I created this blog exactly nine years ago today, back when I hadn’t yet become a published author, back when I didn’t even know what a blog was. I’d read how important blogging was for authors, both as a way of getting known and as a way of connecting with readers, so I decided to “act as if” I were going to be published in the hopes of making it happen. I had nothing to say, no one to say it to, no reason to say anything, but I didn’t let that stop me. I started blogging on September 24, 2007, and haven’t stopped since, though admittedly, I don’t post as much as I once did.
Did acting as if I were going to get published work? Perhaps, though there is no direct connection that I know of. Still, one and a half years after starting this blog, my first two books were published, I now have five books published by Indigo Sea Press — four suspense novels and one non-fiction book about grief. More importantly — at least blog-wise — I am still blogging, still making connections, still making friends. Still having fun.
One thing I never expected when I set up Bertram’s Blog, is how much I would like writing and publishing my articles. I feel safe here, away from the constant promos, ideological ravings, and mindless ratings on other sites, and it gives me the freedom to say what I want, no matter how personal. Six and a half years ago, my life mate/soul mate died, and his death catapulted me into such a world of such pain that it bled over into my posts. This blog became a place where I could try to make sense of what I was going through, to offer comfort and be comforted, to find my way to renewed life. This blog sustained me during the years I cared for my father, and it gave me a place to rest after my father died, when I was thrown out into the world, alone and orphaned. And this blog offered me a place to call home when I set out alone on a five-month, 12,000 mile cross-country road trip, gave me a place where I could talk about all the wonders I was seeing. Often on that trip, when I was between visits with online friends, I thought of William Cowper’s words: How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude! But grant me still a friend in my retreat, whom I may whisper, solitude is sweet. And this blog became a place where I could whisper, “Solitude is sweet.”
It’s nice to know that whatever life throws at me, whatever problems I encounter, whatever challenges and adventures come my way, this blog will be here for me.
Although I’d planned to post every day when I started blogging, during the first four years I only managed to blog three or four times a week, but exactly five years ago today, I made a 100-day commitment to post a daily blog, and once that initial commitment was fulfilled, I continued to post every day for four and a half years. I probably would still be blogging every day except I got out of the habit of daily posts while on my great adventure because so often on the road, I had no internet connection, not even with my phone. And now that I have the internet again, I have few internal (or external) conflicts to give me blog topics.
But still, the blog is here, always welcoming me when I do find something to say, generally once or twice a week. (I am still writing every day, of course, but now I am working on another novel.)
During the past nine years, I have written 2,163 blogs, received 14,835 comments, and garnered 528,360 views. It amazes me that anyone wants to read anything that I write here. This is so much a place for just letting my thoughts roam, for thinking through problems, and (I admit it) for pontificating a bit. It’s been a kick, writing this blog, and I want to thank all of you for indulging my whims and whimsys.
Thank you for reading. Thank you all for your comments, your likes, your support. They have meant more to me (especially this past six and a half years) than you can ever imagine.
(Pat Bertram is the author of the suspense novels Light Bringer, More Deaths Than One, A Spark of Heavenly Fire, and Daughter Am I. Bertram is also the author of Grief: The Great Yearning, “an exquisite book, wrenching to read, and at the same time full of profound truths.”)