We are almost midway through 2026 so this is a good time for a reintroduction. For those joining the blog in progress, I am Will.

Over the years, I’ve written a little bit of everything – short stories, plays, poems, journalism, a few novels. I’ve been blogging regularly since 2023, the year I recklessly challenged myself to post something every day for a full year, simply to see if I could do it. I did. I’ve scaled back, but the forced compliance with daily posting helped me develop confidence, topics, and a voice. I wouldn’t do it again anytime soon, but my Blog Year was a sharp turn in my writing road. I was doing it for me, and that was important.

Over that time, my writing improved. I write faster, with more surety. I’ve shored up some of my weak spots and have a better eye for my flaws. I have a stronger grasp on what I want to say and feel confident that it’s worth saying. I feel I have something to contribute, which is new for me.

But with this growth has come regret. There are writing concepts – particularly around the art of writing, theme, and voice – that I wish I’d understood when I was younger. I wasted a lot of time feeling like I didn’t have anything to say, that I hadn’t any original or even interesting thoughts. I wondered how some writers seemed to have high concept ideas spilling out of their fingertips, when every story I wrote felt trite or went nowhere. I believed my life itself was boring, that I needed some grand experience or learned wisdom before I could create something worthwhile. I thought I needed to sound like Someone, with a capital S. That particular Someone was not me and yet all the other Someones I tried to be did not fit. I wanted so badly to write something great, but felt I had nothing to work with.

I know better now. I’m a stronger writer today because I have written a few million words and because I continue studying and practicing craft. Craft takes time, and you never stop learning.

But it should not have taken me all those years to understand that life had already given me everything I needed for the art of writing, the answer to the question of what to write about and why and why it’s important and what that should sound like. I had it already when I was 20 but I didn’t know that I did.

As I’ve devoted more time to my creative work these last few years, I haven’t discovered anything new but I’ve learned to recognize what I already have, all the experiences and emotions I believed were inconsequential. I’ve learned to trust those experiences. I have learned to love them, even the parts that are shameful or sad, which are the parts that need our love most of all. I hope that what I write might entertain or move or comfort or inspire someone, but even if it doesn’t, it’s still worth the writing. Even if I’m my only reader, it’s worth it.

I wish I had realized I had all this when I was younger. I wish someone had taught me how to see it. I wish my books and teachers had spent some time on the writer, and not merely on the writing.

And it occurred to me: Maybe someone else would be interested in hearing what I’ve learned. Perhaps there are other young – or not young – writers who would benefit from having this conversation now, instead of waiting ten or twenty or forty years for the realization to arrive.

Maybe I should write this down.

So next week, we begin.

Write with me.