The Lonely Woodworker’s Guide to Blogging Into the Void

Let’s talk about my woodworking blog — the one that goes live every Tuesday like clockwork, mostly because I set an automated scheduler and forgot how to turn it off. Every week, without fail, a brand‑new article bursts enthusiastically into the world… and then quietly sits there, untouched, like a cutting board made from pallet wood at a luxury craft fair. And who reads it? That’s right: my wife. My one‑woman audience. My entire subscriber base. My devoted fan club, consisting of exactly one person who skims it while brushing her teeth.

You’d think writing woodworking articles for an audience of one would be discouraging, but honestly? It’s become part of the charm. Some people golf for stress relief. Some people knit. I write 1,200 words on why walnut smells better than mahogany when sanded, fully aware that my wife will be the only person on Earth who sees it… and she’ll text me a thumbs‑up emoji as her official review. Pulitzer Prize committee, I await your call.

Is this a hobby? Torture? A cry for help? That depends on the week. Sometimes I feel like a noble artisan, crafting finely‑honed essays with the same precision I use to ruin perfectly good lumber. Other times, I feel like I’m shouting into a canyon — except even the canyon isn’t listening. The Tuesday blog posts have become a ritual: a digital bonfire where I toss my thoughts into the void and watch them smolder quietly with zero pageviews. Honestly, it’s amazing I haven’t been recruited as a motivational speaker.

Still, there’s something magical about pretending I have an audience. I picture thousands of eager readers sipping coffee, nodding thoughtfully as they read my detailed analysis of dovetail joints. In truth, it’s just my wife, nodding thoughtfully because she’s falling asleep. And yet, that tiny lie my brain tells me — that someone out there cares about the grain pattern on a piece of curly maple — keeps me going. Well, that and the fact that she’ll ask “Where’s the Tuesday post?” if it doesn’t publish on time. A loyal reader is a blessing… and sometimes a gentle menace.

Developing the blog itself was an adventure. I spent hours tuning the theme, adjusting colors, setting widgets, and optimizing SEO for an audience that statistically does not exist. The site looks great, though. Professional. Polished. Exactly the kind of site you’d expect from someone certain that internet fame is just one article away — even though the analytics page looks like an EKG for a rock. Google recommends “writing more compelling content.” I recommend Google stop judging me.

And yet — every Tuesday, I keep writing. Not because people read it. Not because the world needs another woodworking blog. But because carving sentences has become as satisfying as carving wood. Because humor makes the shop sawdust lighter. And because somewhere out there (in the next room, usually), my wife is reading my words, supporting my madness, and pretending this blog is totally going to blow up someday. And honestly? That’s enough audience for me.