Two Years, Seven Lessons

When you have a newsletter—or a blog—you begin to live every day with it, and for it. For her. You find yourself doing things just to impress her. To impress her pages. You treat those pages with care, like they’re alive. Like they have feelings. Because the truth is, when you approach your writing desk with a poor attitude, your blog won’t respond kindly. The words come out limp, uninspired, half-hearted. The pieces will lack originality and passion—and readers can always tell. They sense when your heart wasn’t in it.

To make her love you back, you have to treat her better. Like any meaningful relationship, it’s a two-way street. What you give is what you get. Then once you start to grow closer to your craft—when your writing becomes something sacred to you—you begin to see results: more subscribers, thoughtful comments, a deeper comfort with the pages. Your blog becomes the reason you live each day fully, and she in turn lives for you, even in your sleep. People read her while you dream of your next post.

She becomes your everything. The thing you live for, and maybe even the thing you’d die for just to make a good story. One day, generations will read your work to understand how humanity used to write. Maybe they’ll laugh at the rawness, the simplicity, the imperfections. Still, your words will outlive your father’s era. They’ll serve as a time capsule for your grandchildren, a way to show them how you met their grandmother—Zuena’s mother. Of course they’ll ask about Cheptolo, and you’ll simply point them to your letters to her. “Read them,” you’ll say. “That’s where the wonder of love is written.”

Yesterday marked exactly two years since I sent out my first post. What a journey it has been! Here are a few things I’ve noted on the journey to present:

First, to be a good writer, you must write. That’s just it. But to be a great writer, you must read also—a lot. Read anything and everything when you're starting out, until you stumble upon those authors whose imaginations align with yours. Reading is non-negotiable. Read a lot, but write even more. That’s what’s helped me improve. My early posts were okay, but nowhere near great. Even now, I know I’m not “there” yet, but my day ones can testify to the growth. The more I read others' work, the more I realize how far I still have to go to be considered a good writer by any standard. The greatness of a writer, however,—of anything—is always relative.

And that’s where exposure comes in. Second.

Exposure leads to more compelling stories. My readers have seen the world through my experiences—different views, different cultures, different characters, and thought patterns they didn’t expect from the English language. Exposure stretches the mind and reminds one how small we are in this vast universe. My writing is only as wide as my perception. Exposure pushes me beyond the comfort of my room. It helps me write from and for different places, people, and ideas. Exposure writes to the world with the world in mind. It makes me see the rich and poor differently. It makes me realize that even the so-called ‘common man’ has an uncommon story worth writing.

Third. On reading. If you want to be a good (or even great) writer, you must read broadly. Sticking to one author dulls your originality and creativity. You begin to think like them, write like them, even structure sentences like them. Your ideas and expression become a copy-paste version of theirs. But when you explore diverse genres and authors, your vocabulary widens, your sentence structure evolves, and your creativity flourishes. You begin to stir all those influences into your own unique writing style. Like the Good Book says: “Precept upon precept, line upon line. A little here, a little there.” It’s how your creative voice is born.

I’ve also adopted a simple rule: if I read for 10 minutes, I write for 20. Could be about anything—a book, the movie I just watched, people I met, school, work, girls, church, family. Anything. Yes, I’m talking about journaling. A diary, if you prefer, M’lady. It’s nearly impossible to become a writer if you don’t have somewhere to pour your thoughts the moment they arrive. Personally, I use my phone’s notepad, then later move the content to the Notion app. But this is not a sponsored blog (yet) so more on Notion another day.

The rule continues: if I read for 30 minutes, I write for an hour. You get the idea. The paradox of understanding is that to truly grasp something, you have to release it—by writing or speaking. Otherwise, it just stays dormant. An avid reader even better understands what he’s reading if he disposes the material on his own canvas.

I plan to write about the gains of running a blog once I hit the five-year mark. It’s a personal challenge: to stick with this for five straight years and see what becomes of it.

But for now, let me share a few challenges I’ve faced:

Fourth. People, especially Kenyans, don’t have a strong reading culture. And before you get defensive, take a look in the mirror. Or hold it up to someone you know. Convincing someone to read willingly, every Sunday, is one of the hardest parts of keeping subscribers engaged. Even if they remain subscribed, getting them to actually open and read your posts is a battle. In today’s YouTube Shorts, reels, and TikTok world, no one wants to stare at words for five minutes. Hell, even 30 seconds feels long. If your article doesn’t hook them instantly, they scroll past, close the tab, or worse, unsubscribe.

It’s even harder for creators like me who are not keen on showing their faces or voices on social media. Writing is all we have—it’s our art, our tool. But finding a community of engaged readers or even viewers is tough. And it doesn’t help that many people don’t check their emails. Fifth. Some don’t even have an email. If it weren’t for university email requirements, some of my friends wouldn’t know what an email inbox is. That’s partly why I moved from Substack to Beehiiv. Beehiiv offers a website version of my work. That way, even if you don’t open your email, you can still find me. Plus, it helps me track which posts are performing and which ones flop.

I won’t talk about those who think I’m running a scam when I ask for their email. Their suspicion sends my requests straight to the spam folder, or they just never see them at all. That is a different audience that only God can convince that my email newsletter is not a scam.

Sixth. Consistency is king. Writing every day sharpens both my English and my flow of thought. Some of those daily writings are too personal to share. Some are meant for my eyes only. Future generations don’t need to see them. But still, having something to post every week is a paying grind. Most advice I’ve gotten is to focus on quantity early on. Write often. Publish weekly. Quantity over quality. That way, when your blog starts gaining traction, you already have a solid archive, and then you can shift toward quality. But writer’s block sometimes hits so hard it makes me furious and inactive. And I don’t want to be angry with my blog. That’s when the posts turn out poorly—shallow, joyless, boring. Readers pick up on that and leave for better, more exciting content.

Still, consistency has helped. The more I write, the more I post, the more eyes I attract.

All in all, I’d say so far, so good. It’s the intimacy with the writing that has kept me going for two years. Seventh. Intimacy makes it worthwhile. What’s the point of freedom if a man spends it doing what he doesn’t love? It defeats the very essence of being free.

The question I get asked most when someone new subscribes is: “Do you get paid?” I get it; everyone wants to monetize everything. But honestly, this is not the right stage to talk about money and blogging in the same breath. I know that is a very diplomatic answer, but like anything worthwhile, it will take time before a single cent shows up. I do this because I love it. Because I believe I’m good at it, and getting better at it. Because it gives me a thrill I can’t put into words. It’s a purpose I didn’t even know I needed. It’s the one space where I can simply be myself.

A space where I can just be.

It’s only been two years. There’s nothing grand to show yet—nothing to brag about, and nothing to mourn either. If anything, it still feels like I haven’t written much at all. But I can count on the fingers of one hand the things I have been truly consistent with in my life, and I’m glad this blog is one of them.

✍🏽Reagan.