the fascinating world of radical Victorian art. But during the construction of the Great Exhibition, she also catches the eye of Silas, a taxidermist whose obsession turns the novel from historical drama into something much darker. Despite my aversion to romance plots, the rich blend of Pre-Raphaelite art history with gothic suspense made this one worth my time.

The Sphinx and the Milky Way: Selections from the Journals of Charles Burchfield collects intimate journal entries from American painter Charles Burchfield, distilling his vast 10,000-page journals into a small but potent volume. Through his eyes, we experience both the transcendent and mundane – from counting cricket chirps to tell the temperature, to profound reflections on infinity while studying pussywillows. Burchfield’s entries reveal a mind deeply attuned to nature’s mysteries, yet also touched by very human struggles with depression and money worries. His observations shift seamlessly between precise detail and cosmic wonder, creating a quiet but profound meditation on what it means to truly see the world around us. If you’re a sensitive spirit yearning to find meaning in this chaotic world, this book isn’t just a recommendation – it’s essential nourishment for your inner life.

Chuck Wendig’s The Staircase in the Woods reunites four adults haunted by their friend’s disappearance on a mysterious woodland staircase twenty years ago. When the stairs reappear, they’re forced to confront both the supernatural and their own unresolved guilt. While Wendig’s premise is intriguing, and the supernatural elements create an eerie atmosphere, the characters’ trauma exists more in description than experience – we’re told of their deep psychological wounds but never quite feel them ourselves. Though Wendig has a devoted following and he seems like a really nice guy, this emotional distance and utilitarian prose style keep me from fully connecting with his work.

Susan Barker’s Old Soul begins in an Osaka airport, where a missed flight leads Jake and Mariko to discover they share a haunting connection – both have lost loved ones under inexplicably similar circumstances. Their paths crossed with a dark-haired woman who moves through time collecting photographs and leaving broken lives in her wake. Jake’s search for answers takes him through neon-lit cities and across sun-bleached deserts, gathering testimonies from those who’ve encountered this ageless wanderer as she shifts between names and identities. In New Mexico, an ailing sculptor named Theo holds pieces of her story that reach back through centuries. Barker weaves these testimonies into a mesmerizing tapestry, each account adding layers to a mystery where immortality and predation twist together in the shadows of human grief. The novel unfolds with patient, elegant menace, delivering what I felt to be one of the year’s most original and compelling horror stories. Publishing January 2025

Christian Francis’s novelization of Session 9 transports Brad Anderson’s cult horror film to the page, following an asbestos removal crew through the moldering corridors of Danvers State Hospital. The story tracks the psychological deterioration of Gordon Fleming and his crew as they navigate the asylum’s shadow-filled halls, where decades of dark history seep through crumbling walls. The disturbing psychiatric sessions of former patient Mary Hobbes weave through the main narrative, her fractured voices echoing against the backdrop of peeling paint and broken windows. While the novel may not capture every nuance of the film’s suffocating atmosphere, Francis keeps a steady hand on the growing tension as the crew descends deeper into the abandoned institution’s maze-like passages. The result feels more like a companion piece than a reimagining, preserving the core elements that made Anderson’s film so unsettling.

The Summer I Ate the Rich by Maika Moulite and Maritza Moulite What’s a teenage zonbi to do when she’s got culinary ambitions and a taste for human flesh? In The Summer I Ate the Rich, Brielle Petitfour balances her dreams of becoming a chef with caring for her chronically ill mother and managing her secret identity as a half-zonbi. When she lands an internship at a pharmaceutical company and starts running an exclusive supper club for Miami’s wealthy elite, Brielle finds herself serving up dishes with very special ingredients sourced from the local mortuary. (I do wish we’d gotten more of an explanation and description of the purpose of this. We somewhat see the results, but I wanted to know more of the hows and they whys.) Despite its horror premise, the book reads more like a YA drama, complete with a romance between Brielle and Preston, the son of a powerful pharmaceutical dynasty. Drawing from Haitian zonbi lore rather than Hollywood-style zombie stories, the authors create an unexpectedly glossy take on what could have been a much darker tale. The story weaves together elements of young love, family dynamics, and class disparity, while keeping its more gruesome aspects surprisingly subtle. Publishing April 2025

No One Gets Out Alive by Adam Neville plunges a desperate Stephanie into the cheapest room she can find, where unnerving encounters quickly devolve into inexplicable terrors. How is this place so cold and dark and hopeless? Where are her housemates that she can hear muttering and sobbing through the walls? Her vile landlord Knacker and his towering, unwashed cousin Fergal add human menace to the supernatural dread – and Nevill excels at making both equally terrifying. Stephanie’s financial anxiety alone had me stressed before anything violent or otherworldly happened! But at over 600 pages, the story is unforgivably bloated, with one late scene taking what feels like twenty pages just to literally light a match. I’m keeping this review brief because if you decide to immerse yourself in the book, you’re already signing up for plenty of reading.

Lost in the Garden by Adam S. Leslie had me at its premise: a forbidden village, a world trapped in an unnatural permanent summer where ghosts roam freely, and that marvelously unsettling folk-horror vibe I can never resist. When I couldn’t find a library copy anywhere, I broke down and bought it. What a letdown. Though I enjoyed Leslie’s writing style and the way he could turn a phrase, the story meanders endlessly before even reaching Almanby. We spend 450 pages with characters I never connected with – particularly Heather, who reads like a hyperactive feral toddler rather than an adult, and Antonia, whose simmering but persistent obsession with Heather drives them through pointless wandering. I usually DNF books this tedious, but having actually paid for it, I stubbornly kept reading, hoping it would click into place. It didn’t. I’d give Leslie another try – he can write when he wants to – but this book desperately needed a ruthless editor.

I could not possibly end 2024 with what turned out to be the most disappointing read of the year (see Lost in the Garden, above), so I had to squeak in one more. The Bewitching by Silvia Moreno-Garcia weaves together three timelines of witchcraft and dark academia, following grad student Minerva as she investigates an obscure horror writer whose famous novel was inspired by her roommate’s mysterious 1930s disappearance. As someone who loves academic mysteries and deep dives into forgotten authors, I was hooked by the premise alone. While the ’90s setting initially charmed me with its familiar touchstones (Minerva’s Discman loaded with The Pixies, The Sneaker Pimps, and about twenty other familiar things, along with references to things like the Molly Tanzer Library and a philosopher named Stephen Graham Jones), the constant cultural name-dropping eventually felt like too much of a good thing. Moreno-Garcia deftly handles the multiple narratives and ties everything together neatly, though seasoned mystery readers might spot the twists coming. As Ruthie Langmore says, “I don’t know shit about fuck,” and even I was able to see who’s who and what’s what and where things were going. Still, this atmospheric tale of dangerous magic and buried secrets kept me engrossed to the last page and was a way better end to the year! Publishing July 2025

If you enjoy posts like these or if you have ever enjoyed or been inspired by something I have written, and you would like to support this blog, consider buying the author a coffee?

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As another year draws to a close, it’s time for my annual tradition of sharing the things that made life a little more interesting, beautiful, or manageable throughout these past twelve months. While scrolling through my camera roll and peering into dusty browser bookmarks, I’m reminded that our tastes and needs aren’t easily categorized – one day, I’m seeking out antique porcelain dolls; the next, I’m hunting down mushroom-themed kitchenware or researching the coziest socks. So I have tried my best to organize everything but it’s sort of all over the place!

These yearly round-ups have become something of a diary for me, marking not just the things I acquired but the shifting interests and small obsessions that carried me through the seasons. Some are practical solutions to everyday problems, others pure whimsy; a few might spark recognition (“oh, you loved that too?”), while others might seem delightfully bizarre. That’s the beauty of these personal inventories – they’re as much about the story they tell as the items themselves.

Before I dive into this rather extensive list of needful things, I should mention that not everything here is a 2024 discovery. (Some I might have even mentioned in last year’s Needful Things!) Some are old favorites that proved their worth yet again, while others are new finds that quickly became essential. There’s no rhyme or reason to the order, just an honest accounting of the things that brought value, joy, or inspiration to my days.

WEARABLE DELIGHTS

❇ Thigh Society cooling shorts (so good for wearing under skirts and dresses)

❇ TomboyX adjustable compression top (good if you got the ol’ body dysmorphia and don’t like the feel of your boobers flopping)

❇ Rio Wolf Protect Trans Folks shirt from Shop Kalma

❇ This perfect black sweatshirt from Altar + Orb

❇ I have a few pairs of basic staples that are stupid expensive but very worth it because they get A LOT of use:

– these yoga pants from Kira Grace (I have both the capri and regular length; I use them as pajamas)
– these even more expensive black linen pants from State the Label (summer pants)
– these black pants from Universal Standard (winter pants)

❇ I bought the Scorpio coat from Lala because I was hoping to wear it to Asheville this past Thanksgiving, but for obvious reasons, the trip fell through. It’s still a great coat.

❇ I’ve always loved the look of Dr. Martens, but I find them complicated and uncomfortable. These Dr. Marten Chelsea boots are easy and perfect.

❇ This frock from Fraktura is my version of the little black dress, but for everyday wear. I got this a few years ago, but it probably gets more wear than anything else in my wardobe.

ADORNMENTS & TREASURES

❇ This year, I picked up a few pieces from some of my favorite jewelers, and they’ve become everyday items:

– The Perpetua necklace from Flannery Grace Good

– The Passe-Partout necklace from Under the Pyramids

– These little acorn earrings from Alexis Berger

❇ I also really got into vintage gold jewelry this year and picked up some lovely pieces from the following shops…

– Gold chain and shield from Caron Power jewelry

– Garnet ring from Victoria Sterling Antiques

WORKSPACE IMPROVEMENTS

I’ve written before about my tendency to tolerate things rather than change them, but this year I really tried to not make my life harder than it had to be!

❇ I am on the phone all day for my day job, and I have a permanent crick in my neck from cradling the receiver between my ear and shoulder. I finally decided to join the future and bought a headset. I still hate to work, but OMG, this has made things a million times easier. I hate that my best purchase of the year is the most boring one, but it is true.

❇ Between the books, the knitting, the perfume, the books– and did I mention books??– my desk is a mess. I bought a little shelf to roll under my desk for my books. Second best purchase of 2024.

❇ This is a masking tape and Sharpie mount to stick on your refrigerator, so it’s always handy to date and label the broth you’re freezing. There are probably lots of uses for it, but that’s what I do.

❇ A scissor holster??? Seems like the silliest thing ever? Except when you stop to consider how often you find yourself asking, “Where’s the scissors?” They’re on the fridge, next to the masking tape!

SUSTENANCE & PROVISIONS

❇ We’ve been doing soup for breakfast for the past few years, and I like to serve some little sides to go alongside it. These savory, tangy mushrooms are so good! And re: little sides, I love these little scalloped dishes to serve them in.

❇ As someone who does not love pancakes, waffles, or biscuits, I’m forever seeking OTHER uses for leftover buttermilk, and this roasted chicken recipe was probably the best chicken I’ve ever made.

❇ I have been making this Thai coconut shrimp soup at least once a week for the past four months.

❇ I perfected my roast potatoes this year. I’m not a potato fan unless they are mashed into oblivion or have all their inherent potato-iness fried out of them, but even I can admit these are pretty okay.

❇ We’re already big fans of Çılbır, or Turkish eggs, so I was interested when I saw people talking about “Turkish pasta,” or basically a lazy or deconstructed version of a Turkish dumpling dish called Manti. We’ve been making it with Impossible Meat, which is what we had on hand to work with, but I can’t wait to try it out with lamb.

❇ I made A LOT of these two-ingredient bagels this year.

❇ Two YouTube channels for culinary inspiration: we love watching Beryl attempt to make dishes from different cultures around the world, and I also really enjoy Nushi Kitchen Life’s gentle, inspired Japanese meals.

❇ When Ývan broke his foot this summer, our schedule got a bit disrupted. The Korean grocery store is in a weirdly situated spot where the traffic makes me nervous, so I started ordering what I needed online instead. Sayweee is an Asian grocery delivery service that has amazingly fresh stuff and a really wonderful variety of basically everything you can want. I’m sharing a referral link where if you sign up for it through me, you get $10 or something like that.

BEAUTY RITUALS

❇ This year, I’m using two things that probably work the same, but I love them both and alternate between them; I’m From Mugwort Essence & ONE THING CICA Toner

❇ I really like this bright green nail polish and I use this gel-effect top coat with it.

❇ I tried two new lip masks this year, one from Fenty and this manuka honey one. The Fenty one is heavier and stickier, and this one is more…slippy. If you know what I mean? I prefer slippy over sticky.

❇ I’ve gravitated away from crazy lip colors over the past few years and mainly just stick with Black Honey but I love this beetle-winged Medusae lip sheer from Rituel de Fille.

❇ This very silly headband and wristband set that’s actually ridiculously useful for washing your face and stopping the water from dripping all over you.

❇ This sun and stars claw clip from Winona Irene that’s giving 90’s celestial decor and pyramid catalog.

❇ This summer, I gave into my love of Elizabeth W’s Té scent and purchased one of every product that they put it in.

❇ Every year, I sing the praises of the foot soak. Light candles, scent your tub, scrub your tooties, and put on the softest socks afterward. It’s a good time.

❇ I sampled a lot of perfumes this year! Some standouts are:

– Stora Skuggan Hexensalbe smells like the Sleep No More witch’s rave (review)

– Diptyque Tempo is a patchouli that has walked the halls of Hill House (review)

– 4160 Tuesdays Complicated Shadows is a perfume for the insomniac hours of a late-night stroll through your hometown (review)

– Naomi Goodsir Nuit de Bakelite is summer flooded storm drains and the fetid promise whispered by a monster in the dark (review)

– Neil Morris Dark Season is the dramatic tenebrism of all those old, spooky gothic novels and musty 19th-century weird fiction. (review)

– Mihan Aromatics Mikado Bark is a hobbit’s goblincore hauntological playlist (review)

– Eauso Vert Fruto Oscuro is a goth California Raisin (review)

– Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab Darling, Darling smells like the tender caresses of a succubus who is feeding you a handful of Smarties. (review found here)

– Arcana Wildcraft On the Wing is the broken-winged beating of the hollow heart, the devastating language of wounds, the darkness that embraces everything. (review)

– Filigree & Shadow Pieces of My Heart like standing at the threshold of revelation, where the raw, messy horrors of being human crystallize into a single, breathtaking moment of grace. (review)

DIGITAL DISTRACTIONS

❇ Poetic Puppets on Instagram is all muppet imagery juxtaposed with poetry, and it is beautiful and melancholic and funny and perfect.

❇ Sylvanian Drama on TikTok. OMG. Just…just go look at it. I don’t want to spoil it for you

❇ Here is a quartet of newsletters whose arrival in my inbox I always look forward to…!

– In New Bands for Old Heads, Gabbie shares new music for the sensibilities of people who stopped listening to new music in the nineties and early 2000s.

– In the 70s Sci-Fi Art newsletter, Adam Rowe shares incredible imagery and chatty, cheeky commentary about wild, weird world of retro science fiction art.

– J. Simpson’s Hauntology Now covers all the spooky books and movies and peculiar sounds and sentiments that people like us (whatever that means to you, you’re probably right) are interested in.

– Lady Whistlethreads is a gossipy scandal sheet of all the drama that’s happening on the writer/author side of social media. It’s not something you read to feel smarter; it’s a grab-your-popcorn thing.

PRACTICAL MAGIC & PRECIOUS THINGS

❇ It is ridiculous how happy this little flickering nightlight makes me!

❇ I used to keep a water bottle at my desk, but in my (probably perimenopausal middle age), I am peeing ALL THE TIME, so I am hydrating slightly less. Now, I keep a cute little carafe in the kitchen and grab a drink whenever I walk by it. Also, is my pee WETTER than it used to be? So much weird shit they do not tell you about getting older.

❇ Sometimes, Ývan has late-night D&D sessions, and after he broke his foot, I got into the habit of keeping the light on for him after I’d gone to bed. I didn’t want him lurching around in the dark, possibly breaking the other foot. My gorgeous mulberry silk Altar + Orb eye mask got a lot of use this summer and autumn!

❇ Thanks to Roses & Rue’s exquisite taste and keen eye for hauntingly beautiful antiques, this year brought an especially marvelous collection of treasures, each piece whispering its own cryptic tale while gracing my walls, adorning my vanity, and housing my most precious things

❇ Rebecca Chaperon’s artwork transports me to crystalline realms where playful spirits dance with shadows; her pieces are portals to kaleidoscopic dreamscapes, and I was lucky enough to commission a bite-sized version of one of her works for my Patreon (while the full-sized original graces my wall.)

❇ Alyssa Thorne’s midnight floriography speaks directly to my flower-loving heart – her lustrous blooms and kindred glooms capture both shadow and illumination in every exposure, each print a tenebrous twilight garden that I’ve slowly collected to create my own personal gallery of beautiful darkness.

❇ Open Sea Design Co.’s exquisitely moody stationery has kept me organized in the most darkly beautiful way possible – their witchy notepads, occult-inspired planners, and Victorian-themed notecards transform mundane to-do lists and correspondence into acts of everyday magic.

CINEMATIC SPELLS

Most of my intentional movie-watching takes place during October when I undertake my annual ritual of 31 Days of Horror, a month-long immersion into shadows and spooky stories that serves as my personal ceremony for ushering in the darker half of the year. Here are some standouts that left their mark:

❇ Oddity haunted me with its tale of a blind medium who arrives at her murdered twin’s former home with a screaming wooden mannequin in tow – a slow-burning Irish horror that masterfully builds dread through isolation, betrayal, and one extremely unsettling piece of folk art.

❇ In She Will, the mesmerizing Alice Krige embodies an aging film star who finds dark redemption at a Scottish healing center built upon witch’s ashes – a brooding folk horror that transforms trauma into supernatural power through misty woods and Clint Mansell’s ethereal score

❇ Abigail turned out to be exactly the kind of gleefully gory vampire romp I’d hoped for – what begins as a crime heist (starring Matthew Crawley and Gus Fring kidnapping a tiny dancer!) spirals into delicious chaos when their smol captive reveals her true nature, trading her ballet slippers for glittery sneakers perfect for a night of stylish carnage.

WORD WITCHERY

❇ Two collections of quietly unsettling stories captured my imagination this year: Kathryn Harlan’s Fruiting Bodies, where mushrooms bloom on human flesh and childhood fears take strange new shapes, and Mystery Lights by Lena Valencia, whose economical prose illuminates eerie vignettes of the American Southwest where cave tours go wrong and desert retreats harbor sinister undercurrents.

❇ Psychedelica Satanica by Sybil Oxblood-Pope Pope was a delightfully deranged surprise – a B-movie horror romp in book form that follows two sisters dabbling in dark magic, featuring the scene-stealing Vinegar Bill (a wonderfully snarky demon-goat) and enough absurdist humor to balance out the infernal menace.

❇ Marina Yuszczuk’s Thirst weaves together two haunting tales – a vampire seeking refuge in 19th century Buenos Aires and a modern woman facing her mother’s mortality – through prose as lush and Gothic as du Maurier’s, creating an exquisite meditation on immortality, desire, and the shadows between life and death.

❇ Josh Malerman’s Incidents Around the House plunged me back into the overwhelming uncertainty of childhood through the story of a young girl and the thing in her closet that wants “inside her heart” – a masterfully sustained exercise in mounting dread that had me holding my breath and weeping with terror as I turned each page. (That’s not an exaggeration, this book scared me so bad it made me cry!)

❇ Susan Barker’s Old Soul spins an intricate web from an Osaka airport encounter into a centuries-spanning hunt for an immortal collector of photographs whose passage through time leaves broken lives and inexplicable losses – a patient, elegant horror story that gathers its power through accumulated testimonies of grief and predation. (This is a review for an advanced copy, the book publishes in January 2025)

❇ Elizabeth Sulis Kim’s anthology Spiritus Mundi explores how writers channel creativity through mystical means – from scrying to tarot reading, featuring standouts like Pam Grossman’s phenomenal “Invocation to Iris” and creating its own kind of magic by sparking uncanny synchronicities during my reading experience.

❇ The Sphinx and the Milky Way reveals Charles Burchfield’s intimate observations of nature’s hidden frequencies – from singing sunflowers to humming telephone wires – through journal entries that pulse with the same mystical vitality as his watercolors, offering a glimpse into the mind of an artist who saw magic thrumming beneath the surface of everyday life.

SONIC ACCOMPANIMENT

❇ Two albums dominated my listening this year: Chelsea Wolfe’s She Reaches Out To She Reaches Out To She, a darkwave journey of industrial storms and gothic shadows, and Pom Pom Squad’s Mirror Starts Moving Without Me, which transforms similar themes of identity and self-reflection into sharp-edged pop – both artists wrestling with different versions of themselves through distinctly different sonic landscapes.

❇ A trio of singles cast their spell in heavy rotation this year – Haley Heynderickx’s “Gemini,“ London Grammar’s “Into Gold,” and Suki Waterhouse’s “Supersad” – each one a different facet of metamorphosis, where past selves whisper to future ones and sorrow transmutes into strange new shapes.

And there we have it – another year’s worth of treasures, trials, and transformations catalogued for posterity. As always, these lists feel simultaneously too long and not long enough; there are surely things I’ve forgotten, discoveries that slipped through the cracks of memory, or favorites that didn’t quite make it onto the page.

I’d love to hear what caught your eye this year – what objects of beauty or utility found their way into your life? What stories kept you up at night, what songs became the soundtrack to your days? Share your own needful things in the comments below.

If you enjoy posts like these or if you have ever enjoyed or been inspired by something I have written, and you would like to support this blog, consider buying the author a coffee?

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I know I said I was done with the navel-gazing for the year, but I was obviously mistaken. This may be the final installment in what has admittedly been a rather self-indulgent series of origin stories – explorations of the fascinations and fixations that have shaped who I am, from my love of horror to my magpie attraction to shiny things. And it seems fitting to write about my love of the kitchen and culinary experimentation as the year draws to a close; with the chilly weather and the dark nights, it’s really the coziest time of the year to be thinking about it… and aside from that, it was someone’s question about where my love of cooking came from that sparked and shaped this whole series to begin with!

Thanks to that curious commenter’s question, I’ve found myself increasingly drawn to examining these threads of identity over the past year, these passions that make me uniquely me. Perhaps it’s the looming approach of my fiftieth year that spurs this relentless self-documentation, this need to understand and chronicle the specific alchemy that created this particular human consciousness. Or …perhaps I’m just really self-absorbed?

I spend a lot of time thinking about how incredibly narcissistic it is to write so extensively about oneself. To document every quirk and peculiarity, to chart the etymology of personal obsessions, to treat one’s own development like some fascinating case study worthy of extensive analysis. It’s the kind of thing that keeps me awake at night sometimes – this constant need to examine, to understand, to put into words the how and why of becoming myself. The very existence of this blog, really, is an exercise in sustained narcissism. Who am I to think my thoughts about perfume or jewelry or cooking are worth preserving? What hubris leads me to believe my personal evolution merits documentation? And yet here I am, year after year, continuing to write these missives into the void.

As I edge closer to that half-century mark, I find myself thinking often about all the humans who have existed before me and all those who will come after. We share so many commonalities, so many universal experiences and emotions – and yet each of us is uniquely ourselves in ways that will never be replicated. One day, I will cease to exist. Will anyone remember that I was here? Will it matter that I spent countless hours pondering perfume and cooking and horror stories? Perhaps not. And yet something in me insists that it does matter, that leaving some record of this particular consciousness, this specific combination of passions and proclivities, serves some purpose I can’t quite articulate but feel deeply in my bones.

For someone who spends their leisure time consuming ghost stories, fictional horror podcasts, and gruesome Reddit /no sleep threads, who decorates their home with oddities and memento mori, who gravitates toward the darkest corners of imagined experience – it might seem strange that my greatest joy comes from making the coziest, most life-affirming things. Warm loaves of bread fresh from the oven, bubbling pots of soup that steam up the windows, crocks of tangy homemade pickles lined up on shelves. But perhaps it’s not so strange after all. The same anxiety that draws me to horror – that need to process fear through stories – dissolves completely in the kitchen. I’m still the person who approaches most of life with the hesitant caution of a medieval food taster at a suspicious monarch’s table. But put me in front of a stove and suddenly I have the unearned confidence of a mediocre white man explaining your own profession to you.

This pocket of fearlessness started in my grandmother’s kitchen. Mawga never set out to teach me anything formally – there were no stern lectures about technique, no rigid rules about measuring, no scolding over messes or mistakes. Instead, I was just allowed to exist in her space while she cooked. I’d hover by her elbow as she stirred pots of chicken and dumplings, breathing in the steam and warmth, or sit cross-legged on the linoleum while she rolled out pie crusts, the air heavy with flour and possibility. Sometimes I’d help, sometimes I’d just watch, but always I was absorbing the rhythms of how she moved through her kitchen, calm and sure.

Those lessons in confidence followed me into my twenties, even when everything else felt uncertain. In high school, with my mother’s specific brand of alcohol and mental illness-fueled chaos, everything was tumultuous and fraught. I comforted myself with a lot of grilled cheese sandwiches. In my early twenties, I shared an apartment with a flaky musician while trying to navigate community college (it took me ten years to get my associate degree; classrooms make me very anxious.) Money was tight – my fast food job barely kept the lights on – but I became surprisingly good at transforming leftovers from family dinners at my grandparents’ into completely different meals, and an impressive number of hamburgers and fries would mysteriously make their way home from my shifts, becoming the foundation for whatever inspiration struck. When you’ve successfully turned three-day-old fast food into something not only edible but actually satisfying, you start to trust your instincts in the kitchen.

My thirties brought a different kind of solitude. Living away from family, trapped in a toxic relationship with someone who was rarely there, the kitchen became both my refuge and my laboratory. My then-boyfriend’s picky palate and nasty temper could have made me timid, could have crushed that confidence I’d developed. Instead, in the long hours alone, I threw myself into increasingly ambitious projects. I made butter from scratch just to see if I could. I spent days perfecting homemade udon noodles, testing and adjusting until the texture was just right. Each successful experiment was a quiet rebellion, an unshackling from the cage I’d found myself in, a reminder that in the kitchen, at least, I answered to no one but myself.

Now, I find myself in a kitchen filled with laughter and appreciation, sharing my culinary adventures with someone who approaches each experimental dish with genuine enthusiasm. Yvan compliments everything I make, even my failures. He’s allowed me to edge him out of the kitchen for the most part, but he has actually taken over Christmas cookie duty – not because my cookies aren’t good, but because baking demands a precision that I can’t seem to submit to. I simply can’t be confined by exact measurements. Don’t stifle me, recipe! This works beautifully for soups and sauces, less so for baked goods and pastries that rely on proper chemistry.

The contrast kind of amazes me sometimes. The same person who lies awake rehearsing minor social interactions, who needs to gather courage just to make a phone call, who has a panic attack at the mere thought of making a left-hand turn – that person will confidently modify treasured family recipes without a second thought. For big family dinners, I’ll attempt entirely new dishes for the first time. I’ll cheerfully ignore precise measurements in baking recipes, because come on–I know what’s best, I do!

This kitchen confidence has become such a fundamental part of who I am that I sometimes forget how remarkable it is – this one space where anxiety’s grip loosens, where uncertainty doesn’t feel threatening. It’s a gift from Mawga, really, though she never explicitly set out to give it to me. By creating a space where I could simply be, where mistakes were just part of the process, and perfection wasn’t the goal, she helped shape a part of me that knows how to move through the world without fear.

As I write this final piece for the year, I have two loaves of sourdough doing their slow rise in the refrigerator. I couldn’t tell you exactly how they will turn out. They’ll do whatever they want to do, and it will be okay. I trust that whatever emerges from the oven will be, if not perfect, at least interesting. And really, isn’t that the best way to end a year? Not with rigid expectations but with the courage to try something new, the confidence to accept whatever results, and the comfort of knowing that in your own kitchen, you are exactly who you need to be.

And perhaps understanding exactly who you are and how you came to be that person sometimes requires writing neurotically detailed 5,000-word blog posts examining your curio cabinet of compulsions and preoccupations! Look forward to more of those in 2025!

All photos in this post are by me, of food I have made.

If you enjoy posts like these or if you have ever enjoyed or been inspired by something I have written, and you would like to support this blog, consider buying the author a coffee?

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I often find myself writing these long, meandering posts on social media – you know, the kind where someone in the comments invariably responds with “ma’am, this is a Wendy’s” (or at least my brain does, after I stop and read the train wreck I’ve just posted to Facebook or whatever) and then halfway through I remember: oh right, I literally have a blog for exactly this sort of rambling introspection. You’d think after maintaining a blog for over a decade, I’d remember that’s where these thoughts belong. But no, sometimes they just spill out wherever I happen to be typing.

Like yesterday, when I posted this:

As someone constantly riddled with low-grade, persistent, and utterly nebulous anxiety, it can be hard to tell when you’re having a good day. I go about my life – writing blog posts, working full-time, cooking dinner, maintaining relationships, doing all the regular human things – and underneath it all, there’s always this dull roar of existential dread. Just constant enough to fade into the background, just loud enough to never quite forget it’s there. And sometimes I think how lovely it would be to just… fall apart. To let everything go to shit and fester in my own misery. But I can’t. Maybe it’s being the eldest child, maybe it’s generational repression, maybe it’s just how I’m wired – but I keep going. I keep functioning. Not because I’m especially resilient or brave, but because I literally don’t know how to stop.

Today was one of those days when I got to wear all of my favorite clothes, layered simultaneously. Living in Florida means these precious few cold days are especially welcome – I spend the entire month of July (the worst month for existential dread) dreaming about cardigans and turtlenecks. It might sound trivial to someone else, but those who know, know. It’s a balm that feels like both safety and joy – I guess we call these glimmers now, these tiny moments when the world feels a little more manageable. When I can finally envelop myself in the warmth and textures of this cocoon I’ve been craving, something shifts ever so slightly.

Maybe it’s the gentle pressure of layers, like a wearable weighted blanket, or the way each piece of clothing becomes another small boundary between my skin and everything else. It’s not about modesty or protection from the cold – it’s about creating space between myself and the world, building a soft fortress of fabric that helps me feel more anchored in my own body. I don’t know why I’m always searching for another layer to add, another soft barrier to wrap myself in, but I do know that on days like this, when I can finally dress the way my body craves, something inside me settles just a little bit.

The anxiety doesn’t go away – it never really does. It’s more like turning down the volume on a radio that’s been playing static in the background of your life for so long that you’ve almost forgotten it’s there. Almost, but not quite. Because even when you’ve learned to function around it and built all these little coping mechanisms and comfort rituals, you’re still aware of its presence, humming away beneath everything else. Not debilitating, not stopping you from living your life or doing your work or maintaining relationships – just there, a constant companion you’ve learned to work alongside.

This pattern of normalizing discomfort isn’t new – I wrote about it years ago when I realized I’d spent decades believing I didn’t deserve basic conveniences or comforts. It was about learning to pack snacks for long car rides or keep painkillers in my bag instead of just suffering through headaches. Just like these layers of clothes I’ve always wrapped myself in, these were all ways of coping that I didn’t even recognize as coping. The shape of the adaptations varies, but the core remains: that deep-seated belief that my discomfort isn’t quite real enough to address. I’ve never been diagnosed or medicated – not out of principle, but because every time I’ve tried to describe this constant background hum to a doctor, I find myself automatically downplaying it, making it sound manageable, bearable. Maybe it’s shame, maybe it’s habit, maybe it’s just what happens when you spend so much time trying to convince yourself that everyone probably feels this way, that it’s not really a problem if you’ve learned to function around it.

It’s strange how adaptation becomes second nature. Building elaborate systems of scaffolding around a shaky foundation becomes normal. The layers of clothing aren’t a solution – they’re just another way of existing alongside something that never quite goes away. Sometimes adapting to discomfort feels easier than figuring out why you needed all these layers in the first place.

And because I know someone will completely bypass all of this emotional excavation and existential pondering to demand “WHERE GET CLOTHES???” – yes, I’ll list the items below. Though, I have to laugh at that particular brand of comment that barrels past all the vulnerability straight to the shopping links. (To be fair, I’m also absolutely that person who will read someone’s gutting personal essay and think, “I feel you deeply in my soul… also where did you get those boots?” At least some of us have the grace or self-awareness or whatever to acknowledge both the emotional weight AND our fashion priorities.)

Anyway: Buggyboy cardigan from WeCrowingHens // linen dress from linenfairytales // tissue turtleneck from J. Crew // high waisted black leggings from Hue // Antique chatelaine charm necklace & shield from Caron Power Jewelry  // gold ring from Victoria Sterling Antiques // Black Dr. Martens Chelsea boots

I suppose I should mention what prompted this particular spiral: a Patreon subscriber canceled their subscription. This isn’t the first time it’s happened and if I continue to maintain it, it won’t be the last. But what they didn’t tell me about running a Patreon is how I’d spiral with rejection and self-loathing everytime someone cancels their subscription. People’s financial circumstances (and interests) change! The economy sucks! A thousand other things unrelated to me or my writing! BUT HEAR ME OUT what if I should just crawl into a hole and give up on everything forever???

By the way, there is a free-level of membership on my Patreon, and I just shared a winter fragrance round-up over there yesterday!

So I mean, obviously, I won’t give up on everything forever. Eldest daughter and all that – the perfectionism, the compulsive need to keep it together, the deeply ingrained belief that falling apart isn’t an option because someone has to stay functional, someone has to keep up appearances, keep the plates spinning, someone has to make sure dinner looks Instagram-worthy even when everything else is crumbling. Might as well be me.

If you enjoy posts like these or if you have ever enjoyed or been inspired by something I have written, and you would like to support this blog, consider buying the author a coffee?

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A commenter recently asked if I would be doing a video showcasing my favorite things from the past year. While that particular roundup will manifest as a written piece here on the blog (because attempting to recall and articulate twelve months’ worth of treasures in a video format would result in a rambling mess of “oh! and this! and that! and I can’t believe I almost forgot about…”), it did plant the seed for something else: a shorter video featuring some of my recent acquisitions.

The timing feels particularly appropriate as we creep ever closer to the holiday season. We all know the peculiar anxiety of last-minute gift shopping – that frantic search for the perfect present when time is running out and inspiration seems to have abandoned us entirely. Perhaps you, too, have found yourself desperately scrolling through pages of suggestions that feel hopelessly generic, wondering how to find something special for that person in your life who prefers their gifts with a touch of shadow, a hint of mystery, or a whisper of the arcane.

I confess there’s also something deliciously self-indulgent about holiday shopping for others. You know the ritual: one for them, two for me. After all, how can we truly recommend gifts if we haven’t tested them ourselves? At least, that’s what I tell myself as I add items to my cart, justifying each purchase as “research” for future gift recommendations. It’s a slippery slope from “this would be perfect for so-and-so” to “but first, let me make sure it’s as wonderful as it seems.”

What began as a simple “look what I bought” video has transformed into something I hope you’ll find more useful: a carefully curated guide for those seeking gifts for their favorite shadow-dwellers. Whether you’re shopping for the friend who conducts beauty rituals by candlelight, the loved one who collects Victorian curiosities, or the companion who reads tarot while sipping botanical spirits, you’ll find something here to intrigue and delight. Let’s explore these treasures, shall we?

Scents & Potions:

• Heretique’s Nosferatu perfume
• Eauso Vert’s Fruto Oscuro
• Miskeo Parfums
• Anjali Perfumes
• Forthave Single Batch Floral Bittersweet Liqueur
• A24’s Genre Candles – atmospheric scents inspired by film

Beauty & Ritual:

• Rituel de Fille’s ceremonial approach to beauty

Tools for Recording Dark Thoughts:

• Open Sea Design’s Witch’s Year planner
• The elegantly practical chrome pen
• A gravestone-rubbing inspired address stamp that adds gothic flair to correspondence

Oracle & Wisdom:

• The Dark Goddess Oracle
• Memento Mori: The Art of Contemplating Death to Live a Better Life
• The Universe in 100 Colors: Weird & Wondrous Colors from Science and Nature
• Moon Lists: Questions and Rituals for Self-Reflection: A Guided Journal

Curios & Antiquities:

• Select pieces from Roses and Rue Antiques
• Dellamorte Co.’s darkly beautiful offerings

While the items above represent my recent acquisitions, I would be remiss not to mention several perennial favorites that deserve a place in any gothic gift guide. These are the treasured pieces and reliable sources I return to again and again – items that may not have made it into the video (as they weren’t recent purchases) but which have proven themselves worthy additions to any dark soul’s collection. Some are single items that have earned their place through years of use, while others come from sellers and artisans whose work I’ve collected over time, each piece adding to a carefully curated cabinet of curiosities. Consider these time-tested additions as you plan your gift-giving this season…

Adornments & Artifacts: Flannery Grace Good creates bold, soulful jewelry pieces that speak directly to the heart – each creation reflecting not just masterful craftsmanship but the warm, wickedly clever spirit of an artist who pours genuine love and understanding into every piece. Under the Pyramids crafts portable magic in the form of talismans, amulets, and magical symbols, each piece handcrafted in recycled silver to serve as wearable vessels of power and intention.

Bloodmilk’s creations emerged from the liminal space of grief, beginning as personal talismans of psychic armor and evolving into a collection that weaves together Victorian spiritualism, dark romanticism, and profound personal narrative. Each piece serves as a physical reminder – of love, of self-reliance, of mourning, of the fleeting nature of beauty – crafted with an understanding that jewelry can be more than adornment; it can be a tangible manifestation of our most nebulous dreams. Alexis Berger’s hand-fabricated glass jewelry captures the luminous beauty of Art Nouveau and the Belle Epoch, with translucent lampworked beads creating pieces of timeless elegance, and Parrish Relics melds medieval grandeur with Pre-Raphaelite sensibilities in time-worn amulets that look as though they were unearthed from some ancient, flower-strewn cloister.

Garments & Sacred Spaces: Altar + Orb creates clothing and decor inspired by lunar mysteries, Victorian aesthetics, and the shadowy corners of nature, perfect for those who wish to wear their mysticism or create atmospheric spaces. I can personally attest that their sweaters are the best I’ve ever owned – managing to be both spooky and delightfully cozy, which is really the ultimate combination. Their blank books are equally stunning, providing the perfect vessel for recording all of your haunted thoughts and midnight musings.

Scent Stories: Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab has spent decades crafting literary and mythological inspiration into wearable art through their vast catalog of atmospheric perfume oils. From Lovecraftian horrors to Victorian gardens, their scents tell complete stories. Arcana Wildcraft combines ancient perfumery techniques with wild-harvested plants and magical practice, creating process-oriented perfumes infused with elements of alchemy and witchcraft. Seance Perfumes draws inspiration from Victorian spiritualism and the metaphysical realm, creating fragrances that bridge the rational and emotional worlds, while Poesie Perfume crafts scents inspired by literature, wanderlust, and the romance of bygone eras.

Literary Treasures: Victoria Mier’s Beyond the Aching Door weaves Welsh mythology and Slavic folklore into a darkly romantic urban fantasy. Iris Compiet’s Faeries of the Faultlines provides a stunning artistic journey into otherworldly realms, while The Sphinx and The Milky Way shares Charles Burchfield’s fascinating naturalist observations. Una Maria Blythe’s Muses No More: Portraits of Occult Women illuminates the often-overlooked stories of female occultists throughout history. For those who walk in dreams, Naomi Sangreal’s Little Hidden Doors offers an artfully crafted guide to exploring one’s dream landscapes through a lens of creativity and compassion.

Sonic Spells: Chelsea Wolfe’s She Reaches Out To She Reaches Out To She provides a darkwave journey perfect for winter nights. This latest offering weaves together industrial rhythms, gothic rock, and ethereal vocals into a tapestry of transformation and self-discovery. Moving between haunting ballads and electronic storms, the album creates a world where vulnerability and strength coexist in shadow, making it an ideal soundtrack for those long dark nights of the soul.

If you enjoy posts like these or if you have ever enjoyed or been inspired by something I have written, and you would like to support this blog, consider buying the author a coffee?

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2024 was not a year of big things for me; there were no books published or big projects I was involved in or working on. With this freed-up brain space, I wrote more than ever before on the blog, for a whopping total of 130 blog posts: I wrote about the artists I love, I kept track of and shared my thoughts on the books I read, I watched scary movies and wrote about what I saw, I rambled at length about fragrances, and I mused existentially on all manner of nonsense.

And so, after all that, I’m taking a little break! Nothing serious over here at Unquiet Things while the year winds down, no essays or explorations or examinations of the profound or provocative – just cozy musings and year-end meanderings while I recharge my creative batteries. Over the next few weeks, I plan on sharing some bookish gift ideas and the favorite and needful things I’ve enjoyed this year, along with the usual month-end perfume reviews, quarterly reading roundup, and book reviews. And that’s all she wrote!

Yet even in this softer, slower season, I find myself collecting little moments and observations like magpie treasures. Here’s what’s been gathering in my winter nest…

Stories & Sounds

Reading…

I have just reviewed my NetGalley shelf (a site where you can get ARCs in exchange for reviews) and noted all of the things I was rejected for in the past six months. Most of the titles have now been published, and I have either found library copies or put holds on them. I know we only have three more weeks left in the year, but that doesn’t mean I am not going to try and read 30 additional books! In the meantime, here are things that I have read this past month:

I’ve just emerged from the strange, unsettling world of Beta Vulgaris by Margie Sarsfield (forthcoming February 2025), where the mundane task of harvesting sugar beets in Minnesota becomes a surreal descent into spiraling depression. What begins as a more or less straightforward story about seasonal work to escape debt becomes something far more devastating – and weirdly compelling. Through Elise’s eyes, we experience not just the physical labor of the beet harvest, but the exhausting weight of existing in a mind that’s constantly at war with itself. Sarsfield renders disordered eating, self-loathing, and crushing anxiety with such stark familiarity that you find yourself nodding in recognition even as you wince at the truth of it. It’s all threaded through with a caustic, mean-spirited humor that somehow makes the relentless internal monologue bearable – even darkly entertaining. When mysterious voices begin emanating from the beet pile and workers start disappearing, you’re not quite sure if you’re witnessing a psychological unraveling or something more sinister. The genius is that both readings work, and both are equally horrifying.

Absolution by Jeff VanderMeer consumed ten solid days of my December reading life – unusual for someone who typically juggles 5-6 books at once. I had to clear my literary deck entirely to give it the focus it required. While I wish I’d refreshed my memory of the previous stories to better grasp its intricate web of connections… ten days, and all I got was the briefest glimpse of something vast and incomprehensible that will needle at my brain forever, a maddening fragment I won’t even be able to articulate by the time the next book comes out. Which is probably exactly what reading VanderMeer should feel like.

Listening…

It’s December so that pretty much means if I am at my desk working or writing, it is 24/7 Hildegard von Bingen or medieval chanting, while in the rest of the house, it’s old-fashioned Christmas carols. But I did see that Pye Corner Audio has got something new forthcoming, and I sure do dig their eerie hauntological electronica; I have really been enjoying Babyrose’s sublime psychedelic soul and also this release from Black Swan, 20 pieces evoking “the experiences of a spirit navigating the physical world it left behind.” And lastly Blood Incantation’s prog rock/death metal album Absolute Elsewhere album is a journey.

Watching…

I am still having a hard time watching much of anything at all, but I’ve been in the mood to see something beautiful, something visually stunning. Think The Fountain, The Cell, Valerie and Her Week of Wonders, all those sorts of things. I polled my social media friends and compiled a list –none of which I have watched yet — but if you are interested in this sort of film too, I thought I would share all of the suggestions. A significant handful of people mentioned The Fall (the Tarsem Singh movie, not the detective show with Gillian Anderson). This film has been on my list for years now, and I finally watched it last night. AND WOW. Baby Lee Pace! And a friend told me that the girl grew to be a very cool pole dancer, which is neat. Also, I want to knit up her sweet little cardigan!

But as you can imagine, searching for “the fall” + “cardigan pattern,” while it turns up some lovely autumnal patterns, yields nothing actually helpful to my search. Anyhow, here are some other “beautiful movies” that folx mentioned if you’re looking to add to your list. Some of these I have seen, but others I’ve not even heard of, and since I don’t know what you’ve seen or haven’t (or truly, what is even your definition of “beautiful”), I have included all of them…

Loving Vincent (2017) // La Belle et la bête (1946 + 2014) // Tears of the Black Tiger (2003) // Poor Things (2023) // Russian Ark (2003) // Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000) // Prospero’s Books (1991) // Orlando (1992) // Barry Lyndon (1975) // Night of the Hunter (1955) // My Neighbor Totoro (1988) // House of the Flying Daggers (2004) // Pan’s Labryinth (2006// Interstellar (2014) // Baron Munchausen (1988) // The Girl on the Bridge (1999) // Conclave (2024)// Days of Heaven (1978) // Midnight in Paris (2011) // The Green Knight (2021) // A Midsummer Night’s Dream (1935) // Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors (1965) // The Scent of Green Papaya (1993) // Anastasia (1997) // Melancholia (2011) // The City of Lost Children (1995) // In the Mood For Love (2000) // The Secret of the Kells (2009) // The Company of Wolves (1984) // Amelie (2001) // Blade Runner (1982 + 2017) // Beyond the Black Rainbow (2010)

Hearth & Home

We held Thanksgiving at our house this year. Which is funny, because I initially wasn’t even going to be here for Thanksgiving; I would have been visiting one of my sisters in Asheville. But with the storm and the damage, we thought it best to hold off until next year. So somehow, I went from doing nothing over the holiday to hosting the whole dang affair. Ývan took care of the turkey, and I made the mashed potatoes, green bean casserole (from scratch, using smittenkitchen’s recipe), cranberry-apple compote, and sourdough dinner rolls. My father-in-law brought stuffing and apple pie. No pumpkin or pecan pie this year, THANK GOD. Ugh. Not my favorite stuff.

Not usually being the ones left holding the leftovers, I took the opportunity to try a bunch of new things and experiment. We waffled the mashed potatoes (success!) and the stuffing (not so much) using this tiny waffle iron that I’ve had for years but never actually use. We made turkey salad (whiz up turkey, onions, and celery in a food processor and fold in mayo and seasonings; eat on crackers or wraps or whatever.) We made a huge pot of broth with the turkey carcass, some of which we froze, some of which we used to make soup with the remainder of the green bean casserole, and some of which Ývan used to make a big batch of congee. And then, finally, with the leftover compote, I have been stirring spoonfuls into boiling water and making tea with it!

Current Enchantments & Little Lights

❄ There are only a few months out of the year when I can really wear my knits, and that time is now upon us! Last night, it actually got down to 36° F, and now it is absolutely freezing in my office; my hands are too cold to wield a pen or a needles, so it’s time to pull out the hand-knit mitts! These are the Campestral Mitts by Lauren Rad (and the sock-in-progress up there is also her pattern.)

❄ It is the time for layering! I am happiest and most comfortable when not an inch of skin is showing. This is the season for wearing a turtleneck under a dress over some leggings with thick socks and a scarf and sure maybe it looks a little eccentric, like a wacky macaroni necklaced kindergarten teacher, but I don’t care, I love it!

❄ My winter fragrances! I can smell like a Rust Cohle McConaughlogue with Lvnea’a Deer Mother, or the forests teeming with undead Green/Black MtG deck of Dasein’s Winter Nights, or the snowy yokai sneaking off for a ciggie on a winter’s evening while peeling a tangerine with long, sharp silver fingernails of Ikiriyo’s Yukion’na. I have a BPAL included in this winter line-up, and while it is no longer available limited edition scent, this year’s Yule scents are now live!

❄ Not necessarily winter-related, but I am having a long-awaited, much-needed Fuck Off, World! Weekend. Ývan is away at PAX Unplugged doing a whole bunch of nerdy stuff, and I am at home, doing a bunch of intensely introverted homebody stuff! Like peeing with the door open! No one can stop me! I ate so many Cool Ranch Doritos yesterday that I injured my tongue, and I stayed up til 2:30 am watching movies, whee! Today, I am being more responsible, and I am crossing things off my to-do list: pinning and blocking out a two year’s worth of knitted shawls, repotting a little tea tree plant, sending some perfume samples to a friend, and writing out all of my Patreon cards for December. Well…that was the plan anyway. It’s already 3 o’clock in the afternoon and I have spent most of the day writing this blog post. Ah well! The purpose of the FOW!W is to accomplish as little as humanly possible, so by all accounts, I am winning.

What have you all been up to lately? Are you leaning into winter’s slow pleasures or fighting against them? Also, should I watch my Cool Ranch Doritos consumption more carefully in my 40s? Asking for a friend (the friend is my tongue.)

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As I prepared for this interview about Naomi Sangreal’s Little Hidden Doors, I found myself drifting through the landscapes of my own recurring dreams. They arrive unbidden, like persistent visitors who know where I keep the spare key: there I am at Checkers, my first job at fifteen, somehow still on the schedule thirty years later with unclaimed paychecks waiting for me; or I’m at the health food store I worked at while I was living in New Jersey, eternally trying to close up as customers mysteriously materialize through locked doors and darkened spaces. Sometimes I’m struck with the heart-stopping realization that I’ve forgotten about a phantom apartment somewhere, with ghostly cats waiting to be fed. But perhaps most luminous among these visitations was a single dream about my beloved tuxedo cat, Inkers, who appeared to me on a childhood path after her death, leading me through an impossible doorway in her own throat – a dream that spoke to the ineffable nature of loss and the labyrinthine corridors of grief. These dreams, persistent and precious, seem to embody what Jung called “little hidden doors in the innermost and most secret recesses of the soul.” They’re exactly the kind of ethereal material that our interview subject suggests we should embrace, rather than dismiss as mere midnight wanderings.

Little Hidden Doors: A Guided Journal for Deep Dreamers by Naomi Sangreal  is an enchanted threshold into the mysteries of our sleeping minds – a luminous sanctuary where dreamers can unfold the origami of their unconscious thoughts. My own copy is heavily annotated, its margins filled with midnight revelations and sunrise insights, and it has become one of my most frequently recommended books, as well.

Through an alchemical blend of psychological wisdom and soul-stirring creative prompts, Sangreal becomes our gentle guide through the labyrinth of dream interpretation, translating complex Jungian concepts into whispered revelations that feel like secrets shared in twilight. In our meandering conversation, we wander through shadowed corridors and sunlit chambers of dream exploration: from the quiet rebellion of honoring our nocturnal visions in a world that prizes constant wakefulness, to the shimmering potential of lucid dreaming as a practice ground for transformation. We pause to examine nightmares not as terrors to be fled from, but as dark messengers bearing gifts of insight, and explore how the gossamer threads of dreamwork weave themselves into the tapestry of our waking lives. Sangreal’s voice – both as psychotherapist and intuitive wayfinder – illuminates our path as she shares her own dream-touched stories, including a pivotal vision that beckoned her toward her calling as a counselor, while offering gentle lanterns of wisdom to those just beginning to map their own dreamscapes.

Unquiet Things: Your book title, “Little Hidden Doors,” evokes a sense of mystery and discovery. Can you elaborate on what these “doors” represent in our dream life and psyche?

Naomi Sangreal: The title comes from one of Carl Jung’s renowned quotes, “The dream is a little hidden door in the innermost and most secret recesses of the soul, opening into that cosmic night which was psyche long before there was any ego-consciousness, and which will remain psyche no matter how far our ego-consciousness extends.”

Jung describes how our ego consciousness remains small and separate, whereas through the dream we have access to this multidimensional and timeless experience of primordial wholeness. I see these doors as opportunities and inklings, ushering us as we might follow our curiosity through the corridors of an abandoned mansion; we choose which rooms we enter and the deeper we go the more treasures we may find. Dreams are incredible intrapsychic doors into our deep psyche.

You mention that paying attention to our dreams is revolutionary. How can this practice of dream engagement serve as a form of rebellion against what you call “wake-centricity” in modern society?

Revolutionary in the sense that dreams show us what we don’t want to know or see, what is disavowed and unallowed. They are raw, unfiltered and untouched by the social norms, rules and regulations of morality and waking consciousness and by interacting with them we can make contact with truer aspects of ourselves that may not be accessible or embraced by our waking external circumstances or environment. Dreams can offer us transformative experiences and life-changing ideas that we may not have access to in daily life. They share problem-solving wisdom and new insights that we can bring into our lives and our communities to create change.

You discuss the concept of the anima in your work. For those unfamiliar with Jungian psychology, could you explain what the anima is and why reconnecting with it is important in our current societal context?

In Jungian psychology, the anima archetype speaks to the inner feminine principle and the animus to the inner masculine soul that is not yet made manifest. According to Jung, the anima and animus are the contrasexual archetypes of the psyche. They are built from feminine and masculine archetypes from the individual experience as well as experiences with parents and collective, social, and cultural images. These inner figures seek to balance out our otherwise possibly one-sided experience of gender energy or personality expression and call us toward expressing our deep soulful wholeness. We are all both, but sometimes express varying levels of one or the other outwardly at different times. Our inner experience compensates to ensure the balance of our nature, which often is completely unconscious.

Marion Woodman states, “The tragedy and the danger of a patriarchal society is that too often it suffers the terrible consequences of leaving the feminine soul in both men and women in a repressed and abandoned state. Wherever this happens, the ego, unrefined and undeveloped by intercourse with the inner feminine, functions at a brutal, barbaric level, measuring its strength paradoxically by its power to destroy in the name of an inhuman ideal.” Perfectionism is a patriarchal plague. In inviting the anima into consciousness, we can harness her creative potential and enliven the Eros within, calling us toward the rebalancing of feminine power.

You introduce an intriguing perspective on nightmares, suggesting we invite these scary elements into our space. Can you walk us through this process and its potential benefits?

Our shadow can appear in nightmares as perils, gargoyles, tricksters, unsightly beings, or maybe just someone we don’t like. These figures are often helpful guide-look posts at a crossroads showing us exactly which way we need to go. When we can address and face these rejected parts of our psyche; we can further integrate our wholeness and take back our personal power.

Nightmares are not necessarily an indication that something is wrong. They are often more effective messengers. We often remember nightmares more than we do other types of dreams because they are so visually and emotionally impactful. This is for a number of reasons, one being that nightmares are specifically formulated to get your attention. A nightmare figure may have something important to communicate to you or be an aspect of your psyche or shadow that is starved for nourishment and attention. I offer a full guided experience and journaling prompts in my permanent online class through Ritualcravt, as well as detailed in the book!

You mention the concept of “flow state” in your book. I’ve heard this term before, but I am still not entirely sure I understand its meaning. How does this relate to dreamwork, and can engaging with our dreams help us access flow states more easily in our waking lives?

Flow theory was initiated by psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi in 1975 and held that creative activity can actually influence emotional affect by eliciting the experience of flow. Flow is defined as “an automatic, effortless, yet highly focused state of consciousness” and has been conceptualized as a particular type of optimal experience associated with vital engagement, which is a deep involvement in activities that are significant to the self and that promote feelings of aliveness and vitality. Flow causes deactivation in the brain, and the brain begins to switch from conscious processing, which is extremely slow and energy expensive, to subconscious processing, which is quick and energy efficient. We see this have negative impacts when our brain starts tuning out positive and helpful stimulus and focusing only on survival and threat, but in the experience of flow it has a positive impact in that we get completely absorbed in our creative activity and the brain reduces our anxiety and actually has an opportunity to heal.

The idea of “changing the world from the inside out” through dreamwork is fascinating. How do you envision this internal work manifesting in external reality?

All inner work manifests in the world around us. It changes us and therefore changes our choices and our relationships. If dreamwork is the primary way in which we can face our unconscious directly, it is a prime opportunity for some of the most challenging and liberating self work that we have access to. I have both personally experienced this level of change and watched dreamwork transform my patients lives.

You describe dreams as “vivid visual gifts.” How can people who don’t typically remember their dreams or don’t consider themselves visually oriented benefit from dreamwork?

Dreams are not just visual, they are often highly emotional. Even paying attention to the emotional arch of a dream and the embodied memory of interactions or sensations gives us clues to what is living in the unconscious. There are many styles of dreamwork and ways to work with dreams, they can be felt, acted out, spoken, written, made into poems, plays or songs. Whatever creative venue feels most intuitive to you is ripe for your dreams to emerge, working on and through you. I am partial to visual expressions in part because my dreams are vivid and I am a visual artist.

Have you noticed any shifts in how people relate to their dreams since you began your work in this field? If so, what changes have you observed?

Yes! Overall dreams seem to be taking off collectively in a huge way! When I first sought out dream work in therapy there was only ONE therapist in all of Portland whom I could find (who wasn’t friends with my mom lol) to see who worked with dreams. Now tons more folx are working with dreams, offering classes and writing about dreams online. The dreaming community continues to grow and it is amazing.

In your book, you discuss using lucid dreaming as a practice ground for real-life skills like public speaking. (I’d probably use it for highway driving, which terrifies me!) Could you elaborate on this idea? How can people harness their lucid dreams to improve their waking life abilities, and what other skills might benefit from this dream practice?

Lucid dreaming has been used all over the world to practice difficult tasks, learn new instruments and languages, even face general fears like public speaking. Dreamwork is not only creative and spiritual, it is incredibly useful and practical. For example, when a person is lucid dreaming, they have access to literally any tools that might help them grow. They can practice diving, summon instruments or books, and engage in sports or other physical activities without limitation. Once a dreamer becomes experienced in inducing lucidity, they can use their ability to develop skills that are beneficial in waking life. A person is able to use the dream space to practice skills that have a direct impact on their physical muscle memory and prime their cognitive functions.

In your experience as a psychotherapist and intuitive guide, what’s the most surprising or profound insight you’ve gained about the human psyche through working with dreams?

Dreams never cease to surprise me. They show me over and over again that people have access to deep truths and spiritual images that can change the color of their mind and experience forever. Just one big dream can transform a person.

Your book combines various practices like writing, collage, and meditation. How did you develop this multifaceted approach to dreamwork, and why do you think it’s effective?

These practices are all well-known and documented across traditions both therapeutic and spiritual. I was definitely influenced by my mother, who is a prolific visual journalist, dream worker, SoulcollageTM facilitator, and psychotherapist. For me, bringing them together feels intuitive, engaging different senses; visual, mental, kinesthetic – word, image and imagination allows for greater access to unconsciousness and that is where we are trying to get to and to connect with through dreams.

Can you share a personal anecdote of how engaging with your dreams has led to a significant change or realization in your waking life?

As I mentioned briefly and vaguely in the book, a dream I worked in therapy told me to go to school for counseling. I don’t mind sharing it here; I dreamed I am on the steps of a building with 4 perpendicular sides. It looks gothic or church-like and on each side there are many steps leading up to a door. I ascend the steps and go inside. Somehow I know I need to go upstairs. I go up several flights and find my way into a big event room. There is some kind of conference or celebration happening. The room is full of all different types of people milling about and talking. I take a seat in a chair toward the back of the room near a window. I am introverted, so I tend to wallflower and observe in these types of situations. I sit quietly and listen, gently rocking (autistics will know lol). I am able to hear everyone’s conversations loudly, even private whispered exchanges close to one another’s ears.

I hear people complaining. “I am a professor and I hate my job.”

“Oh really?”

“I am a medical doctor and it’s awful, I’m so unfulfilled.”

I quickly realize that all of these successful and professional people hate their jobs and have no idea who they are or what they want to do. I start rocking harder in my chair and I yell loudly “I know exactly what I want to do!” Everyone stops talking and looks at me. They all say collectively, “Well then why don’t you go do it?” I run out of the room and down the stairs. The next morning I applied to college.

For someone new to intentional dreamwork, what’s one simple practice you’d recommend they start with tonight?

Just set the intention before you go to sleep, “when I wake up, I will remember my dreams” and try to gently recall your dreams as soon as you wake up. Practice, practice, practice.

As someone fascinated by the power of routine and ritual, I’m curious about your personal practices. Would you mind sharing your nighttime routine? What rituals or habits have you found most effective for nurturing quality sleep and rich dream experiences?”

I discuss some sleep hygiene suggestions in the book, but a few personal supports I left out are the manta sleep mask – it’s absolutely incredible – and a grounding sheet. I sleep in a cold room, read before bed, minimize artificial lighting and no screen time. Baths and meditation are also a huge help for me in winding down. I am actually not a night person, I usually go to sleep around 8:30 pm – most of my rituals are morning rituals, which included recording my dreams.

As both a creative soul and an adept navigator of dreamscapes, I’m curious about how you perceive the relationship between dreams and various art forms. Beyond visual art, how do you think other mediums like music, literature, or even scent art like perfumery might intersect with or be influenced by our dream experiences? Have you explored any of these connections in your own practice or research?”

Scent! The olfactory sense is rare in dreams but not completely absent. Just this week I dreamed of an ex’s bad breath lol – smell is, as you know, deeply connected to emotion and memory. Good smells and perfumes can be used to invite sweet spirits and influence our dreams in positive ways! I would be curious if anyone has made a perfume for dreaming? Possibly including some of the well-known oneiric plants or flowers? I know cologne, sprays, and perfumes are used in folk magic practices, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there were specific ones for dreams and dreaming. [Author Edit: here are some of my favorite sleeping and dreaming scents!]

Find Naomi Sangreal: website //Instagram

All imagery courtesy Naomi Sangreal.

If you enjoy posts like these or if you have ever enjoyed or been inspired by something I have written, and you would like to support this blog, consider buying the author a coffee?

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