Hearth and Heart Magazine is my small corner of the Fair Country — a place to think, to write, and to honour the land that shaped me. I grew up in what I call Siluria: South East Wales as it exists in memory, myth, and emotional geography. It’s the region of The Rape of the Fair Country, where the Industrial Revolution was born in fire and iron, and where chapels, coal tips, estuaries, and ridgelines sit side by side like old companions who no longer bother to argue.

Siluria is my home ground and my imaginative compass. Its places — Twmbarlwm, Blaen Bran, Goldcliff, Penarth Head, the Sirhowy and Ebbw valleys — are my personal spiritual waypoints. They’re not sacred in any formal sense, but they’re where the land speaks most clearly to me. Watchfulness in the north, thresholds in the east, openness in the south, endurance in the west. These moods shape how I see the world and how I write about it.

I’ve been writing since I was a teenager: journals, novels in draft, one self‑published book, and a long trail of social‑media reflections. I don’t write about everything. I write about place, spirit, community, politics, and the odd philosophical tangle that refuses to leave me alone. I almost never write about sport or flower arranging. I know my limits.

Professionally, I’ve wandered. I earned an Honours degree in Religious Studies from a Scottish university — a choice I regard with equal parts affection and regret — and later trained in the law. I practised for a while until I decided it wasn’t really what I wanted to do. These days I work in roles I can’t write about directly, though I assure you they are both legal and honourable. If you’re looking for careers advice, I’m probably not your man.

Politically, I’m not partisan, but I am very much a political animal. My instincts lean toward community, continuity, responsibility, and the freedom to live without ideological tribes. I write for those in the animistic and pagan world who feel similarly — spiritually open, culturally rooted, sceptical of extremes, and tired of the noise.

Personality tests tell me I’m extremely high in openness and equally high in neuroticism. Which means I’m compelled to create, but always in a state of mild panic. Still, the hearth‑fire needs tending, and this magazine is where I keep it lit.

Hearth and Heart is a work in progress — a blend of essays, reflections, poetry, politics, and Silurian lore. Old ways, modern reflections. A hearth‑flame held in the Fair Country.