THE BLOOMSBURN DISPATCH, On Belonging and ''Wizards Are Not Welcome Here'', by Joules Young.

 

THE BLOOMSBURN DISPATCH

The Editor's Desk | July 2026

 

On Belonging

A Note from the Editor

There is a word that has surfaced across our network this month, appearing in various forms, in various contexts, always with the same quiet insistence: belonging.

 

It's a word we often associate with fitting in, with finding our tribe, with the comfort of being understood. But the stories our writers have been telling this July suggest something far more complex. Something that involves showing up, being seen, and insisting on staying—even when we're not sure we're welcome.

 

What follows is not a summary of what our network has published. It is a conversation with it. A chance for us, here at The Dispatch, to consider what these writers are telling us, and what we make of it.

 

On Something Wonderful This Way Comes

Some discoveries arrive at exactly the right moment. You're not looking for anything in particular—perhaps you're simply browsing, letting your curiosity lead—and then you stumble upon something that feels like it was waiting just for you.

 

That is how I felt when I happened upon Sophia Salazar's piece in the Something Wonderful This Way Comes blog series, published back in March. I had been thinking about community, about how to bring people together around stories, about the particular magic that happens when a tale moves from being something you read alone to something you share. And there it was: a guide to starting a Hocksbox book club, written with such warmth and practical wisdom that I found myself nodding along on every paragraph.

 

Sophia's premise is simple: "There is a particular kind of magic that happens when a story moves from being something you read alone to something you share. It's the difference between watching a sunset by yourself and turning to someone beside you who gasps at exactly the same moment the sky catches fire."

 

What I admire about her approach is its humility. She doesn't prescribe a single way to gather. She offers options: family nights, parent groups, classroom activities, formal book clubs. The beauty of a Hocksbox book club, she argues, is that it can be anything you need it to be.

 

Her focus on four specific stories—"Oliver Hefflewhistle," "Old Crumpet Noggin," "Oh, the Roaming Fairy Folks of Mischief," and "The War of the Whiffle Waffles"—is a generous act of curation. These four stories, she writes, "represent something essential about Joules Young's work. Together, they offer a kind of sampler platter of the Hocksbox universe—a tasting menu designed to show new readers what's possible."

 

What I find most compelling is her insistence on the follow-up. A book club, she argues, doesn't have to end when the story does. The best ones don't. Her suggestions are deceptively simple: write a serenade, invent a whimsical creature, taste test waffles, act out the tar and feathers scene. These are not assignments; they are invitations. Ways to let the story linger.

 

This, I think, is what belonging looks like: not just reading together, but doing something with what we've read. Not just consuming, but creating. Not just listening, but responding. And sometimes, finding a guide who has already thought through the practical magic of it all.

 

On Hello Book End

Community grows when new voices join the conversation. And this month, we are delighted to welcome a new member to the Bloomsburn network: Hello Book End.

 

There is something quietly revolutionary about this new addition. It's something personal and very intimate: a monthly exploration of the coffee table as autobiography, a celebration of the woman who knows her bookshelf is a portrait of who she is.

 

"Hello Book End is for that woman," the copy reads. "The one who knows her coffee table is not furniture—it's a confessional. A portrait. A handshake to anyone who enters her home."

 

What strikes me about Hello Book End is its celebration of the personal. Each month, the team explores a different woman—a different shelf, a different stack of books that tells her story. The Romantic Wanderer. The Mid-Century Muse. The Wildflower Woman. The Quiet Intellectual. The Huntress. Not as labels, but as "a library of selves."

 

The copy is careful to note: "We don't expect you to pick one. We don't ask you to stay in a box. You are the Romantic Wanderer and the Farm Girl. You are the Vintage Glamour Girl and the Modern Mystic. This is not a label. This is a library of selves."

 

What I appreciate most about Hello Book End's arrival in our network is its embodiment of community. It's not just selling books; it's inviting readers into a conversation about identity, about aspiration, about the stories we tell through the objects we gather. It recognises that the books we display are not decoration—they are declaration. And it offers a space to explore that declaration, one shelf at a time.

 

This, I think, is what community looks like: not finding a box that fits, but discovering that you can hold many selves at once. Not settling into a single story, but building a library of who you are—with others doing the same alongside you.

 

On The Writer's Herald

James and Evelyn have done something unexpected this July. Instead of their usual craft-focused deep dive, they've dedicated their entire issue to a single story: Wizards Are Not Welcome Here by Joules Young.

 

"There are stories that quietly sit on the page, waiting patiently for a reader to discover them," they write. "And then there are stories that leap off the page, grab you by the lapels, and insist, absolutely insist, that you listen."

 

What makes this story special, they argue, is not just its whimsy, but its immersion. This is an audiobook with an original soundtrack, "woven into the very fabric of the tale." The music doesn't just enhance the story; it becomes part of it. Evelyn and James listened together, making "a whole afternoon of it," and found themselves "swept along by the combination of Joules Young's masterful narration and the enchanting musical accompaniment."

 

What I admire about this approach is its vulnerability. James and Evelyn are not just recommending a story; they are sharing an experience. They are inviting us into their afternoon of listening, of being swept away. They are modelling what they are advocating: that stories are best when shared.

 

Their closing thought—"There is a saying in Nibble-on-the-Moor (and if there isn't, there should be) that the best stories are the ones that catch you by surprise. They sneak up on you when you least expect it, wrap themselves around your heart, and refuse to let go. This July, let yourself be caught."—is an invitation to belong. To let the story find you. To trust that Nibble-on-the-Moor, with its warm scones and its sheep with opinions, has a place for you.

 

This, I think, is what belonging looks like: letting yourself be caught. Letting the story wrap itself around your heart. Trusting that the village that doesn't want wizards might just make room for you anyway.

 

On The Bloomsburn Dispatch

So, what do we make of all this?

 

Belonging, in all its forms, has been the thread running through July's publications. Something Wonderful This Way Comes showed us how to gather, how to share, how to let stories become rituals—and we were lucky enough to happen upon its wisdom. Hello Book End has joined our network, bringing with it a celebration of the many selves we carry, the coffee table as autobiography, the freedom to explore who we are and who we might become. The Writer's Herald invited us to be caught, to let a story wrap itself around our hearts, to trust that even in a village that doesn't want wizards, there might be room for us.

 

Across the network, a single truth emerges: belonging is not about fitting in. It is about showing up. About being seen. About insisting on staying, even when we're not sure we're welcome. It is about finding the places—and the people—who make room for our many selves.

 

But here is what I take from these pieces, collectively: belonging is also about creating. About starting the book club, setting the scene, baking the waffles, writing the serenade. About making the invitation, even when we're not sure anyone will accept. About trusting that the Gingham Glimmergits of the world, the strange, the unexpected, the wonderful, might just answer back.

 

They will. They always do.

 

And sometimes, they show up in the form of a new blog joining the network, ready to explore what it means to belong, shelf by shelf, story by story.

 

This Month's Audio Feature

Throughout July, we continue to celebrate the audio universe of Joules Young, available at hocksbox.com

 

This month, we particularly recommend The Wizard of Nibble-on-the-Moor, now available with its original soundtrack exclusively on YouTube at @thewonderfulworldofhock. James and Evelyn of The Writer's Herald describe it as "an experience not to be missed."

 

Purchase at www.hocksbox.com

 

 

A Final Word

Bloomsburn is not a finished thing. It is a living thing. It grows with its readers. It changes with the stories it publishes. It becomes what we—writers and readers together—choose to make it.

 

This month, we have explored belonging. Next month, we will explore something more. The month after, community. And always, always, we will return to the stories.

 

Because that is what this is, in the end. A gathering. A community of people who still believe that words matter.

 

And the read is the point.

 

Pull up a chair.

 

Stay awhile.

 

Welcome to Bloomsburn.

 

Bloomsburn. Independent blogs, curated for you.