Last week, my writing partner/bestie and I were talking about our old blogs, our writing, who we were in our twenties, and the fearlessness that came with being so young. Back then, I put my fingers to the keyboard with a reckless abandon. I wrote and posted about whatever I wanted to, often without a giving it a second thought. It wasn’t earth-shattering journalism, it wasn’t deep or profound, but if one person could relate to my ramblings I felt good about what I put on the Internet.

I started blogging in 2010, during that sweet time when blogging was cool (before it became cringe). This was before bloggers became influencers and influencers took over the world with paid posts for Instagram, TikTok, and YouTube Channels. I followed a lot of bloggers in Toronto and loved reading their posts because even if they were product reviews, there was a bit of personal stuff sprinkled in between. I learned a lot about what was going on in Toronto because of these blogs and wanted nothing more than to be one of the top bloggers in the city.

And then something changed, after years of putting my life online and having very few people care, I gave up. I couldn’t keep up with the other bloggers out there. I couldn’t keep up with the events or product reviews. I couldn’t keep up with the constant posts on Instagram and felt like I was failing as a writer. On top of that I felt gross when I wrote about something too personal or posted photos of my nieces. I worried that if I wrote about my mental health I might not get a job or be able to start a career. I deleted my Instagram (more than once) and Twitter accounts, and stopped updating my blog. I even stopped writing “seriously”. I told myself I was too busy working to spend time chasing the dream of being traditionally published.

I didn’t find my way back to writing until the second year of COVID, when I wrote two short story collections and two children’s books. I dove into the art of short stories and sent them to various magazines and website, hoping that they would get published. Very few did but my writing improved and that was important to me.

Earlier this year I finished my second novel, One More Truth. The novel was inspired by my trips to Portugal, stories told by my Avó Maria, and Fado music. So far I’ve queried 40 literary agents, received 9 rejections, and 2 full-manuscript requests. I’d be lying if I said that the rejections were easy. Every single one feels like a punch to the gut, proof that I’m a terrible writer with bad ideas and I should just stick to my 9-5. On a good day, a rejection feels like a challenge and its own reward. I find myself thinking I’m back, I’m trying, I’m brave, and it’ll happen.

Since getting back into writing, I’ve realized how much I missed sharing my thoughts with the few people who cared to read them. I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to start blogging again since I’ll be competing with Substack, Instagram, Youtube, TikTok, and IRL streamers but I’d like to see what happens. I have no idea how often I’ll post or what I’ll write about but we can find out together.

xo Vanessa

*Previously posted on Substack AUG 3, 2024*