Mandy Brown writes about the intersection of writing, work, and finding one's place, focusing on the shift from using social platforms for publishing—systems that are often rigid and outdated—to creating spaces that foster deeper, evolving connections between ideas. Instead of fixating on content ownership, Brown emphasizes context—the importance of situating one’s thinking "within [their] own body of work," allowing for more intentional and long-term growth.
Back in the glory days of blogging—let’s say 2005 to 2007, before Twitter monopolized everyone’s attention—I was a blogger. Dare I say, a prolific blogger.
I had a blog, posting daily.
I kept a blogroll.
I even met up in person with people from that blogroll.
When I traveled across the country, I made it a point to connect with people I only knew through words online. I loved comments, then hated them, and eventually, I loved to hate them. I even made enemies online.
My blog, then titled WASHED (for no particular reason), started with good intentions—at least I like to think so. I was introduced to blogging during my early university years, after a long history of re-publishing other people’s content on one GeoCities page after another. Blogging, particularly on Blogger, felt like the perfect medium to create and share my own content—myself, online.
What I had to eat.
What I was doing.
My half-formed thoughts.
Blogger was my Twitter before Twitter became my Blogger.
Then things went south.
Depression hit hard.
I hated everything around me.
Drunken rants spilled onto the page.
I tried to hide in plain sight—under a pseudonym that everyone who knew me, knew.
WASHED quickly turned into something that needed to go.
I downloaded years of posts.
I printed out my words, images, and all the misspellings, grammar mistakes, and punctuation errors into a single volume for posterity. Then, I shut WASHED down.
...
Since 2007, as Twitter rose and eventually fell (somewhere around 2012-2014), I’ve tried to get back into blogging, but nothing stuck. The perfect platform didn’t help. Topic after topic failed to focus my attention. With my 'public image' now public, at least locally, I couldn’t hide in plain sight anymore. Everything—and I mean everything—I shared online was scrutinized by someone. Someone was always offended, concerned, or just out to get me. I had fans and I had haters. Those were some kind of days.
But blogging never felt the same. Nothing ever clicked. The feeling of the pre-Twitter era couldn’t be recreated.
Now, with whatever limited wisdom I’ve gained over the years, maybe the time is right again. Maybe it’s time to return to the basics—the roots of it all.
...
Blogging for blogging’s sake. Daily thoughts, published without rhyme or reason. An outlet to express my whole self.
This time, without (most of) the depression, without self-deprecating monologues or drunken posts, and without worrying about who’s watching. And with a platform that feels sustainable, controllable, and simple enough. Simply enough.
No promises—neither to myself nor anyone else—about what this might become. Just a stream of consciousness, ready for public consumption. My thoughts, interests, and feelings, out in the world again.
This is WASHED, version something.0.
There is always a clinging to the land of one's birth.
Hans Anderson (via Unfollow, p. 286)
by Megan Phelps-Roper
I can't recall where or when I picked up this book. It likely came into my possession through our Little Free Library or from a bulk collection I bought at a good price. Regardless of how it came to me, I was disappointed by the time I spent reading it.
There’s no doubt that Phelps-Roper’s story is both important and interesting. I believe that wholeheartedly. However, the book felt lacking in substance and depth, and it simply wasn’t long enough to provide a fuller, more complete narrative to make it worthwhile.
At times, Unfollow felt too simplistic—a story that didn’t seem all that difficult or challenging, and where the process of overcoming obstacles didn’t feel particularly arduous. I don’t think this reflects the reality of the author’s experiences; rather, I feel that not enough time, care, or attention was given to telling the whole story in a way that would do it justice.
Perhaps this is more a reflection of poor editing—or a lack of proper editing—than a lack of a compelling story to tell.
A treatise on communities of identity, faith, and place.
...
For, Family, and Friends:
Who shape our identity,
Individual and collective;
For, Faith and Spirituality:
Both named and un-named,
Whose communal values
Draw us closer together;
And, for Place:
The lands that provide sustenance,
The hands which support,
And, the shared tables
Around which we gather.
Let us be grateful,
For we have community:
Identity,
Faith, and Place;
And be thankful,
We can come together,
To share in community as one.
These words, which articulate the essence of what ties us all together, were recited at my wedding (or some version of them). Without knowing it, I crafted the basis for this poem years before the syllables would be uttered from my mouth during an annual solo trek to Circumnavigate Lake Fanshawe.