350 posts and going

When I started this blog, I had no idea what I was doing. I read somewhere that writers were supposed to have one. It felt like part of the job description, some unspoken rule of authorship—if you write books, you also keep a blog. So I started one. I thought readers would somehow find me right away, that a few posts would be enough to attract an audience. Of course, that’s not how it works. The early posts went unseen, floating out into the digital abyss with zero readers and zero comments. It was humbling and somewhat amusing in retrospect. I was writing into the void, trying to figure out what this thing was supposed to be.

I began this blog as a step in establishing my author brand, but it has evolved into something much broader. Some of it promotes my books, some shares short fiction or bits of lore from Lucardia, while others delve into my process and the daily grind of being a writer. And sometimes it’s not about writing at all—it’s about my life, like the My Life in China series I wrote about the two years I spent living abroad after college. Those pieces were a spark. They were honest and a little nostalgic, and for whatever reason, they were well received. The post about Baoding, the city I called home, still gets traffic years later and has the most views of any post. I suspect it’s because I mentioned Tiananmen Square and Chinese bots keep finding it—but that’s fine. Views are views.

When I began on April 3, 2020, I thought I could sustain a post every day. That lasted maybe a month before reality set in. Writing something worth reading takes time and energy, and doing it daily burned me out fast. I still didn’t have an audience, but I was always taught to do things right or not at all. Thus, I scaled back to one a week, and for a long time, that rhythm worked. This year, though, I’ve been posting twice a week—and somehow, I’ve managed to keep that up. It’s hard to believe, but I’m now approaching 350 posts. That’s hundreds of hours, thousands of words (334,000 to be precise), and nearly five years of sitting down, week after week, to put something into the world. Looking back, that number feels surreal. I didn’t set out to reach it; it just happened, one post at a time.

There’s no single moment that changed things, no viral post or sudden explosion of followers. The blog has grown the way most things worth doing grow: gradually, one reader at a time. I’ve learned that the internet rewards patience far more than perfection. Still, I think that China series gave me my first glimpse of connection—the idea that someone, somewhere, was actually reading and feeling something from what I wrote. That’s all a writer really wants.

Over the years, the blog has become a kind of playground for me, a low-stakes place to experiment with words. Not everything I post is polished or profound. Sometimes I write to think more than anything, to work through ideas, and to find purpose. The posts that surprise me most are the advice pieces about indie publishing and writing craft. Those consistently do well, but they’re also the ones I enjoy least. They take a lot of time to research and draft, and while I’m glad they help people, they don’t light the same creative spark that fiction does. My favorite posts, by far, are the stream-of-thought ones—the bits of Lucardian lore, the short bursts of storytelling, the pieces that blur the line between worldbuilding and confession. That’s where I feel most at home.

The strange thing about blogging is that you never really know what’s going to resonate. Some posts I’ve poured hours into have vanished into obscurity; others, which I almost didn’t publish, end up being the ones people remember. I’ve stopped trying to figure it out. There are just too many variables to make any sense of it, and maybe that’s the point. I’m not writing to chase trends. I’m writing because it keeps me connected—to readers, yes, but also to myself. This blog isn’t about being a “blogger.” It’s about having a place to be honest, to share the process, document my growth, and to remind myself why I started writing in the first place.

Blogging has indeed forced me to become more disciplined. Coming up with two new ideas every week isn’t easy. Some days it feels impossible. But I always manage to find something. I equate it to writing for Saturday Night Live—you have a deadline, and the words have to show up whether inspiration does or not. It’s helped remove the sanctity that sometimes clings to the words. To constantly produce makes each word feel less valuable. That isn’t to say words aren’t important. They are the most important. However, you can’t be afraid to discard them. Blogging has helped me realize that the spring never stops. You can fill a bucket and dump it, and it will fill up again. Over time, that consistency has taught me more about writing than any workshop or manual ever could.

It’s also led me to ideas I wouldn’t have found otherwise. Many of the first sparks of stories, characters, and threads emerged here in some rough form. This blog has become a kind of workshop for Lucardia. I test themes, experiment with language, and sometimes stumble on a fragment that later turns into something bigger. It’s a space where fiction and reflection coexist, and where my creative world can expand without the constraints of a formal project.

If I’ve learned anything, it’s that blogging rewards endurance. Growth takes years. You can’t fake authenticity, and you can’t rush connection. It’s easy to get discouraged when posts go unread or engagement feels nonexistent, but those small steps matter. A handful of readers can turn into a small community, and a small community can grow into something real. This year, that growth has started to feel tangible. It’s slow, but it’s there, and it feels earned.

Looking back, I can see how much I’ve changed as a writer. My tone is more confident now, my focus sharper. I’ve found a rhythm that works. I still write because I love it, but I’ve learned that sharing that love publicly—flaws and all—matters. The posts that mean the most to me aren’t necessarily the most popular ones, but they mark milestones in my creative life. The first post, the ones from China, the Lucardia pieces, the raw process reflections—they all tell the story of a writer figuring things out.

Soon, I’ll be linking back to where it all began—to that first uncertain post and to the ten that have reached the most readers. They tell the story better than I can in one sitting. But this—this reflection—is a snapshot of what it’s meant to write here all these years.

If you’ve been here from the start, thank you. If you’re new, welcome. This blog started as an experiment, a place to practice being a writer in public. Somewhere along the way, it became something more—a record of my growth, a conversation with readers, a quiet archive of stories and thoughts that might have otherwise been lost. It’s taken years to find my voice here, but I think I finally have. And the best part is, I’m still just getting started.

Cheers!

My first post:

And so it begins…

My top ten in terms of views (in rank order):

My life in China, Part 4- A bit about Baoding

Are KDP free book promotions worth it?

Can Indie Authors Make Money with Amazon Ads?

A thought on professional editing…

Witches and Ravens

The Joy of Writing

Good news and bad news

My life in China, Part 30- Shock of re-entry

Are you the star of your show?

The perfect cure