Welcome to Part 2 of a special collaboration with Annie over at Tales of a Family! We’ve had so much fun sharing our journeys and working on this together, and we’ve found that we have a lot in common. You can find her Part 2 post here, and I hope you go and check out her blog. I also hope you enjoy the reading as much as we’ve enjoyed the writing. 😊

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Blogging can be a lonely pastime. Or, it can connect you with other creators who inspire you, support you, and encourage you. You’ll read their stuff, comment, get to know them and root for them. And you’ll wonder sometimes, is anyone out there reading my stuff? Should I keep writing and posting? And even though you feel uncertain, you will, because it means something to you, and because you love it. You’ll keep putting your stories out there, sharing your world, and one day you’ll look up and realize it’s been ten years.

Ten years of blogging, and of building your community of writers and readers.

They say tin for ten years, in marriage. But as far as we know, there is no standard gift for ten years of blogging. So, we made one.

When we realized we’d both been at this for a decade, we decided to collaborate and write a series. Over the next several weeks, we’ll be looking back together on our ten years – why we started, what we’ve learned, our best posts and memories. It’s going to be fun, and we’ll learn a lot and hopefully inspire some of our other creator friends and colleagues to reflect on their own journeys.

Annie’s Part 2: How Tales of a Family Changed Over the Years

In the beginning, when I first started my blog, I was full of hope and excitement about just where this new journey might take me. It was a start to a meaningful new chapter, one that allowed me to recreate the family stories my mother and grandmother shared with me over the years. Those memories were treasures, and writing them down gave them a place to live beyond conversations. Truth be told, I also enjoyed researching my family tree. Each discovery opened another door and tugged at me to keep learning more about my family’s beginnings, their struggles, their joys, and the stories that shaped us.

In those early years, I had so much fun discovering those trails my research uncovered. I found ancestors living in the most unexpected places, and each new name or record kept opening more doors. Some family members arrived in New France, while others settled in colonial Massachusetts Bay. Some ancestors were involved in the harrowing events of Salem. And I was especially fascinated to find family connections across generations, in which both branches of my family lived, worked, and even crossed paths during the early chapters of American History. 

As I continued digging, I found grandfathers fought in the American Revolution and later carved out homes along the early frontier.  Their stories helped me imagine the courage, hardship, and determination it must have taken to build a life in a new and uncertain land. To my joy, I found a strong female writer in my family line, a grandmother who wrote thoughtfully about love, family, and God, at a time when women’s voices were often dismissed or discouraged. Finding her reminded me that storytelling, reflection, and faith have deep roots in my family, and perhaps my own love of writing was passed down in ways I never imagined.

Some of my ancestors bravely fought in the Civil War or helped others through the Underground Railroad. Strong women in my family stood with the suffragists and believed in a future where women’s voices and rights mattered. Bringing those stories to light gave me a deeper appreciation for the courage, conviction, and faith that shaped the generations before me. The more I learned, the prouder I became to know that so many of my grandmothers and grandfathers were people of integrity, character, and quiet strength.

Of course, no family story would be complete without a few surprises or a few skeletons tucked away in the closet, and I found those too. Those discoveries reminded me that family history is never perfect. It is human. It is layered courage, mistakes, triumphs, struggles, faith, and flaws. But I am proud of my heritage and grateful for the journey of uncovering it. What an exciting journey this has been!

Over time, my blog expanded as I added new genres to the mix. What began mostly as a place for family stories slowly grew into a creative home where I could share writing prompts, short stories, poetry, photographs, and memories. Each new form of writing stretched me as a writer and helped me grow more comfortable on the page. Writing prompts taught me to explore new ideas. Short stories allowed me to use my imagination and incorporate characters. Poetry helped me slow down and pay attention to emotions, images, and rhythm. Reflections gave me a place to be honest about life, family, change, and faith.

Through that process, I began to discover my voice. Over the years, my writing became more honest, more confident, and more personal. My stories matured and evolved as I did. And I found that writing not only preserved the past but also helped me better understand myself in the present.

Through my community of bloggers, I met some of the greatest people, many of whom understand the joy, vulnerability, and courage it takes to share personal stories. The writing community became a place where we encouraged one another, celebrated each other’s goals and accomplishments, and offered support when words did not come easily. Their comments, kindness, and shared experiences reminded me that storytelling has a way of connecting people across distance and time. Because of them, my blog began to feel less like a personal diary and more like a welcoming community, a place where stories were not only written but also received, understood and valued.

Tales also helped me reconnect with family and discover new family members along the way. What began as a simple place to save memories slowly became a bridge between the generations. Family members began sharing stories, photographs, and details I might have never known otherwise. Through those links, I have learned more about my roots, my family history, and the people who came before me. In the beginning, I never imagined my blog would open those doors, but over time, it became more than a writing project. It became a way to find my way back to my family.

Still, while my writing life has grown, my everyday life has continued to move forward with all its responsibilities, changes, and challenges. Teaching has required much of my time, energy, and heart, and there have been seasons when my writing just had to wait. I have also faced challenges that have slowed me down; some physical, and others emotional, especially when I have said goodbye to family members and friends I have loved. Yet, even through those changes, I still carry dreams I want to follow. I still find joy in the journey, meaning in the stories, and hope as I look toward the future.

Now, I know writing has become more than something I sit down and do. It has become a part of how I remember, how I heal, how I make sense of the past, and how I dream about the future. My stories have helped me understand where I came from, who I am, and who I am still becoming. Ten years later, I realize writing is no longer just a hobby or a project. It is woven into my life, my heart, and my identity as a storyteller.

Katie’s Part 2: How A Virginia Writer’s Diary Has Changed Over the Years

I love stories. I always have. I used to write little fables for my parents when I was small, and I spent a lot of time reading and writing in the summertime when school was out. Even now, when life leaves me with almost no free time, I make sure to read and write SOMETHING every week, even if it’s only a few words, a few pages.

That’s why I started my blog, all the way back in 2016. I wanted to write consistently, and I needed to hold myself accountable to do that. I figured, if I set up a blog and committed to posting on it once a week, at least that would be words on a page, even if I didn’t write anything else. But it took a while – years, if I’m being honest – to really hit my rhythm and decide what, exactly, A Virginia Writer’s Diary was going to be. I tried my hand at essays, at travel blogs, at photos and wine reviews. And then I lost my grandmother at the beginning of 2020.

My grandfather’s death inspired me to start my writing journey. My grandmother’s death renewed my energy for it. She was my last grandparent, my last connection to a version of me that might have stayed in the mountains, might have moved back and made a life in a house on a hill tucked away down a holler, might have become a totally different person. I felt that tie sever. I wrote a post about it, and then a story called “The Roads,” both of them exploring endings and beginnings and the paths that open and close to us. Saying goodbye to her – to that possible me – prompted me to explore my creative side differently, and to focus more on using my life as a tool to tell the made-up stories I always have in my head, just with a little bit more Katie thrown into the mix.

When we moved to Aldie and became ensconced in rural village life, I felt like I’d found my place. I could tell stories about it forever. I just saw endless inspiration, and I think my content at the time reflected that. So many poems and stories and pictures, so many days spent in the countryside, talking to interesting people, going to beautiful places. I wrote “The Ledger” about a story our contractor told us as he was making plans for our renovation, “Sallie’s Mill” about a haunted night a friend had experienced, “Cloud Dwellers” after a road trip down Skyline Drive, “The Bridge” and its sequel about a historic bridge in the area you can still walk across, “The Day Thomas Leonard Came Back” about the property behind my house, “The Last Glenmoor Christmas” about a historic home that was torn down before anyone realized it was happening. And more. So many more. I had a miscarriage and wrote poem after poem as I cried tear after tear. And then, joy. Lucy came, and our world changed forever.

My writing did, too, and so did the blog. Some days, I wonder what I ever did with all my free time, and why I thought I didn’t have any. Some days, it’s all I can do to remember to brush my teeth. (That’s not most days. Dental hygiene is important. I must remember for myself so I can teach my kid.) We’ve moved away from our village, from our farmhouse, from a whole world we’d made. I am a beach person. (I’m trying.) I am a mom. I write less, sleep less, daydream more, and chase a toddler goblin all over my house. What fantastic, sublime chaos! I’ve not written a complete story since before Lucy came in 2023. I’m getting there, though! I’ve said that a lot, but I can feel the change coming. Lucy has started a summer day camp at the most loving, tolerant, outdoor-oriented school I’ve ever seen, where the class pets are two calm snakes and every teacher knows the name of every child. Graham has started a new job. I am finding my groove.

You might have seen an uptick in poetry recently, and I’m so happy for it. I’ve been revisiting some of my unfinished projects – I made a post about that – and starting on something new and long-form. If I can get it in shape, maybe I’ll post it here first. Or maybe I’ll do something crazy and ambitious like querying and trying for an agent. We’ll see! But no matter what, I’ll be here, because I love it here. This is the place I come home to, in so many ways, now.

And that’s the beauty of creating, I think. It’s all a game of “We’ll see.” There are no rules. It’s about you, and your spirit, and what you can make with your mind and your time and your hands in your place. No one else would do it the same. No one could create quite like you. Life has changed a lot since 2016, and so have I, and so has A Virginia Writer’s Diary. I cannot wait to see where we go next. And I’m so grateful to all my readers and writers and WordPress friends for sticking with me. Y’all inspire me every day.

Annie and Katie

Ten years later, we are not the same writers who started this journey. Our blogs have changed because we have changed. Our stories grew because we grew. And somewhere along the way, writing became more than a hobby. It became a way to remember, to heal, to connect, and to better understand the lives we were living.

Join us for Part 3!

In two weeks, we will continue our anniversary series as we reflect on what we have learned, how writing has shaped us, and the stories that still tug at our hearts and await being told.