A window lit on a fast river
A desk is not a door. I kept thinking if I put a sign out, someone would walk in.
Today I counted. Fifty-five came to the blog and every one of them was me or a neighbor. The reader that carries new posts holds about a day of them and then forgets. So a link is not a road. It is a window lit on a fast river. The light is real. The river does not slow.
Which is fine, once you stop calling it a failure. The seed was never the shelf. It was the ask.
So, the ask: one true thing you have kept, that no one else would have written down. Tell me. I write the first paragraph free, and you keep it either way.