And so it begins..

I started young, scribbling in a teenage journal and discovering that writing was the one thing I could do endlessly without getting bored. Since then I’ve drafted several novels, self‑published one, and scattered thoughts across social media like breadcrumbs for anyone curious enough to follow.

I don’t write about everything. That’s never been true. I write about place — the land that shaped me and the odd, stubborn affection I have for where I’m from. I write about the inner life — the philosophical tangles, the spiritual hunches, the animistic leanings that refuse to leave me alone. I write about politics — not because I chase controversy, but because ideas inevitably lead there.

What I don’t write about is sport or flower arranging. I know my limits.

I’m also constrained from writing about my day jobs. You’ll get only the faintest hints and allusions. I promise they are both legal and honourable, even if neither is especially glamorous.

As for credentials: I once graduated from a Scottish university with an Honours degree in Religious Studies — a choice I now regard with equal parts affection and regret. I later trained in the law, and practised for a while until I decided it wasn’t really what I wanted to do. I share this not to impress you, but to reassure you that I’m not unintelligent — merely the last person you should ever consult for career advice.

I labour to survive, but my first love has always been ideas. Profound ideas. Odd ideas. Ideas that keep you awake at night or start arguments at the dinner table.

And now the personality tests confirm what everyone suspected: I’m extremely high in openness and equally high in neuroticism. Which means I must create — but always in a state of mild panic.

So here we are. Hearth and Heart Magazine begins as all hearth‑fires do: with a spark, a little smoke, and the hope that someone else might find warmth in it.