THE WITCH IS REEL IN

Cummer, go ye before, cummer go ye
If ye willna go before, cummer, let me
Ring-a-ring-a-widdershins
Linkin lithely widdershins
Cummer, carlin, crone and queen
Roun go we

—The Witches Reel, a traditional song based on fictions presented as fact in the sensationalised 16th century pamphlet Newes from Scotland. It claims that in the North Berwick trials, King James the I and VI demanded that a woman accused of witchcraft, Gellis Duncan, play this tune for him as he sat in judgement. This performance of witchy-ness, this reel, is perhaps the first witchsploitation—a word coined by scholar Diane Purkiss. 

The OG Witches Reel isn’t a 90 second, in-your-face video overshare on IG. It was a little ditty that ends, devil take the hindmost, whoever she be. 

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Is she me?

I have walked a witch’s path most of my life. I learned to read tarot forty years ago. It’s been over a quarter of a century since I cast my first spell. As a hedge witch/spirit worker, I am no longer interested in spellwork, but for the record, it did work. Always. Maybe that’s why I don’t do it anymore—it’s an ethical thing and a topic for another post.  

Witchstagram has spawned a cottage industry of self-help/occult advice/snake oil salespeople. Things might be worse on Witchtok…I don’t know. I’m late to this internet hustle, the hindmost—and I CAN’T EVEN. 

An internet witch needs no qualifications, only the gift of gab and a willingness to get their face in the frame over and over. Some practitioners I follow really know their stuff, are generous with their knowledge, and I learn a lot from them, yet, often they are drowned out by the algorithm. How is everyone doing, being vaguely patronised with all this spiritual bypassing, being ‘splained at endlessly by people who’ve suddenly found feminism, witchcraft, druidry, etc.? Tarot readers and astrologers multiply after taking an online course or two. A spell caster here, a feminist guru there, talking at me, giving unasked for advice, offering occultish counselling.

Mainstream women’s magazines now share new-New-Age information as well, next to advertorials about beauty trends. Through social media channels, popular books and magazines, spellwork is presented as a method of self-recovery in the face of patriarchal wounding.

I see validity in this approach, but only when done in genuine community, working with others. Yet, social media breaks down community. It forces us to compete with each other to be seen and heard. It commodifies our stories and our lives, sells our friendships and alliances to advertisers. Many people offering witchy services have been hacked, faked, cloned by spammers. It sits uncomfortably with me: this scuzzy takeover was so seamless and rapid. At its worst, witchy lifestyle peddling takes advantage of a particularly vulnerable demographic of traumatised people, and the vultures are circling.  

This made me realise I could no longer be safe in this milieu. If I was going to continue this work, I had to separate myself completely. But could I? Ever?

Watching this witchy cottage industry proliferate is like peering from my crone cave at thousands of moony Lucys sitting at their cardboard boxes, phones ever in hand, hanging out signs —THE WITCH IS REAL IN. 

Real witches make reels—the devil take the hindmost! But on social media, we are not holding hands, dancing in a circle on some moonlight Beltane Eve. We’re Meta’s meat. It’s a race, a competition against the algorithm, against others in your community. How is that sitting with you? I’m reeling in this reality. 

I innocently thought I could escape it, keep my head down and write with all the painstaking integrity I could manage. In Ashes and Stones, I speak about the historical, mass femicide now being exploited for the witch pound, the witch dollar. 

My UK publisher asked me to come out of the broom closet so they could market the book. Like Gellis Duncan, I was asked to perform witchy-ness for those in power. I did a lot of soul searching about it and made eloquent arguments to the contrary. They insisted, and I caved. I thought, Ok, they want a witch? I will show them a real witch in all her complex glory. If anyone knows how to be this, I do. I made a short video of myself. I made the elevator pitch about my spiritual identity. I danced the witches reel.

When I’ve been interviewed by intelligent, non-witch-adjacent people, the emphasis has thankfully been on the writing, research, and the ideas. When I mention that I am a witch I can see them wince. Even if they don’t physically shrink back, it’s in their eyes, a twinge of fear for me. Why did you just say that? Don’t I know it will go badly—niched out with the credulous nutters. Would it be the same if I said I was a devout Christian? Maybe.

I’ve been invited to speak at The Edinburgh International Book Festival this year. It is a huge honour to be invited to this event; a big deal.The Fest has paired me with writers of nonfiction witchy books. They’ve titled the event “Who are the Real Witches?” Perhaps the title is a counter to the witch-lit phenomenon that mines this history in order to create further fictions. 

Should I just show up to the “Who are the Real Witches” talk and go, it me? [Shortest talk ever.] Witch detection was horrific and deadly and in many parts of the world, it still is. The nightmare lingers over us even as certain people in publishing, tourism, and other industries exploit it. I am not interested in questions ascertaining which people killed by the state actually had REAL POWERZ, nor do I claim to know who is an authentic contemporary practitioner. This is not what I do. I’m not a witch hunter. 

The fantasy of the witch with all its aesthetic accoutrements can only be performed. We can’t live it because at its heart it’s nothing but the detritus of a demonic Christian delusion. Witchy-ness for public consumption can only ever be theatre. It will never reflect our reality as spiritual beings. Let that sit with us as we scroll.

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