I’ve probably had a dozen or more failed blogging ventures over the past 20 years, and I’m still not entirely sure why I keep coming back. Maybe it’s the stubborn hope that this time I’ll stick with it, or maybe it’s just the itch to put words out into the world, even if only a handful of people ever read them, or even if it’s just a notebook for myself. Blogging has always felt like a strange mix of public diary, technical notebook, and half-baked manifesto, a place to document projects, share ideas, and occasionally just ramble. Despite the fits and starts, I keep returning, sometimes with specific themes in mind (a blog about Python!) (a blog about books!), but this time, I’m just putting up a URL with my name and whatever thoughts I have about whatever I’m interested in, which is why I imagine I typically have an audience of one.
The Evolution of Blogging
Blogging used to feel like the wild west of the internet, a place where curious people or anyone with particular interests could publicize their thoughts or even create community with something like a Blogspot account, a WordPress account, or, my personal favorite, the latecomer Posterous (RIP). In the early days, it was all about personal spaces that articulated whatever was on the authors’ mind: technical how-tos, personal essays, rants, and rabbit holes. There was a sense of community, even if it was just a handful of regular commenters or fellow bloggers trading links and ideas. (Remember blogrolls–I can still remember the incredible feeling when someone with a bigger blog than yours put you on their blogroll.)
Then came the rise of social media, and the landscape shifted. Twitter, Facebook, and later Instagram and TikTok, siphoned off the casual updates and quick thoughts that once filled blog feeds. The long-form, meandering posts gave way to “micro content,” endless feeds, and video. Blogging started to feel old-fashioned, maybe even quaint, a relic of a slower, but alas, more nuanced, time.
Lately, I’ve noticed a quiet resurgence. Maybe it’s nostalgia, or maybe it’s the exhaustion with algorithm-driven feeds and the fleeting nature of social media. There’s something appealing about the idea of reclaiming a space that’s truly yours, where you set the pace and the tone. Blogging probably won’t return to its 90s-00s heyday, but there’s a certain satisfaction in writing for its own sake, in building a personal archive that’s not subject to the whims of a platform. If nothing else, it’s a way to keep the conversation going, even if it’s mostly with myself.
Personal Interests
I think for me, the reasons I keep blogging are as scattered as my interests. Part of it is the urge to document and feel like I’m consolidating the projects I’m working on–whether it’s creating Python scripts for data cleanup in the library, setting up hybrid cloud storage for university archives, or digging into server administration. There’s a certain satisfaction that comes with writing out the steps, the missteps, and the small victories, if only to have a record for myself (or a record to consult for the next person who stumbles across the same problem).
But it’s not just about the technical side. My background as a humanities scholar–in Jewish studies, nineteenth-century British literature and culture, and the odd corners of lexicography–still shapes the way I think and write (and still takes up the majority of my writing via academic publishing). Blogging lets me bridge the analytical and the anecdotal and the technical with the literary.
There’s also a sense of connection, however tenuous. I’ve spend my entire working life in academia, libraries, and classrooms, and I know how isolating it is to work at the intersection of disciplines. This is even more true in my current role, which places me somewhere between ITS, academia, and the library. Blogging is a way to reach out, to share what I’m learning, to invite conversation, to make the solitary work of research and coding a little less solitary. Even if the audience is small, there’s value in putting ideas out there, in building a personal archive that’s open to anyone who’s curious.