A Quiet Little Year That Meant Everything
As 2025 draws to a close, I’ve been sitting with a hot chocolate (anyone else not really a hot drinks person? Idk. Anyway-), looking around my workspace, and thinking I actually did this.
This year, I launched this shop. I stitched books and sewed sleeves and put my work out into the world, fully expecting it to drift quietly into the ether like so many creative dreams do.
Instead?
I sold a handbound copy of Dracula. I sold three handmade Kindle sleeves.
And honestly, that feels like an absolute, earth-shattering win.
For a small, bookish business in its very first months, that’s more than I ever expected. Someone (three someones!) saw value in something I made with my hands. Wild.
On Seeking Joy (Even When the World Feels Heavy)
2025 hasn’t exactly been gentle (for me, for anyone). The world feels loud, sharp, and exhausting more often than not. Which is precisely why I think seeking joy - deliberately, stubbornly - matters more than ever.
This little corner of the internet exists because I wanted more whimsy, more texture, more slowness. More handmade things that feel like they belong in a quieter, kinder world.
Binding books. Sewing sleeves. Naming collections like rooms in a fantasy castle. None of it is necessary in the strictest sense, and yet all of it feels essential.
Because joy doesn’t have to be practical to be valid.
Doing the Thing You Think Will Never Work
If there’s one thing 2025 taught me, it’s this:
Do the thing you think will never go your way.
Launch the shop. Start the project. Make the thing that feels too niche, too soft, too strange. Because what if it does work?
What if someone out there is quietly hoping for exactly the thing you’re afraid to make?
This year reminded me that chasing your goals doesn’t always look like explosive success. Sometimes it looks like one book, three sleeves, and a heart absolutely bursting with gratitude.
If you bought something, browsed the shop, followed along, shared a post, or simply believed that small, handmade things still matter - thank you.
You made this year gentler. You made it feel possible.
Every order, every message, every quiet bit of support has meant more than I can properly put into words.
In 2026, I want more of the same magic - and a little more bravery.
More handbound classics.
More Kindle sleeves (seasonal, cozy, everyday).
More typeset downloads for readers and makers.
More whimsy, more slowness, more choosing joy on purpose.
I want this space to continue being a soft landing place for book lovers, readers, writers, and anyone who feels a little out of step with the world as it is.
So Long, 2025. Thank you for the lessons. Thank you for the small wins. Thank you for reminding me that trying is never wasted.
Here’s to 2026 - may it be creative, gentle, and quietly magical. And may I start writing, after nearly a decade, my damn BOOK.
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