I started blogging eighteen years and two weeks ago. Give or take a day. At first, it was a way of keeping my wide-flung family updated with the shenanigans of my life with four children on a small New England farm. As time passed, and I started to write seriously, it evolved into the blog of an author, an artist, a mother, and much more. I moved it from blogger, to a Wordpress site, and eventually to a self-hosted site I’ve managed for about twelve years now. It’s been a pain in the tuchis on a semi-annual basis for most of that time, what with hosting providers failing to hold up their end of the bargain when an article went viral, or me trying to decide if this thing was worth pouring money and - even more importantly, my time - into.
For a time, I blogged daily. Then I ran out of time. I realized, when I moved to periodic blogging, that I missed it. I miss the activity of sitting at the desk, writing up a topic in what I think may be an interesting way, and getting feedback in form of comments on that. Blogging became a conversation, sometimes, and that was rewarding enough to keep me doing it. Also, it was a good place to announce new releases over ten novels, countless short stories, and much artwork. It was a place where I could put out the call for five anthologies, now, and then publicize those once my little company published them. Not blogging felt hollow, and lonely, and so I kept at it even while I was struggling with a lot of life. Which included moving, twice, in a difficult but calculated risk. We moved to Texas, rented, then moved again into a forever house. Now, we’ve been in that house almost two years, and put down roots.
Last year, I started the Substack without much expectation. I was intrigued by the premise of it. Honestly my first thought was that it would be like Twitter, only longform. I’ve never been able to see the point of a conversation in 140 characters, and even when that was expanded it was still horribly limiting for someone like me, who enjoys writing and reading essays. Last year was also the year my dreams were dropped and scrambled like an egg, when my husband came close to dying. In the aftermath, life emerged changed and smaller than I had thought it would be. That it could be. It took me months to grieve and come to grips - and the process is ongoing. It may never be over. I don’t know. I do know that I wanted to write. Not just fiction, but to return to the nonfiction that feeds my soul. To, perhaps, engage others in the conversations I once enjoyed so very much.
The more time I spent with Substack, exploring it, interacting with both writers and readers, the more I liked it. I discovered to my surprise and joy that people were willing to pay to read my rambles. I am touched and honored by that very tangible feedback. As I’ve told friends, Substack feels like a throwback to the old Blogosphere, which I have missed more than I realized.
In the meantime, the website and my blog had been languishing. I don’t intend to shutter them - the blog archive will remain, a record of 18 years of writing - but I will be switching over to a more static site promoting my books, my art, and my services there. And today I moved 2638 posts - only back to 2013 - over to Substack, so the depth of my writing is in more than one place for convenience. Also… because it felt a little like that moment when you finally unpack the last box of books, put them on the shelf, and stand back to bask in finally being able to find everything under one roof.
I’m writing. This is my happy place. Time to contemplate the future, and the past, and just how many words I’ve captured with my fingers, delineating the eclectic mind of a writer.
Want to keep reading? Subscribe and it’ll show up in your email. If you support me with a paid subscription, you’ll get early access to some of the fiction I write as a reward (only thing I’ve been able to think of). But from here on out, this is the home blog, and you’ll get everything from recipes to essays to photography, whatever’s on my mind. It won’t be a daily blog - I still don’t have the time for that. It will be exceedingly eclectic, as my whimsy takes me. Don’t say you weren’t warned!
Cedar, this place suits you and I'm glad to read you here as often as you see fit to write.
There's a lot of good read on substack and so far it's quite catholic. Those running it seem quite willing to allow, encourage, absolutely refuse to silence different opinions, voices, in spite of hit pieces in The Atlantic and Verge.
A lot of excellent writing, fact & fiction but room for the banal, such as my noting it's -37° F., right here, right now. ;-)