CJ Eller

Community Manager @ Write.as — Classical guitar by training, Software by accident

That adage of history rhyming, not repeating — does it work on a smaller, local level? You always hear the phrase when talking about spans of centuries. What about a couple weeks, months, or years? One of my favorite parts about publishing writing on the web is seeing how your thoughts rhyme with others'. It becomes a fruitful game of noticing rhymes and nurturing the environment for new rhymes to occur.

I had written lately about making a single page site for my mother this Mother's Day. It got me thinking about a website more like a DM than a public media object. Brendan Schlagel saw this & noted how it reminded him of a blog post he wrote a couple years ago, “Adding Hidden Layers to Websites via Secret Subdomains” (source). Reading it was a joy, especially to see where our ideas “rhymed.” I particularly gravitated to Brendan's idea of a subdomain that was dedicated to a person:

yourname.brendanschlagel.com — could be either parlor trick or highly useful and innovative networking device! I could, after meeting someone interesting, quickly put together a one-pager with a personalized curated list of articles or other resources, links to more of my work, and other fun things. I could even have a template for this, making it super simple to make a new one for favorite new people I meet.

This got me thinking about how relationships with other people online could be curated differently. Brendan, for instance, has an ongoing blogchain with Tom Critchlow. What if that also lived on Brendan's site as tom.brendanschlagel.com? Maybe that site could also give context as to how the blogchain came about.

The “yourname” subdomain could also serve as a public log for conversation with a particular person. For example, I had a great chat with David Blue for a community project. What if that conversation and others could continue to live on its own subdomain? I played around with this on a simple Next.js Glitch app: david.cjeller.site. This form could be a great place for countless blog chats to live.

What's great about this “yourname” subdomain idea is the flexibility of execution — from networking and blogchains to anything else you could imagine. It reminds me again how online relationships can be filtered through conventions of social media platforms. Brendan's idea brings out a more bespoke web, a weird & wonderful web, a homegrown web. Something more than a video montage of the photos a friend & I are both tagged in on Facebook.

Adding Hypothesis to your blog brings about about the benefit of in-line annotation for your posts — contextual highlights & comments. That power of contextualization can also extend to the texts you quote within your blog.

The usual courtesy of quotation in blogs is adding a link to the source. When a reader clicks on that, they're taken right to the beginning. Any context from your post is erased. What if the link could retain some context from your thoughts around the quotation as they relate to your post? This is where the quotation linking to a Hypothesis annotation could prove useful. Take the below block quote as an example:

i think theseus would have enjoyed the world wide web in 1997; the adventure and excitement that it fostered. its labyrinthine shape full of passages, turns, tunnels, and the unknown. websites often eschewed the formal navigation systems we have come to rely on and expect in favour of more open-ended or casual solutions. moving around a site—much like moving around the web in general—was a journey that embraced the forking, wandering naturing of hypertext and allowed the user—with varying degrees of agency—to choose their own path through cyberspace, the hero of their own self-authored epic.


When you click Go to text, it takes you to a Hypothesis link — the highlighted quotation with a previous annotation of mine. The annotation can be as detailed as you want it to be. You could even just have the annotation link to your blog post (or the spot where you quote the passage). What's more, the Hypothesis link allows a reader to go beyond the quoted passage and read your other annotations of the text. Perhaps you wonder what the author thinks of other parts of the text she quotes in a post — now you can. These additional annotations could lead to other blog posts she's written that quote the text.

Interesting possibilities can come from extending annotations not only to your blog but to the texts your blog quotes — adding context to a post through intentional hyperlinks. I am reminded of a great point from Toby Shorin about finding a balance with the affordances the web can offer text:

This all suggests that a compromise must be struck between the coherence of a text and the new opportunities for knowledge work afforded by the fundamental capabilities of the medium: the internet’s connectivity, the screen’s frame rate.


Correspondence chess can mean many things — playing chess on a forum, through postcards, across email. Wikipedia even notes that “less common methods” include the use of homing pigeons. What these disparate means of correspondence share is that they map onto a single game — chess. As Glenn Adamson explains in Fewer, Better Things,

[Chess] is a pure abstraction, in black and white. You can make a chessboard out of any material you want, cheap or expensive, pencil on paper or ivory on wood, but it doesn't really change the game. That is why you can play by postcard. Chess itself is intangible, so it can go anywhere.


I find myself being more interested in figuring out what other means of correspondence could be used to play chess than the playing of chess. That bleeds into my fascination with personal publishing on the web. Putting words behind a link that someone can access (that mean something) is an abstract enterprise. From common to bespoke, there are so many ways to publish. It becomes a game in and of itself — tinkering around with the printing press rather than using it to print something.

But I find the relationship between publishing and tinkering to be a mutual one. The more you publish, the more you tinker your means of publishing. The more you tinker, the more you publish about your means of tinkering (among other things). Both feed into each other quite well if you let them. This blog is a testament to that. I hope I can keep reminding myself to do both — to not just fuss with the means of correspondence but to also play chess.

Instead of getting a Mother's Day card this year, I find myself hacking together a single web page to commemorate my mother.

While circumstance has brought this about, there's an odd feeling of why I hadn't thought about doing this before. Maybe I predominantly think of publishing on the web as a public affair. But now I am crafting a simple webpage that only one other person will see. Not by accident, but by design.

And yet I find this pattern elsewhere in my digital life — writing “blog” posts for only one person (via anonymous posts). Sometimes these posts are detailed help for a Write.as user that includes code blocks. Other times they are personal messages that won't fit in a Twitter DM.

We talk about direct messages as being a crucial part of social media, but I wonder if the same could be said of websites & blog posts. I wonder if blurring that line between public & private more explicitly can make writing HTML & blogging carry the same intimacy as writing a letter.

I've been thinking a lot over Toby Shorin's thread about the deeper ties that can be made between blogosphere discourse & Twitter discourse. A recent exchange I had on Mastodon, the decentralized microblogging network, concretized what were once abstract ideas — one possible way to deepen the ties between the blogosphere and microblogosphere.

So I am searching a hashtag on Mastodon and come across a blog post. The post in question was about how the author, Sajesh (@thumb@fosstodon.org), set up their blog — detailing some of the inconveniences he had along the way. Since I could help with some of those setbacks, I replied to the post & we had a friendly exchange.

A day passes and I get a notification on Mastodon — not from a personal account but from a blog's account. Sajesh wrote a follow-up post to the one I responded to the other day. I received a notification because Sajesh @-mentioned my Mastodon account in the post. This prompted me to reply to the blog post on Mastodon, happy that he established a smoother blogging workflow.

This exchange brought to mind one way to look at this tie between blogosphere discourse & microblogging discourse. A blog can still stand as a separate place to develop an individual voice. But what if a blog could also exist as a Twitter account of sorts?

This is one experiment happening with blogging platforms powered by the ActivityPub protocol. Since this protocol powers microblogging platforms like Mastodon, blogs can exist as microblogging accounts on these platforms — you can follow them like you follow Twitter accounts, reply to posts like you can reply to a tweet, & retweet posts in a similar fashion. Most of these imply a one way interaction. This is what makes the recent addition of @-mentions within blog posts so exciting. A blog post can be used as another way to start a conversation with someone on a microblogging platform. What was once a 280 character tweet could be 1000 words. That conversation could keep extending on the microblogging platform and/or break off into other blog posts that mention others — a hybridized exchange that eschews the rules of the typical comment section. I am reminded of a part in Toby's thread where he contemplates adding a comment section to his blog:

makes me wonder if I should add comments to my blog. I feel like the old style of blog comments just don't quite cut it for the modern web stack and ways we interact

(emphasis mine)

He's right — the old style of blog comments don't cut it. There has to be a better way to create ties between the blogosphere & places like Twitter where we already interact organically. As Toby put it, platforms like Twitter are our universal comment section. Why not have blogs take better advantage of the ways we already interact?

Are.na takes text and puts it into blocks. What immediately comes from this is to think of drafting posts more like construction — putting building blocks of text together to form a structure. A channel becomes a blog post.

But there's more to Are.na than this. Behind the noun of blocks is the verb of connection. Blocks can belong to multiple channels. This adds a layer of intrigue to the model of channel as blog post. If a block can belong to many channels, a paragraph can be a part of many blog posts.

Let's test this idea out. If you click on this paragraph, it will lead to a post that uses this paragraph as the leading thought. On Are.na, this is a text block that connects this channel with another channel.These connected text blocks could act as footnotes or references in other posts. But they can just as well be another paragraph in a post — this recycling of past writing into other posts excites me. It is thinking not only in the realm of chaining posts together (blogchains) but in chaining paragraphs together, adding wiki-like qualities to publishing on your blog.

A couple years back I did a 100 day writing challenge with a good friend. Each of us took to our Wordpress blog and posted each day in the ensuing months. I remember checking in each day to see what she'd written on her blog. We'd check in on the phone from time to time to see how the experience was going. At the end of the 100 days, she stopped frequently updating her Wordpress blog. I wish I gave her more encouragement to keep going.

Another recollection — my mom used to follow my old Wordpress blog by email subscription. Sometimes she'd call me out of the blue to discuss a post I'd written that day. It was a way for her to reach out & break through talking about mundane, day-to-day tings. Why don't I give her a way to follow my new blog? I always look back on those phone calls fondly.

Talking with a friend a couple weeks ago, he mentioned starting to write again on a blog. What drew him to do this? The blog served as an outlet for subjects that he rarely talked about even with his own friends or family. This was his way of getting those ideas out there. I read it regularly now. My hope is to talk about some of those posts with him on the phone — maybe even write a response to one or two on my blog or elsewhere.

These memories make me think of how blogging can act as another form of communication among friends — not only friends you make online but friends you've built connections with in person over years. It can be like exchanging public letters. But at other times it can be an arena for the person to think through ideas that have been stewing for days, weeks, months, years even.

What could a friend come up with if given this outlet? An interesting idea comes up during a conversation and I wish my friend had an outlet to develop that thought further. A blog could be such a vehicle. You get another glimpse of who a friend is — perhaps a side they are rarely able to express in normal conversation. Come to think of it, I rarely discuss what I write about on my blog with even my own friends or family! Nevertheless those ideas are a part of my identity, so I publish them here.

This isn't to say that you should share your blog with your friends and family. One of the virtues of writing online is that it can be an anonymous haven for reflection. But I wonder what having that other public outlet could mean. Not public in that other strangers read it. Public in that you selectively invite friends & family to read your blog. Then, your friends & family invite you to read their blogs. It could be a couple friends you do this with or, like me, you invite your mother to subscribe to your blog. What could happen from such small yet intentional exchanges of writing across the web?

Not a replacement of in-person interaction or Zoom or email or phone calls, but a hopefully positive augmentation to our standard modes of communication with the people we care about most.

My web presence can be described in a sliver of a sliver — a slim passage from Roland Barthes' slim volume Empire of Signs.

Barthes makes the observation that Japanese food is served fragmented, “raw.” The eater has to manipulate what she is eating to bring everything together:

The painting was actually only a palette with which you are going to play in the course of your meal, taking up here a pinch of vegetables, there of rice, and over there of condiment, here a sip of soup, according to a free alternation

Barthes describes this “raw” preparation further by comparing it to the “cooked” Western practice:

[Y]ou yourself make what it is you eat; the dish is no longer a reified product, whose preparation is, among us, modestly distanced in time and in space (meals elaborated in advance behind the partition of a kitchen, secret room where everything is permitted, provided the product emerges from it all the more composed, embellished, embalmed, shellacked).

My web appears fully cooked. I don't self host my blog & use plenty of other services that do the technical heavy lifting for me. And yet this is where Barthes' clear distinction between raw & cooked blurs — because the most interesting part of the web for me is discovering how to see the painting as a palette, how to make a platform both the plate of food and the chopsticks.

It started with web API's — being able to access data created on a platform and doing interesting things with it. Then tools like Glitch came around that made it simple to create small yet expressive web apps. As long as I knew how to write the underlying code, Glitch could take care of deployment for me. So with API's I can take a pinch from my blog, put the posts into Are.na, and rearrange it all to my liking through an intermediary Glitch app. This all operates in a strange amalgam of raw & cooked — not having full access to platforms' underlying codebase yet being able to manipulate enough of the data created on it to do interesting things. That's enough for me to engage with the web in a way I want to.

Fascinating questions come from this line of thinking, all around how to observe & act upon blogs within this raw and cooked spectrum. How can you look at a blog (post) as raw rather than cooked? Maybe it's in approaches akin to the from blog to blocks experiment? In extended forms like blogchains? Likewise, how can you take raw data and cook it into something like a blog (post)? What would the process, let alone end product, even look like?

A while ago I created a Python script that threw a chunk of my blog posts into Are.na. Each post was turned into a text block that was placed in a channel called “CJ's Blog.” Satisfied, I left the experiment sit for a while. After checking back one day, a notification appeared:

Lluvia Machuca added Bricks and Software to Design.

What did that notification mean?

“Bricks and Software” was one of my blog posts that I turned into a text block. I hadn't revisited that post for a long time. Lluvia Machuca connected my post to her own channel called “Design.” Going there, I am taken aback by the associative trail of media that Lluvia is creating. At first the presence of my post makes no sense in this channel. But then I find myself thinking about what I wrote in context to these quotes and images and diagrams. New ideas start to emerge.

This was an altogether different experience than if Lluvia simply “liked” my post. The way interactions happen on Are.na, connecting other people's blocks to your channels, allow my words to live a stranger life than they simply did as blog posts. Crossposting augments my writing to not only exist as something else (blocks) but to interact with more types of media (not just other words but images and video) in a different way (connecting blocks to other blocks).

This experiment can continue on many paths — adding & deleting more blog posts to my channel, creating new channels from those existing posts, interacting more with other blocks & channels on Are.na to introduce more multimedia collision. Wherever it goes, it excites me to even see a glimpse of what the potential of crossposting can look like.

How do we preserve the history of a community? What it was? Who made up its members?

The “Oneg Shabbat” archives found after WWII is one answer. These records of Jewish life under Nazi occupation & Holocaust were unearthed from a few milk cans and tin boxes in Warsaw. Organized by historian and community figure Dr. Emanuel Ringelblum, the “Oneg Shabbat” archives were meant to record life across the political, religious, and social spectrum. Glenn Adamson outlines the painstaking process of the archive's creation in Fewer, Better Things:

Working with others in the neighborhood, he collected thirty-five thousand documents in all over a period of two and a half years. As the historian Peter Miller recounts, the collection was very diverse and heartbreaking in its quotidian detail: “tram tickets, programs to school plays, restaurant menus, maps of the complex doorbell schemes needed to accommodate the reality of 30 percent of a city's population forced into less than 3 percent of its space.” Some inhabitants contributed essays and economic analyses of life in the ghetto, with titles like “Processes of the Adaptation of the Jewish Artisan to Wartime Conditions” and “On Jewish Barbers.”

As Adamson continues, these records would become the sole source for a particular community at a particular time in a particular place:

When Ringelblum buried these records to evade discovery by the Nazis, he no doubt hoped he might be able to return to them himself, but probably also feared that they might never be recovered. In fact, though only a few years passed before the archive was found, his worst fears had been realized. Warsaw's Jewish population was all but wiped out, and with them, their collective memory, apart from the contents of these precious vessels. As Miller put it, had the archive not been assembled and preserved, “then no one would believe that such a place had existed; not on the moon, but right here, in the center of the earth's most sophisticated continent.” Most objects from the past, thank goodness, are not so tragic. But the story of the Warsaw ghetto, the condensation of all that life as it was lived, amply attests to the potency of material evidence.

The potency of material evidence. We do not put our records into milk cans but into electronic milk cans – computers of all shapes and sizes. Thankfully the majority of us do not live under the occupation of a genocidal regime. These are different times with different technologies. However, the question of preservation still gnaws at me. As I contribute to a forum, I wonder how it will be preserved for future generations to see how online communities functioned. As I write this post, I wonder how this blog will be preserved for my grandkids to see what I was thinking during this time. Because, as Joel Dueck explains, there is this “Unbearable Lightness of Web Pages” (source):

Web pages are ghosts: they’re like images projected onto a wall. They aren’t durable. If you turn off the projector (i.e. web server), the picture disappears. If you know how to run a projector, and you can keep it running all the time, you can have a web site.

But as soon as there’s no one to babysit the projector, it eventually gets turned off, and everything you made with it goes away. If the outage is permanent, the disappearance is too. This is happening all the time, as servers fail, or companies are acquired and shut down.

That's why I'm floored by the “Oneg Shabbat” archive. A few milk cans and tin boxes carry what Adamson calls the freighted history of a whole community. It isn't made up of abstractions on a projector. These are pulp squares with ink on them — essays and menus and report cards and maps all crammed into tin containers dug into the ground. And what are the chances that the archive was unearthed in the first place?

But I sense that this was what Ringelblum and Jewish community in the Warsaw ghetto intended. By creating a capsule that was meant to be unearthed, they created the means to preserve a history and culture for future generations to acknowledge & act upon. That kind of work strikes me as more important as we continue to put our records on these projectors. I won't stop publishing to this blog or elsewhere on the web. Others won't stop either. All the while I yearn for what Dueck refers to as durable writing, that which can be unearthed for future generations to see.

So how do we better create potent material evidence out of our web artifacts?