Recently my friend Ben Opsahl sent me a note. He had subscribed here in early 2017 expecting a regular newsletter, and then noticed that he didn’t hear from me much. He had four emails from me last year, he pointed out.
Four? Yep: F–O–U–R. Because that’s how often I wrote here and how often I published a “newsletter.” (Which was really just a blog post notification.) Lame.
So what gives, Ben said?
I wrote him back, explaining that I’m kind of busy with MarketingProfs. And what’s more, I did produce throughout 2017—just not for my own site.
Even as I wrote that to Ben, it felt weird. Like an excuse. A cop-out. Why didn’t I write on my own site? Yeah… What gives?
2018 is the year to change that. Here’s the plan.
But first, a story…
When I was eight years old, my parents gave me a journal for Christmas. It was a one-year journal and it had 365 pages dated for every day of the calendar year, starting on New Year’s Day.
The cover had a drawing of the sun, and it had a flimsy metal lock on the side to keep out, I imagined, my snooping brother (who in reality gave zero effs about my diary).
My parents sought to encourage me as a writer. And it worked. On the very first page (January 1) I made clear my intentions: “Hello!” I wrote in big loopy handwriting. “Happy New Year!”
Then a few sentences later:
“I want to be a writter, O.K?”
(That “O.K.?” is interesting, isn’t it? The question mark. My 8-year-old need for validation. This is in my journal, and I am writing this proclamation to myself. So who, exactly, is going to give me permission? And why do I need it anyway?
(Would Alexander Hamilton have similarly signaled his intent? “Hello! Happy New Year! I’m going to write the Federalist Papers, O.K.?” No. He. Most. Definitely. Would. Nope. That.
(Fearless Girl is rolling her eyes at 8-year-old me. Hard.)
Anyway… I spent the first few weeks enthusiastically recording my days in my journal. When I reread it now, I remember the devotion I felt—and the small rush of excitement that ran over me when I snugly closed the door to my room and retrieved the journal from its hiding spot in my closet.
I was an outwardly reserved child with a rich inner life. Writing was a thrill and a relief.
For a time, anyway. It didn’t last long: By the end of January I had less and less to say, generally posting a single, dumb line.
January 28: “I have to clean my room. Bye!”
January 31: “Do you like my new pen?”
By February 10th, I started pasting in pictures of chimpanzees. Just to fill the pages.
It’s not that I didn’t love writing. I sure did.
But in those first few weeks of January, I gradually came to reject the point of a journal, its very presence intended to keep people out (the lock, the hiding, the private thoughts). It’s not designed to let people in.
What’s the point of writing things you already know to yourself? Day after day?
Soooooo.
Boooooring.
What I couldn’t quite articulate then, but can clearly see now, is what was missing from my journal. Missing was… well, Ben Opsahl. And you. And the rest of the people on this newsletter list: The people to write to.
I needed to write to someone.
More specifically, I needed to be in service to people I wanted to inform, entertain, connect with, help.
I decided I didn’t want a journal. I needed a newsletter.
That spring I conceived of and launched a neighborhood newsletter. My goal was to connect my neighbors to each other.
I wrote about the Hoells’ new car, someone else’s driveway basketball hoop, the town’s dog leash laws. I tossed in a poem. I delivered it on my bike. My neighbors thanked me. Now THIS was writing!
I lasted four issues.
The laborious process of pecking out words on a typewriter, trimming my articles by hand, laying them out on construction paper, and then having my dad Xerox the whole thing at his office (he brought it back to me in a folder tucked in the pocket of his leather attaché case, which always snapped opened with an aggressive POP that caught my fingers), and still needing to deliver it….
It just got to be too much. I had math tests to study for.
I had puberty to ponder.
So I paused my publishing dreams, deciding to wait for the Internet to happen.
* * * * *
I write and speak in a lot of places, all year round. I’m active on social media. And it’s all good.
But I’ve realized (with Ben’s prompt) that I miss talking directly to you and maybe others like you…
Who share my love of writing and books, but also marketing, content, and business.
Who might not identify as “writers,” but who can become better and sharper writers with encouragement, practice, and tools.
And who might just want to hear from me more than four times a year.
And so, I’m committing to a less lame 2018 and relaunching my newsletter. (Talk about burying the lead. I was a terrible journal-writer and (much later) terrible journalist, too lol?)
Every two weeks you’ll get a newsletter focused on marketing, writing, and content, with:
• New writing to help you stay in the know.
• Fresh links I believe you’ll like: trends, ideas, and the flat-out awesome that connects to writing, marketing, content.
• Useful writing or content tips because to this day I can’t help but click on things that will make me a better writer, either.
• Things I’m doing or where I’m speaking, so perhaps we can connect IRL, yeah?
• High-spirited shenanigans with a side of quirky… because life is too short, you know? Let’s have some fun with a side of business.
All of this is delivered direct from my tiny house (see that magical header image) to your inbox.
I call it Total Annarchy.
“Total” because it’s totally from me (and only me). And “Annarchy” because this is my realm—writing, marketing, business, life—packaged for you.
It’s free. And 100% spam-free. Unsubscribe whenever you want.
I love getting letters. Maybe you do, too?
I hope so.
You can expect the first issue of a renovated Total Annarchy next week.
Hugs for reading,
Ann
P.S. High-fives for forwarding: If you know someone who might appreciate hearing from me, please forward them a link to this post with an invitation to subscribe here: www.annhandley.com/newsletter.
Much of our childhood pen pal correspondence is buried under the eaves, in a box, in my attic. Unless the squirrels and bats have nested in it, it may still be legible. Maybe someday I’ll dig it out and share it with you. I’m sure it’s chock full of Ann wit and humor!
OMG I’d love to see those. I have a box of those notes & letters too… incredible how much time we spent writing back and forth — analog texting? I guess?
THANK YOU!
Hi! 😊
First of all, thank you Ben! There, I said it! 😬
Second, I tried to subscribe, but I can’t! It turns out I’m already subscribed! And I just wanted to be the first, darn! 🤪
I’m looking forward to “seeing” you in my inbox, Ann.
Hope someday we will meet IRL!
XOXO,
Corina
See? You were subscribed and you didn’t even realize it because… well.
Lame. (Me. Not you.)
Subscribed! And so awesome you still have your journal!
It’s both awesome and deeply embarrassing.
Thanks, brother!
I’m so excited to hear this, Ann. Yours is one of the few newsletters that I have consistently read, each time it arrived in my inbox like a little ray of sunshine. 😉 Very much looking forward to more Annarchy in 2018.
Thanks, Jamie! <3
Although “Monkey Jungle” would’ve been a pretty sweet newsletter name (hmm…or book title), sticking with Annarchy makes sense.
So glad you are ramping back up here! I’m subscribed, with no signs of stopping! I’m a marketing executive and writer. But I’m really a wandering creative wonderer disguised as a balding, middle-aged dad. I’ve grown terribly bored with the writing about writing and marketing how-to “out there.” I want to be touched more than taught. You always bring a human voice and refreshing insight into whatever topic you tackle. And you have an others-first heart.
Bring it, Ann!
Thank you, Keith. Love this. I appreciate you subscribing as well as swinging by and dropped a comment!
Yay you!!! Anything Ann and Annarchy sounds stupendous to me! Look forward to reading and congrats on finding this new pathway. Xo
Sounds great! Hitting the ‘Subscribe’ button right now.
More power to you, Ann!
I’m in. Great post. I laughed out loud at the Federalist Papers bit.
Your fan,
Buddy
Seriously, though. (“O.K.?”) 😀
I love your writing! And the fact that you work out of a tiny house makes it that much better. 🙂
I am not a frequent flyer when it comes to commenting on blog posts, well anything really, I read a vast amount of information on the internet but never feel the need to comment. I keep to myself and exist in the background of the internet. I am the opposite of an internet troll, I’ll call myself an internet fairy…… I fly around the internet reading and laughing, leaving only a small trace seen by the keen eye (or the website back end people who document my visiting through all the wonderful data they procure). With that being said, and I said it to make sure you understand how much you have inspired me, I have this overwhelming need to comment.
I have only recently found you and this blog, I am currently in school at Full Sail University for Internet Marketing and found you in my research for a paper I am writing, and I am officially hooked! I am sure you hear it all the time and you are used to it by now but you need to know ( and I need to tell you), you are truly an inspiration! Thank you, thank you for being you, for not being afraid to be you, and for being so informative in the process. You are my “Spirit Animal”.
I’m done sounding crazy and stalker-ish now. I promise I’m not either of those, well maybe a little crazy but aren’t we all? Thank you again! I look forward to learning and being inspired by you.
Stacey
I love how the letters of F-O-U-R are each a link to one of your four blog posts from last year.
And I suffer from blog constipation too. Now I’m gonna commit to do better too. You inspired me.
Ann,
I don’t know how we originally found each other but your emails have been popping up in my personal inbox for a few months now. I will confess that since I didn’t recognize your name at first, I didn’t open them. Then one day, I opened and… “Wowzers!” I felt an instant connection with you as a twin soul and a fellow compulsive in the I-must-write-something-to-be-me sense.
Keep. It. Coming. For me, your twice-monthly emails are like cool drinks of water after long runs through days of desultory, disparate discussion.
Kia ora Ann from me in New Zealand where it is now officially and joyfully summer time. Your message was inspiring, and instantly I was drawn into your world. I leapt into thinking I could gift a diary to my 12-year-old writer/artist granddaughter and then, as I read of your childhood experience, maybe not. Hmmm. I read on, recognising myself as an annual diary buyer who, most years resolves to record my life as it unfolds. But, while life thankfully does continue to unfold – or unravel -, recording it fades by the end of January, is on life support typically by February and revived later only to finally die by mid-year to be buried in the drawer of past diaries and a life unrecorded. I agree an audience is needed. Over recent years, I’ve found an audience in an ongoing series of regular emails with a friend and colleague, writing of our everyday lives. But, should and will these emails be saved and safely kept? Thank you for inspiring me to write a reply on a blog – the first time I have ever done so!
Thanks for your comment, Kerry! Well done for the first time! 😀
Wonderful that you kept those Journals and was prescient so young about your calling. And funny that it sometimes came down to pasting in chimpanzees to fill in the void. Then again Kurt Vonnegut drew in many sketches in one of his most famous novels, BREAKFAST OF CHAMPIONS, including a chimpanzee!
My feeling is you are one very busy lady stretched different ways by different projects, so keeping a tight Newsletter deadline may be too much – – and too it might be that your inspiration doesn’t run to a train schedule, that sometimes you’d need a bigger lift and support from others. Y’know, like sometimes you need S p a c e ? And Space is a good topic in itself for the art of writing – – that Hemingway thing about being able to deduce what a writer knows and what a piece implicitly says by what the writer could leave out. So I think we should cut you some slack, and based on my university days I’d suggest indulging a sport to get away from writing in order to get closer to writing. Horseriding was my way of putting distance from a thesis, and ideas would often visit me when I was out in the country rather than thinking hard in the library. So there you are: mount up and leave the keyboard behind. What say you, Ann?