The internet makes introductions weird.

We’ve gotten so used to clicking, scrolling, and baring all with virtual strangers that most of us barely question it anymore.

Meanwhile, Big Tech lines their pockets with ad revenue earned from our free labor—the endless stream of content we create, consume, and trade for connection.

Point being, when it comes to introducing myself, I like to be intentional about it. Do I go by Melissa or my pen name, Aven Winslow? You might wonder—what the hell does it matter?

But the answer carries a seed of magic.

(as do most things in my world)

As a witch, when I cast a spell or perform a ritual, I often begin by casting a circle, an energetic boundary that creates a temporary space beyond space, a time beyond time, where all things are possible.

🪄 I want to be intentional about what I include in my magical working, because this boosts the chance that I’ll get what I’m asking for, and not something wildly different.

It’s like making soup: If you throw ingredients in a pot while blindfolded, you could end up with…well, anything. That’s a very different situation than purposely assembling the ingredients for minestrone or clam chowder.

To continue our soupy metaphor, it’s also much harder to gather those ingredients without a container—in this case, a pot. Can you imagine making soup with everything dumped on the counter? Far from ending up with lunch, you’ll just have a mess to clean (on an empty stomach, no less).

With magic, raising energy is more effective and less draining on the witch if that energy has a place to gather until you’re ready to use it.

And, like soup, it’s less likely to make a mess—meaning, you won’t have excess energy ping-ponging about, powering who knows what.

☠️ Occultist Dion Fortune, in her book The Mystical Qabalah, wrote that many instances of “bad luck” could perhaps be attributed to this free-floating energy.

What does this have to do with introducing myself?

Well, no matter which name I use—Melissa or Aven—I’m still creating a persona, a magic circle that I inhabit when I’m online.

We all do this, both offline and on. 🥸 We adopt personas—the interface between our inner world and the noisy world ‘out there.’

C.G. Jung, who you’ll hear about a lot in my world, recognized that the persona could be both a help and a hindrance. We need a way to interact with others that smooths some of the inevitable hiccups of living in society with other humans.

I mean, good god, can you imagine if the mail carrier dropped off some packages, but also divulged the sexy dream they had last night? In great detail? ThanksButNoThanks.

I mean, more power to the mail carrier and their spicy nighttime escapades, but that’s probably best shared with someone they know well, not some rando like me who just wants their mail before retreating into their hermit cave.

🎭 Personas have gotten a bad rap, commonly associated with being “inauthentic,” which presupposes that it’s better or “natural” or supportive of people’s health to make absolutely everything we think, feel, and do available for public consumption.

And if we don’t overshare, we must be hiding something nefarious, something that could get us “canceled.”

And to be sure, some people do hide nefarious things!

But in my humble, witchy opinion, the solution isn’t mandating that everyone surrender their privacy.

I don’t know about you, but I want to limit how much corporations get to colonize and profit off of my time, attention, and life experiences.

Where personas can trip us up…

…is when we mistake them for the sum totality of who we are. Personas typically contain the aspects of ourselves that society has deemed “acceptable,” and they’re a mere sliver of our gloriously messy, capital-S Self.

I like to view my persona(s)—yes, we all have multiple personas, like outfits 👖 that we wear with friends versus co-workers and so forth—as magic circles.

I am not the magic circle. The magic circle is a temporary container for my sprawling, wild, uncontainable Me-ness, but this circle-casting allows me to step into our shared space as Aven Winslow, with intention.

That’s the reason I use a pen name.

Aven Winslow isn’t a mask to hide behind—it’s a magic circle of its own.

On a practical level, it also helps keep the worlds I create clear.

If you’ve read ​my magical nonfiction​ under Melissa Tipton, that doesn’t automatically mean you’ll be into my ​super spicy romantasy​—and having separate magic circles (er, pen names) makes it easier for everyone.

Through a Crooked Door (this email you’re reading being one installment) is part field journal + grimoire, and part rebellion against the algorithms trying to bulldoze us all.

I’ll share aspects of my life that are relevant to my writing, like…

✨ My studies in occultism, Jungian psychology, politics, writing craft, etc., and how they relate to my books.

✨ My creative process—and often, how that dovetails with my magical practice. (Tarot and spells and rituals, oh my!)

✨ Juicy details about my characters, their world, and its lore and magical systems.

This space is more than a digital soup pot of ones and zeros. It’s a circle where magic happens.

If that sounds like your kind of place—welcome. 👋 I’ll see you on the other side of the Crooked Door.

🚪Next time, I’ll be back with a story about fate, free will, and the hidden forces that shape us—both through the lens of my books and in everyday life.

Until then, thanks for wandering this way, my friend.