“We want to see with other eyes, to imagine with other imaginations, to feel with other hearts, as well as with our own.”
— C.S. Lewis
There’s a kind of quiet magic in the idea of home. Not just the bricks-and-mortar variety, but the spiritual and imaginative home—the kind built from memories, stories, and the slow layering of life itself. I’m Sharon Jones, a writer and educator from Northern Ireland, and this is my Writing Home—a space shaped by words, warmed by ideas, and rooted in hospitality.
Home as Beginning
For me, home has always been more than an address. It is the beginning of every journey and the return point after each one. It’s where dreams first sprout and where they come back to rest, often changed but still familiar. Home nurtures, restores, and welcomes not just our bodies, but our thoughts, emotions, and creativity.
There’s a deeply human rhythm to this movement—outward into the world and inward to ourselves. We build. We plant. We journey. We return. And all the while, we grow.
Dwelling in Exile
Even in displacement, we are called to dwell deeply. The prophet Jeremiah wrote to his exiled people, urging them to settle in unfamiliar lands:
“Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce… seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you.” (Jeremiah 29:5–7)
There’s something striking in this call to inhabit even a temporary place with purpose—to shape it with intention and care. I find this idea profoundly connected to the act of writing. Like building and gardening, writing is a practice of patience and presence. It is one way we settle into the places we find ourselves, and help others do the same.
Words as Shelter
Reading and writing are among our oldest forms of homemaking. Through stories, we create rooms to rest in, windows to see through, and doors that open to new landscapes. The worlds we enter in books and the ones we craft with our pens become places where we find not only ourselves, but each other.
Books have long been my companions, my guides, and my maps. And writing—especially writing that seeks truth, beauty, and kindness—has become one of the ways I build something lasting. A home made of language may not offer a roof overhead, but it provides shelter all the same.
A Homely Vision
I often think of Elrond’s “Last Homely House” from The Hobbit, described by Tolkien as a sanctuary where all were welcome:
“His house was perfect whether you liked food, or sleep or work, or storytelling, or singing, or just sitting and thinking best, or a pleasant mixture of them all.”
What a lovely image—that one place could be so full of comfort and creativity that everyone, no matter their inclinations, could find rest and delight there. That’s the kind of space I hope Writing Home can be. A place where imagination is nourished, where thoughtful hearts meet, and where the beautiful and the good are gently kindled.
An Invitation to Journey Together
Writing Home is not just about my voice—it’s an invitation to listen, to read, to reflect, and to create. Whether you come for a moment or linger a while, I hope you find something here that resonates. Perhaps a line that stirs a memory, or a thought that sparks your own story.
In this space, we dwell together in words. We travel through ideas. We plant gardens of imagination. And we seek the peace and flourishing of wherever we are placed.
Thank you for visiting. I hope this feels like a kind of home to you, too.
