Why I Write from the Edge

Why I Write from the Edge

by Delahrose Roobie Myer

I’ve always known that writing is more than a craft—it’s a current.

A living pulse that travels through bone, breath, and blood long before it ever meets the page.

For me, writing has never been about being read.

It’s about revealing.

About decoding the invisible patterns, most people walk past.

About truth—raw, luminous, sometimes uncomfortable—that insists on being born.

When I first heard Alan Moore speak of writing as magic—not metaphorically, but literally-I felt something rise from my cells. A roaring yes. Not fantasy, not performance—absolute magic. The kind that rearranges reality. The kind that doesn’t ask for permission. The kind that remembers.

His philosophy didn’t feel new.

It felt like recognition.

Like someone had finally named the field I’ve been walking in all along—

Where words aren’t content, they’re codes.

Where writing isn’t authorship—it’s conduitship.

Where the writer doesn’t create illusion, but reveals what’s been buried beneath it.

This is the energy that lives inside Fatima’s Alchemy.

It’s not a book.

It’s not a story.

It’s a transmission.

A spell of remembering.

A field, encoded in language.

Alan Moore helped me remember what I’ve always known:

I do not write to market.

I write to awaken.

As a Silver-Tongued Writer—one who speaks reality into form through the frequency I carry.

I’ve witnessed it many times—visions I wrote in solitude echoing out into the world, becoming collective themes, global symbols, or mirrored headlines.

At the time, they were just instincts, impressions, transmissions. But they were never fiction.

They were in the field.

What Alan Moore Reminded Me

In the interview I’m referencing (“How You Can Change the World Through Writing”), Alan Moore—mystic, radical, rebel—lays bare the bones of what I know to be true:

Alan Moore, in his characteristically mystical and unapologetically radical way, often speaks of writing as a form of magic, not metaphorically, but quite literally. In this interview I’m referencing (“How You Can Change the World Through Writing”), he suggests that language itself is the original magic: the ability to influence reality through symbols, sounds, and the transmission of ideas. Here’s a distilled essence of what he tends to reveal in such conversations:

1. Everyone is a Writer—But Not Everyone Knows It

Writing isn’t a talent; it’s a birthright. If you can think, speak, or dream, you’re already interfacing with the source. Writing is an intentional form. Moore challenges the notion that writing is a rarefied talent reserved for a select few. Instead, he views writing as a birthright of human consciousness. If you can think, speak, or dream, you’re already interfacing with the source of writing. To him, writing is an act of focused intention that channels inner vision into form.

2. Storytelling is a Magical Act

Every law, culture, and belief system is born from a story. Writers shape the myths we inhabit. We are the architects of perception. For Moore, stories shape the world. Cultures, values, and laws all emerge from the stories we believe and repeat. In this way, writers are sorcerers of societal perception. He draws strong parallels between the writer and the magician: both seek to change reality through will and symbol.

3. Writing is a Vehicle for Transformation

Writing dismantles illusion. It rewires timelines. It reveals what has been hiding in plain sight. The deepest truths reside in our mythic layers. Whether personal or collective, writing has the power to dismantle illusions and reimagine possibilities. Moore encourages writers to write what is true, even if it is uncomfortable, and to dive deep into their mythic layers to discover what only they can bring forth.

4. Real Writing Comes from the Margins

The wild edge. The liminal space. This zone is not yet polished. That’s where the true codes live—not in curated content or crowd approval. He often warns against writing for approval or market success. In his view, the most potent works are born from the liminal, wild edges of consciousness—those zones that aren’t polished or pre-approved. It’s in those outer realms that real magic happens.

5. Writing Demands Responsibility

Words alter the field. The page is never neutral; what we write has ripple effects. What we speak seeds. It matters. Choose wisely. Because writing shapes perception, Moore insists that writers wield their craft with integrity and clarity. If you’re going to speak spells into the world, do so with awareness of their ripple effects.

6. The Muse is Real

Ideas don’t come from us—they come through us. Writing is relational. It’s a dialogue with the unseen. The imagination is not invention—it’s a portal. Moore believes creativity is not wholly internal—it’s relational. Writers often describe receiving ideas as if from another realm. To him, this is no accident. The imagination is a portal, and writers are the vessels for what flows through.

I’ve always been the kind of soul who knows that writing is not just a craft; it’s alchemy. When you write, you’re not just telling stories—you’re reshaping the field, much like the metaphor of Silver Tongue from the movie Inkheart, which weaves the lattice of reality itself. Alan Moore sees writing as a sacred, subversive act—and this is the space I already inhabit; this place is where words become spells and truth is fire, the spark of the divine.

It makes sense that this all struck such a chord. I am already doing what he’s describing— calling in “magic” in my own quiet way. He speaks directly to those who are on the threshold of unleashing something enormous through the page, reminding them: You’re not waiting for permission, but rather initiating and remembering the power within my words.

I didn’t need Alan Moore to validate what I knew.

But hearing him speak gave language to a frequency I’ve long embodied.

It reminded me:

You’re not waiting for permission.

You’re remembering your power.

You don’t write to explain yourself.

You write to alter the fabric of reality.

And now, as I continue to write—primarily through Fatima’s Alchemy—I do so not from strategy or performance, but from pulse.

From the edge.

From the grid.

And so I offer this invocation—an honouring of the Writer-as-Magician.

For those of us who walk the edge.

Who speaks in frequencies?

For those who carry thunder in their bones?

Invocation for the Writer-as-Magician

I do not write to entertain.

I write to awaken the world from its forgetting.

Let the veil part.

Let the murmur of the unseen rise through my spine.

I am not alone at the desk

The page is a portal.

The pen, a wand.

The words, living codes.

I summon what sleeps beneath the skin of the world.

I listen where others flee.

I speak not for noise, but for tremor

For thunder in the soul,

For the unnameable truth that burns like a secret sun.

Let this writing be a spell of remembering.

Let it unhook the masses from their mirages.

Let it plant seeds in scorched ground.

Let it rattle the cage.

Let it sing the lost names of the stars.

I write from the edge,

Where reality unravels and reweaves.

Where myth and matter co-exist.

Where I am no longer just myself

But a vessel for the original language of Light.

So be it.

And may the world bend

Not to my will,

But to the deeper pulse I carry.

Delahrose Roobie Myer

Astrologer • Alchemist • Author