The Burning of The Wizards of Wordcraft

One year ago, give or take a few days, I laid The Wizards of Wordcraft to rest.

I held no ceremony. I made no teary, heartfelt announcement.

Just the silent decision to let the focal point of my life die.

Welcome to the funeral pyre.

The Wizards of Wordcraft was my copywriting business. Email marketing for health and fitness businesses was our bread and butter, with a side of landing pages and sales letters, plus a splash of strategic consulting and branding. 

And The Wizards did well, generating ~250K in revenue during each full year of operation. Our team peaked at 7 lovely Wizards: myself and a virtual assistant, three writers, one copy chief, and an editor.

Unfortunately, I never wanted a business like this. I’d long told myself to stay away from building a team—and building a business in a way that would need a team.

So of course I went and did exactly that. Which is why despite the outward appearance of success, The Wizards of Wordcraft scorched my spirit.

I’d learned during my freelancing stint from 2017-2020 that I didn’t want to write for others forever. I wanted to make my own things. Write what I wanted to write. Be me.

So of course I built a business whose sole purpose was to write for other people.

No wonder my spirit began leaking out through my heels, like potion from a cracked cauldron. I was so far out of alignment I couldn’t even see how big that problem was.

I wasn’t listening to the Universe’s feathers or bricks, so the trucks came next. 

I finally let go.

And breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Shutting down was terrifying, but necessary. I was circling the drain, hollowed out by work that didn’t fulfill me. I had to prioritize myself. Even if that meant scraping by with a bit of writing coaching income. Even if I had no idea what to do next.

I didn’t pivot. I didn’t rebuild. I didn’t scramble or salvage. I let the silence drag on and taught myself to love the discomfort. I knew I’d find the path forward, eventually.

But first, I needed to let the mud in my mind settle.

I needed to play with ideas before committing.

I needed to rest and decompress and unwind.

I needed to be more patient than I’ve ever been.

So counter to every instinct thrumming through me, I didn’t try to plan what came next. I didn’t want to force anything. I wanted to wait for the path I’d be thrilled about committing to to emerge. I knew that wouldn’t happen in weeks, or even months.

I wasn’t looking for just any appealing and viable path. 

I was looking for my path.

So I made space in my mind, my heart, my spirit. I made room for new constellations to shimmer through the clouds. I cultivated stillness and silence, trust and patience.

And I played a lot of Mario Kart. I honed my ideal setups. I collected podiums like I collected Pokémon cards as a kid. Rainbow Road became my vision quest, my crucible.

I flirted with a handful of ideas. 

These Whimsies stuck, obviously and thankfully.

But nothing else took root. Nothing sang to me in the smoky, dusky purr I was looking for. So on and on I went, letting the stillness stretch out…

Listening for the thing that I knew only I could do. 

Weeks passed. Then a few months, and more. 

I waited. I wrote. I whispered to the moon.

And the moon whispered back, “Not yet, darling. I promise this will be worth the wait.”

Now, finally, one year later, something is stirring in the deep.

Not an offer, nor a funnel. Not a plan, nor a brand.

Something older, wilder.

A living, breathing thing. A pulse I can feel beneath my ribs.

The thing that only I can do.

I won’t name it yet, but I’ll say this:

I’m working with myth and alchemy.

With presence and story.

With heart and flame.

Not for healing or fixing, but for becoming.

This is the most honest thing I’ve ever made.

I can’t wait to show you what’s become.

With love from the forest,

~ Alexander

P.S. If you walked with me during the Wizards’ years, thank you. Your trust, effort, and presence are remembered well, and deeply appreciated. Much love.