People and Blogs: Courtney

Let’s start from the basics: can you introduce yourself?

Hi, my name is Courtney. I’m a cishet white man and a perpetually tired netizen, a descriptor I’m confident hasn’t been used unironically in decades. While I don’t pay much mind to generational divisions, I’m of a particular age that witnessed a dramatic split growing up: childhood both before and after the internet.

I grew up in Queens, New York, which is both part of the City, and not really the City. In fact, my childhood home is a short walk from the “Welcome to Nassau” sign, which, for those unfamiliar, means Long Island, a place that I implicitly knew to reject growing up. Why? I’m still not sure. Despite geography, I was adamant that I didn’t live on Long Island for years, until decades later I wound up marrying a Long Island native, and my heralded transformation was complete.

I spent a good portion of my adult life working as a software engineer, but six years ago I took a chance and switched to a consulting role for a large tech company. It’d be a struggle to explain exactly what I do; just know that I’m doing my best at whatever it is, scary a thought as that might be at times.

I consider myself a beneficiary of privilege, both a result of the upbringing my parents worked hard to deliver my sister and me, and of institutional opportunities afforded as a product of my ethno-racial profile. I could take credit for all of my accomplishments, but critical thinking remains the greatest lesson I ever learned from school; ultimately, who I am today is thanks to a complex arrangement of good luck and diligent effort.

What’s the story behind your blog?

Before I dive into a tedious origin story, I have a long-held discomfort with the word “blog.” A negative connotation has been stuck in my craw for decades, one I can only explain as a once-youthful affectation toward counter-culture and an aversion to the burgeoning popularity of blogs. I was convinced that my writing was deep and important, unlike all those people “blogging” about their breakfast or whatever else tickled their fancy. In retrospect, I recognize that this is a completely unfair assessment, both of the quality of my own writing (yikes!) and of the blogging community at large. Nonetheless, I prefer to think of my site as a public journal rather than a blog. Does that distinction matter? Not really, but I digress.

I was fortunate enough to first go online in 1996, and a computer obsession quickly transformed into one focused on the internet. By 1997, I had a site hosted on GeoCities that eventually became a modestly successful tech blog—I know, I know—at netigen.com (1998). This was during high school, when too much free time meant I could post endless blurbs about Netscape Communicator and catalogue a plethora of Win32 freeware. My transition into college meant a complete transformation from technology into a far-too-personal journal, chronicling the emotional ravings of someone more comfortable in PHP than on LiveJournal. I kept writing there until around 2004, at which point I fell off the face of the earth and became wholly invested in a terrible habit. This activity left little room for writing, so while the domain remained registered, it fell into a long period of inactivity.

Quitting World of Warcraft in 2024 opened up a surprising amount of free time, much of which I spent exploring the indie web and checking in on people I hadn’t read in years. The internet, I quickly realized, had changed immensely during my absence. Though I had lived through many of the changes, I wasn’t an active participant, not nearly as when I lived and breathed during the early days. The space to think more freely lent itself to renewed interest in jotting down thoughts, and by mid-year, I had reinvested myself in an online presence. I returned to public journaling at netigen. Is this a mid-life crisis? Maybe, but better a digital home than a sports car. It’s hard to sort through existential dread in a two-seater. These days, I write about whatever comes to mind, often using too many words to say very little.

What does your creative process look like when it comes to blogging?

I covered a lot of my process in a challenge post last year.

I’m not a writer, and I certainly can’t speak to a proper creative process. Inspiration is typically elusive, then doggedly aggressive at the most inopportune moments. I’ll jot down thought starters that graze my mind and collect dozens of little blurbs, many of which still gather dust in a throwaway app on my phone. Most days, it’s a fleeting bit of nostalgia that slaps me on the nose. That should explain why I write so frequently about past memories—that, and I’m still trying to reinterpret my history through an ever-evolving lens.

In truth, most of what I write first comes to me as a spasm of thought, all too frequently foisted upon me in the shower or whenever I’m trapped alone with myself. Next, the words spill out; a first draft forms, and I’ll sit with those for a time. Long ago, I used to write in a physical journal, but these days it’s all digital. I tried Obsidian briefly and found it created needless friction, so I switched back to the standard Notes app on my iPhone.

Once the initial burst is done, I’ll transfer the rough draft to Google Docs for review and editing. I’ll find a nice, quiet space and repeatedly reread my stream of consciousness. A critical component of this is reading aloud; it’s how I judge tone, flow, and overall word choice. Punctuation is secondary; I work through the rhythm in my voice. As ridiculous as that might sound, this is an intensely iterative process, even for the shortest of entries. I’ll reread something I’ve written dozens of times, often to myself while walking our dog. Countless errors will still make it past publishing, but I’ll keep rereading for a few days after to root most of those out.

Most of my writing is based on personal anecdotes and lived experiences, so research isn’t widely necessary, though I’ll sometimes check dates to confirm my memory. Most recently, I’ve shared some pieces with a friend for initial review, but this isn’t a common practice.

Earlier this year, inspired by Jedda, I started to collect week notes. I wanted a place to preserve more of the inner workings of my days without requiring the same kind of editing and effort that went into my other entries. I can’t say that this prescriptive weekly style has helped or hindered my other writing, but there’s something pleasant about forcing a bit of structure. Each week feels like a begrudging push to get to the gym when you’re feeling lazy. Before and during the effort, it might seem miserable, but afterward, I’m glad to have completed the ritual.

One additional topic I want to touch upon is POSSE, which is essentially syndication of your content to other spaces, primarily social media. When I first started writing again, this concept was very alluring—the promise of reaching an audience. It’s a strange feeling to believe you’re untalented, but still want people to read your words, to witness who you are, and to see you, perhaps even resonate with your doubt.

But that desire can quickly turn into a silly game, where those little bits of attention and resonance feel like highs to chase. I once wrote, “Is POSSE more about meeting people where they are, or yelling loudly enough so people notice you?” For me, personally, I realized it was the latter, and I became worried that whatever notion of truth I invested into my writing would be tainted by the bullhorn.

Do you have an ideal creative environment? Also do you believe the physical space influences your creativity?

I find that I’m either easily distracted or hyper-focused to a fault. When writing, it’s incredibly difficult for me to accomplish anything if there’s too much background noise. I don’t recall it always being this bad—perhaps a function of age—but I need absolute silence in a private space, or I’ll quickly become ensnared by distraction.

As I mentioned previously, I haven’t written using physical tools in years. Though I used to pride myself on minuscule but legible handwriting, years of atrophy have left writing by hand an immense chore. As such, I prefer typing on a keyboard, though given sufficient inspiration and a lack of tooling, I’ll resort to quickly jotting things down on my phone. Speed over accuracy is more important, lest my thoughts dissolve into the next tangent, but I haven’t been comfortable using speech-to-text as of yet.

A question for the techie readers: can you run us through your tech stack?

I’ve always preferred to roll my own when it comes to web development, so it shouldn’t be all that surprising to know that I’m still running a variation on the same kind of LAMP stack I was using back in 2004. It’s nginx now instead of Apache and MariaDB instead of MySQL, but the core here remains: I’m still storing site content in a database that’s rendered dynamically using PHP.

I haven’t bothered to introduce a full-featured CMS; instead, I rely on the default phpMyAdmin setup available on my host. I manually modify my text with the required Markdown and use a custom fork of Parsedown for rendering. While I’m using modern PHP, there are no frameworks involved—just pure PHP lovingly crafted by a person with control issues.

Given your experience, if you were to start a blog today, would you do anything differently?

I’d likely pick another name, presumably something I’d consider clever, and then grow to resent over time. Such is the paradox of Netigen. It was a name I coined in 1998 that sounded vaguely like a web or technology brand, back when I was concerned with that sort of thing. I never defined the term, and now, years later, I feel a strange attachment to a word with no meaning. As with my own name so many years ago, I’m too stubborn to even consider changing it now.

The only other change I’d make is to have been more persistent in activity. I regret not capturing any thoughts between 2006 and 2024. So many memories left to wither away.

Financial question since the Web is obsessed with money: how much does it cost to run your blog? Is it just a cost, or does it generate some revenue? And what’s your position on people monetising personal blogs?

Nothing all that fancy here.

• Domain: $12.99 USD per year
• Host: $12.95 USD per month (KnownHost)

I don’t monetize my site and often question whether I’m sharing anything of actual value. I know that if I concerned myself with monetization, subscriber counts, or other metrics, it would ruin the experience for me. That said, I don’t have a strong opinion about other people who want to earn or supplement a living through their creative endeavors. I wish people would find other avenues than Substack, for example, but generally speaking, I don’t judge others for their approach. That’s unless your site is super-aggressive with solicitations about subscribing. If I see four subscribe options on a given page, then you might as well just incorporate actual advertising—you’re not doing any better.

Time for some recommendations: any blog you think is worth checking out? And also, who do you think I should be interviewing next?

This series has been going on long enough that many of the people I read regularly have already taken part. That said, here is a list of folks who I think would be great additions:

• Dear Luci – Heartwrenchingly raw entries delivered in the form of letters.
• Drmollytov – Wildly funny and irreverent, this librarian writes about everything from abandoning big tech to raising chickens.
• Forrest – Phenomenal storyteller with a vested interest in music and video games that transcends reason.
• From Emily – Unbound stream of consciousness from a creator rediscovering what it is to create and be seen.
• Neatnik – Impassioned community builder who challenges people to be better.
• The Jotter Nook – Quiet reflections from a gifted writer navigating change.

Final question: is there anything you want to share with us?

A couple of thoughts in closing.

First, there’s more than just blogs and digital gardens on the indie web. Honestly, don’t even worry about boxing yourself into any particular framing. If you’re looking to create something, labels can become unnecessary barriers to your creativity. Build a website and let what you express carry itself. Your voice, whatever its form, is what makes you unique. The value lies in what you’re sharing and the connections you build. True worth isn’t in your metrics or throwaway affirmations. Reclaim the word content.

Second, there’s no such thing as “no politics.” In truth, I doubt there ever was. There’s silence. There’s oppression. There’s ignoring the real plight of people who are struggling in a world that challenges their right to exist, their freedom to accept and reflect who they are. While you may not feel the need to make political statements, your lack of support for basic human dignity is implicit when you act to shut down people’s right to express themselves.

Those who complain about politics invading their spaces—whether it’s decrying “woke” media or deflecting criticism from those who promote hate and intolerance elsewhere—are doing the work of the oppressor, and their hands are not nearly as clean as they’d like to believe. Nobody is perfect. I am certainly not free from culpability, but we should keep our hearts and minds open, listen, and work toward being better, in whatever measure we can, even little by little.