People keep asking me why I started a blog. They say it like I told them I bought a fax machine.
Here’s the thing. On social media, you write for the algorithm. You write for likes and shares and whatever invisible math decides who sees your words. You perform. Even when you think you’re being authentic, you’re performing authenticity, and there’s a difference.
On a blog, I write for the page. The page doesn’t care if I post at the optimal time. The page doesn’t punish me for taking a month off. The page just holds whatever I put on it and waits.
I wanted a place where a poem and a recipe and a short story could all live next to each other without anyone telling me to “pick a niche.” My niche is whatever I’m thinking about. That’s it.
Nobody might read this. That’s genuinely fine. I wrote it. It exists. It’s on a URL that I own, on a site that I control, and nobody can take it down or bury it or slap an ad on top of it.
That’s the whole reason.