Werd I/O

I realized I misspoke in today’s piece about Bluesky product strategy. In it, I said this:

I’m generally not bullish about creator economy services.

What I meant to say is that I’m generally not bullish about venture-funded creative economy services. It’s the need for venture scale and sky-high valuations that makes these a tough nut to crack. In a vacuum, there’s nothing wrong with these businesses at all; Medium’s turnaround demonstrates how well it can be done, and I have endless admiration for what the Ghost team has managed to achieve and build.

I’m sorry for my lack of precision here! I didn’t mean to throw the whole space under the bus. But I stand by my skepticism that these businesses can reach venture scale.

A lifetime or two ago, Biz Stone was showing me and my co-founder around South Park in San Francisco. The Twitter office was sat there, a weird building with glass bricks across the road from what would later be the Instagram office. We grabbed a coffee at Caffe Centro and talked social media; two founders talking shop with a member of our advisory board.

He was particularly excited about the Twitter API. At the time, over 80% of Twitter’s traffic wasn’t driving through the website: it was through third-party apps that used the API to create entirely new experiences on top of the platform. Around the same time, unbeknownst to me, Blaine Cook was internally demonstrating interoperability between Twitter and Jaiku, another social network, establishing the first decentralized link between two unrelated social networking sites.

Of course, we know what happened next. Twitter realized that the proliferation of the API was actively blocking its ability to make money through advertising, and radically locked it down in favor of its own experiences. Blaine’s adventure in decentralized social networking was shut down for the same reason. Subsequently, a lot of people made a lot of money. And, you know, some other stuff involving the future of democracy happened, too.

What happens when you build, well, the opposite of that?

Bluesky’s origins lie in that moment when Twitter turned away from the open social web. It is both a user-friendly social media site and an open protocol that could underpin all social media sites. Like Twitter, it has built a lively community of engaged people who talk in real time about anything that hits the zeitgeist, from current events to pop culture. It has a growing ecosystem of third-party apps and services. And it has venture investors who, ultimately, will need to see it make money and raise its valuation so that they can make a return. Unlike Twitter, it has no way of turning off its openness in order to do so.

Recently, the company advertised for a new Head of Product. Whoever assumes this position will have quite a job ahead of them: growing the protocol and the social app together in symbiosis. Nobody has ever tried to build a highly-valuable tech company this way before; it’s new ground. I think it’s a very positive experiment — we need people to be able to make money doing the right thing — but it is an experiment.

I’m not applying for the job, but I think it’s interesting to consider how one might go about it.

The first paragraph of that job description is interesting for what it prioritizes:

Our mission is to build an open protocol for public conversation. We give users more choice, developers more freedom, and creators more control. The Bluesky app is a gateway to a more human-centered social web, and we’re looking for the right strategist to shape its future.

The mission isn’t to build a social network: it’s to build an open protocol for public conversation. (Emphasis on the protocol.) The vision is a world where everyone is in control of their social presence. From the About Bluesky FAQ:

We want modern social media and public conversation online to work more like the early days of the web, when anyone could put up a blog or use RSS to subscribe to several blogs.

The strategy is to build a central tool based on the protocol — the Bluesky app — and use it as a way to grow the reach and influence of the protocol, and further these open ideals. In some ways, the app is a means to an end: a way to understand what the community needs, ensure that the protocol provides it, and shorten the feedback loop between the company and its users. It’s also its best chance to make revenue in the short term.

Bluesky is not currently self-sustaining. In order to continue to do this work, it will need to continue to raise more money and prove that it can generate revenue.

Currently, its venture investors are largely drawn from the world of decentralization: either people who are friendly to the ideals of the open web or come from decentralized spaces like crypto. That mission alignment is going to be harder to maintain the larger the funding rounds get; mission-driven investments are more common in earlier, smaller rounds, and later-stage institutional investors don’t typically back companies for their ideals.

The norms of venture capital dictate that it will also likely need to raise more money in a subsequent round so as to maintain investor enthusiasm: raising a similar amount as the last round, or a lower amount, could be seen as a sign to VCs that the company is struggling. So Bluesky the company needs to quickly prove to investors that it and its protocol can make them a meaningful financial return.

Providing strong investor returns and maintaining the ideals of an open social web is a very ambitious needle to thread. Where to begin?

It’s no secret that Bluesky is going to introduce a subscription layer. It sounds like this will come in two parts:

1. A Twitter Blue style subscription called Bluesky+ that will give users profile customizations, higher-quality video uploads, and post analytics, among other features.
2. Creator monetization tools that will allow creators to “get paid right on Bluesky and any other platforms built on their open AT Protocol ecosystem”.

The first will obviously sit as part of Bluesky’s own service; while features like analytics will obviously draw on the protocol, these are really features that improve the experience of using the app itself. Speaking personally, I can’t say that I care that much about profile customizations or video uploads — although I know that these will be draws for some users — but I can certainly see a reason why an organization might want to pay for brand analytics. It makes sense as a place to start.

The second is interesting for the way it’s described. I’m generally not bullish about venture-funded creator economy services: Substack, which has kind of become the flag-bearer for creative economy services, is not profitable, and Patreon has had real trouble reaching sustainability. Medium is profitable, but only after Tony Stubblebine radically shifted the company away from high-growth VC dynamics (and cut a ton of unnecessary costs).

So if Bluesky was pinning its future on a creator subscription play, that wouldn’t grab me at all — but that’s not what’s going on here. The “… and any other platforms built on the AT Protocol ecosystem” demands my attention. This is the future of Bluesky as a platform and a company.

One analogy you could use (and Bluesky has used) to describe Bluesky’s app on its protocol is GitHub: git is an open protocol for collaborating on software development, but GitHub’s implementation is so good and so seamless that almost every software development team uses it. You absolutely could use GitLab, Codeberg, Gitea, or any number of others, but they’re considered to be the long tail to the market. Similarly, Bluesky’s app is going to be the best social experience on the protocol, even if there are many others.

But you could also use Android as an analogy. The open source mobile operating system is largely developed by Google, and Google’s implementation is the one most people use: most Android phones use its Play store, its payments system, and its discovery layer. You don’t have to — many others are available — but if you’re an app developer, you’re probably going to write your software for Google’s ecosystem.

There’s a credible exit from GitHub in that you could move your development to Codeberg. There’s a credible exit from the Google ecosystem in that you could move to the Amazon ecosystem, the Samsung Galaxy ecosystem, or open source ecosystems like Aptoide. You’re not locked in, even if Google’s ecosystem is the most convenient for most users.

There will be a credible exit from Bluesky’s social app on its protocol: other social apps will be available. But this principle also goes for tertiary services. Bluesky will clearly provide payments over the protocol, taking a cut of every transaction; others will be available, but theirs will be the easiest way to pay and accept payments on the network. You’ll be able to discover apps that run on the protocol any number of ways, but Bluesky’s discovery mechanisms will be the best and the most convenient. There will be any number of libraries that help you build on the protocol, but Bluesky’s will be the best and easiest for developers — and, of course, they will have strong links to Bluesky’s default services. Each of these is a potential revenue stream.

The goal here is to grow the AT Protocol network to be as big as possible. Anyone will be able to permissionlessly build on that platform, but Bluesky’s services will be there to provide the best-in-class experience and de facto defaults, ensuring that its revenues grow with the protocol, but not in a way that locks in users.

This principle also answers a few questions people have had about the community:

• Why did crypto investors put money into Bluesky when the company itself has stated it won’t become a crypto company?
  The company’s own payment systems are likely to run off credit cards, taking a standard transaction. But clearly, crypto is another option, particularly in nations that might not be well-served by credit card companies, and crypto networks can step in to provide alternative payment mechanisms. By establishing the notion of decentralized subscriptions, Bluesky creates a ready-made bedrock for those payments.
• How will VC investors see the financial return they need without Bluesky necessarily having to let go of its principles?
  The company actually becomes more valuable as more people use its open protocol: the bigger the network is, the greater the addressable market available to its services. It needs developers to build tools, services, and experiences that its own team wouldn’t produce. It also needs them to address markets that it itself cannot, allowing the possibility for local control of app experiences. (Imagine if developers in Myanmar could have easily created their own Facebook with their own local trust and safety.) It will then serve them with easy payments, great libraries, and perhaps other services like analytics and even dedicated hosting.

Clearly, there’s work to do on both the protocol and the app. For one thing, payments become more valuable if scarcity is introduced: people may be more likely to pay for content if it is not otherwise available. That means adding features like per-item access permissions — which also help vulnerable communities that might not feel comfortable posting on the completely open protocol today. Discovery and trust and safety on the app can still be improved. But these things are intrinsic to creating a valuable ecosystem and best-in-class tools that sit upon it.

Perhaps ironically, this vision comes closer to building an “everything app” than will ever be possible in a closed ecosystem. That’s been Elon Musk’s longtime goal for X, but Bluesky’s approach, in my opinion, is far more likely to succeed. It’s not an approach that aims to build it all themselves; it’s a truly open social web that we can all build collaboratively. What Musk is branding, Bluesky may build.

To be sure, this isn’t a Twitter clone play. If Bluesky succeeds, it won’t be because it tried to beat Twitter at its own game. It’ll be because it stayed open, built the right tools, and helped others do more than it could do alone. That’s not just a better app. It’s a better kind of company.

This is the first post in a three-part series. Next up: Mastodon. Subscribe to get them all via email.

Photo by __ drz __ on Unsplash.

As I write this, I’m flying home from the International Journalism Festival in Perugia, Italy. Now in its 19th year, it’s an annual meeting of newsrooms, journalists, and news professionals from all over the world.

I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I was blown away by the whole event.

Perugia in itself is a beautiful city: ancient, cobblestoned alleyways weave their way between the old city walls, revealing unexpected views, storefronts, restaurants, street vendors, and gardens. These days, I’m settled into a sedentary life in the Philadelphia suburbs, and I found myself walking a great deal more than I would even in a city like New York. The Italian tradition is to eat dinner far later than in America, so it was the norm for me to find my way back to my hotel far past midnight, buzzing from interesting conversations throughout the day. My legs were sore; I was hopelessly jet-lagged; I wandered dark alleyways in the vague hope that I was heading in the right direction; it was fantastic.

There’s something about that far-removed context, the beautiful surroundings, the breadth of journalists present, and our collective physical state that led to more honest conversations. At most conferences, I always have the sense that someone is out to sell me something; here, when someone attempted a pitch it stuck out like a sore thumb. The sense that people were holding back to maintain their newsrooms’ professional reputations and appease their comms teams was also mercifully missing.

In the panels and talks, people were willing to share their failures at least as readily as their successes, and I was particularly taken by a panel on AI deepfake detection that went into the computer science and discussed the practicalities, rather than gearing itself for a surface-level introductory audience.

The pure journalism track — which comprises almost all of the Festival — was similarly wonderful. A panel about media censorship in Israel and Ukraine didn’t shy away from the details, revealing a more complex situation in Ukraine in particular than I’ve been hearing from the US press, alongside some specifics about Israeli censorship that I found very surprising. (They have a direct WhatsApp chat with the censor! Who gives them a thumbs up or a thumbs down on stories before publication!)

This year, for the first time, the Festival also held a Product track. The News Product Alliance, where I participate in an AI advisory group, helped to shape it — and I was honored to participate in one of its panels.

My session, with Damon Kiesow and Upasna Gautam (both brilliant people in the field who I felt privileged to present alongside), was about ensuring we use technology in ways that are aligned with our values. As we put it in our description, “every design choice, paywall adjustment, build/buy evaluation, or marketing campaign carries a potential risk of violating journalistic ethics or harming reader trust” — and that’s before you take on the issue of newsrooms trying to model themselves on Silicon Valley business models:

“Social is radically transforming. Search is flatlining. AI continues to rapidly change the web. News organizations that relied on unearned audience windfalls to drive programmatic advertising revenues are in similar straits. It is time for local news organizations to return to their roots: serving local readers and local advertisers and giving up on the dreams of limitless scale and geographic reach which is the pipedream of Silicon Valley and the bête noire of local sustainability.”

Upasna shared a succinct, powerful summary of our key takeaways afterwards on Threads:

1) The false promise of scale:

• Journalism has always been innovative but adopting Silicon Valley’s values of scale, surveillance, and extraction was a false shortcut.
• Tech platforms succeed by commodifying attention but journalism succeeds by earning trust.
• When we embed vendor platforms without scrutiny, we don’t just adopt the tool, but the business model, the values, and the blind spots.

2) There is no such thing as neutral software:

• Software is not neutral. It’s a creative work, just like journalism. It’s shaped by the priorities, privileges, and politics of the people who build it.
• Tech decisions can enable serious harm when teams optimize for growth without understanding community impact.
• It’s not enough to ask if a tool works. We must ask: Who built it? Who benefits? Whose values does it encode?

3) Assumptions are the first ethical risk:

• The highest-leverage activity we have is to relentlessly challenge assumptions. Assumptions hide risks, and audience value should be the north star of every system we build.
• Ask not just what we’re building, but why and for whom. Does it create real value for our audience?
• Systems thinking is a necessity. If you don’t understand how your paywall, CMS, personalization engine, and editorial goals connect, you’re building on sand.

The message seemed to resonate with the room, and plenty of interesting conversations with newsrooms of all sizes followed. My most controversial idea was that newsrooms should join together, as governments and higher educational institutions have in the past, to build open source software that supports newsroom needs and safeguards the duty of care we have to our sources, journalists, and readers in ways that big tech platforms tend not to. To many people in today’s news industry, it feels like a giant leap — but it is possible, and products like the French and German government project Docs are showing the way.

While the Festival now has a Product track, it’s still sorely missing a true Technology track. These are different things: Product is about addressing problems from a human-centered perspective — and using technology to solve them where it makes sense. That’s a mindset journalism urgently needs to embrace. But it hasn’t yet made enough space for the people who make the technology: not Silicon Valley tech companies, but engineers and other technologists who should be treated as domain experts and involved at every level of newsroom strategy, not relegated to a backroom office and handed a list of product requirements. Newsrooms still seem wary of bringing hard technology skills into their strategic circles. That’s extremely shortsighted: every newsroom today lives or dies on the web.

But there were technologists and open source projects in attendance. Notably, representatives from the Mastodon and Bluesky teams were at the Festival. The Newsmast Foundation was also present, incisively taking part in conversations to help newsrooms onboard themselves onto both of them. I got to hang out with them all, connecting with people I’d spoken with but never interacted with in person. Mastodon has undergone a transformation, has doubled its team, and is working on smoothing out some of its rough edges, while not letting go of its core ethos. It’s also beginning to position itself as a European alternative to American social media platforms, with a community-first values system and new services to directly help organizations join the network.

Bluesky, on the other hand, has done an able job of bringing journalists onto its existing social app, and is now hard at work explaining why its underlying protocol matters. Both want to engage with newsrooms and journalists and do the right thing by them. They each have something different to prove: Mastodon that it can be usable and accessible, and Bluesky that it can provide a return to its investors and truly decentralize while holding onto its values. I’m rooting for both of them.

These platforms’ messages dovetail with my own: news can own the platforms that support them. Lots of people at the Festival were worried about the impact of US big tech on their businesses — particularly in a world where tech moguls seem to be aligning themselves with a Presidential administration that has positioned itself as being adversarial to news, journalists, sources, and, arguably, the truth. The good news is that the technology is out there, the values-aligned technologists are out there, and there’s a strong path forward. The only thing left is to follow it.

The world is full of darkness. So much is going wrong. Experts agree that America has succumbed to right-wing authoritarianism; call it fascism or something else, these are extraordinarily difficult times.

This post is a break from all of that. At least kind of.

In this piece, I will try and convince you that Doctor Who is the best TV show ever made, explain to you why it matters, and why it’s particularly important in our current context. In a time when cruelty and fear dominate headlines, it’s worth celebrating a show that insists on the power of kindness, intellect, and hope.

Bear with me. Let’s go.

First, a primer: what is Doctor Who?

You’ve probably heard of Doctor Who, but you might not have watched much or any of it. That’s okay.

The core of every story is this: there is a problem, somewhere in time and space. There might be vampires in Venice in 1580; a plot afoot to steal the Mona Lisa in modern-day Paris in order to fund time travel experiments; a society of pacifists on a far-away planet locked in a generations-long war with warlike, genocidal racists. The Doctor, a strange traveler who carries no weapons, helps solve the problem using intelligence and empathy. They bring along friends who are our “in” to the story, but who also remind the Doctor what it means to be human.

There’s a lot of backstory, but unlike other science fiction shows, it doesn’t matter all that much. There’s canon and history, but it’s constantly evolving. And because it’s squarely aimed at a whole-family audience, and is almost but not quite an anthology show, it’s accessible, fun, and very diverse in its approach. One story might be incredibly silly; the next might be a tense thriller. If you don’t like the tone of the one you’re watching, the next one might be a better fit.

There are a few more constants, but not many: The Doctor’s time and space machine, the TARDIS (Time And Relative Dimension In Space), is stuck as a 1963-era British police box on the outside, and is radically bigger on the inside; every time they die they are “regenerated” in a new body; they stole the TARDIS and fled their people.

Oh, and it’s been running since November 23, 1963: 62 years and counting. It’s the longest-running science fiction show in the world — which makes its accessibility and freshness all the more remarkable. In its original run, it launched the career of authors like Douglas Adams. And in its most recent incarnation, it’s been an early career-launcher for actors like Andrew Garfield, Daniel Kaluuya, Carey Mulligan, Felicity Jones, and Karen Gillan.

Okay, fine. So that’s what the show is. Why does it matter?

Subversive from day one

In 1963, the world was only eighteen years out from the end of World War II. The end of the Holocaust and the closing of the camps was as close as the release of Spider-Man 3 is to us now. Enoch Powell, who would later give the notoriously noxious “rivers of blood” anti-immigrant speech, was the Minister for Health. Homosexuality was illegal.

Waris Hussein, a gay, immigrant director, helmed An Unearthly Child, a story about a teenage girl who obviously didn’t fit in and the teachers who were worried about her. (If the subtext to this story isn’t intentional in the writing, it certainly emerges in the direction.) In the end, her grandfather turned out to be a time traveler who lived in a police box that was more than meets the eye, and the rest is history.

The very next story was about a society of pacifists, the Thals, who were locked in a struggle with a race of genocidal maniacs, the Daleks. It’s a more complicated story than you might expect: in the end, the Doctor and companions help the Thals win by teaching them that sometimes you need to use violence to defeat fascism. The morality of it isn’t straightforward, but it’s an approach that was deeply rooted in recent memories of defeating the Nazis, and that had a lot to say about a Britain that was already seeing the resurgence of nationalism. In a show for the whole family!

When the main actor, William Hartnell, fell into ill health, the show could have come to an end. Instead, the writers built in a contrivance, regeneration, that allowed the Doctor to change actors when one left. In turn, the show itself was allowed to evolve. It was created by necessity rather than as some grand plan, but in retrospect laid the groundwork for Doctor Who to remain relevant for generations.

By the 1980s, the show was still going strong — and still slyly subversive. In The Happiness Patrol, the Doctor faces off against a villainous regime obsessed with mandatory cheerfulness, clearly modeled on Margaret Thatcher’s Britain. The episode includes thinly veiled references to the miners’ strike and the inequality many Britons faced under her leadership.

It also didn’t shy away from queerness. One male character leaves the main antagonist for another man, and at one point, the TARDIS is painted pink.

Eventually, it was canceled, in part because the BBC controller at the time, Conservative-leaning Michael Grade, hated it. (The Thatcher thing, and that Colin Baker, one of the last actors to play the Doctor in the classic run, was in a romantic relationship with Grade’s ex-wife, probably didn’t help.)

When it came off the air in 1989, scriptwriters and fans alike began to write novels under a Virgin Books New Adventures banner that took the subtext of the show and made it text. They told complex stories that could never have been televised — they weren’t as family-friendly, and didn’t fit within a 1980s BBC budget. But they collectively expanded the lore and the breadth of the show.

Subversive on its return

One of those New Adventures authors was Russell T Davies, a TV writer who had started with children’s shows like Dark Season, Why Don’t You?, and Children’s Ward, and moved on to creating adult fare like Queer as Folk and The Second Coming, a tale about the second coming of Christ that happened to feature up-and-coming film star Christopher Ecclestone. He spent years lobbying the BBC to bring Doctor Who back, and in 2005, they acquiesced. There had been one other attempt at a revival — and American co-production with Fox — which had understood the letter but not the spirit of the show.

From the start, the reboot was vital and contemporary. The human companion, Rose, was a teenager from an unapologetically working class family; a major theme of the show was that everyone was special, and that openness, inclusivity, and empathy, rather than wealth and status, were prerequisites for living a good life. This was a theme that would later be revisited to great effect with Catherine Tate’s Donna Noble: that ordinary people become extraordinary not because they’ve been chosen, but because they care.

In 2005, the Iraq War was underway; there was an increase in state surveillance and a stepped-up fear of immigration in the wake of 9/11. America in particular was under the helm of a right-wing theocratic administration. In contrast, Doctor Who stood up to say that everyone was beautiful, our differences were to be celebrated. Christopher Ecclestone’s Doctor had been through an unseen war and was scarred, traumatized, and determined that everyone should live.

The new series was able to play with sexuality and gender norms. Captain Jack, a pansexual time traveler, slotted right into the narrative. Characters casually mentioned changing genders or having same-sex spouses without it being the subject of the episode. In every episode, alongside the exciting story of the week, the show normalized and celebrated diversity.

It was unashamedly political. In one of my favorite episodes, Turn Left, the Doctor is missing and Britain is suffering in the aftermath of a nuclear disaster. England becomes “only for the English”; Donna Noble watches in horror as her neighbors are taken away to a labor camp. “That’s what they called them the last time,” her grandfather ruefully notes. It was an important callback in 2008, at the tail end of the second Bush administration, and it’s only grown in importance now.

Again: this is a family show.

Anchored in good, accessible storytelling

You might be forgiving for thinking, based on my argument so far, that Doctor Who is a heavy-handed, ideology-first show. What a bore. The good news is that this couldn’t be further from the truth: it’s a genuinely fun, accessible romp with award-winning storytelling that ranks among the best of science fiction. It rules.

At the time of writing, it’s received 163 awards and been nominated for 411. That includes BAFTA awards (the British Oscars); Hugos (the annual literary award for best science fiction works of the year); National Television Awards; Nebula Awards; and so on. It’s well-regarded as some of the best writing, anywhere.

And, of course, it’s also deeply weird, in the best ways. There are haunted libraries with flesh-eating shadows. Star whales ferrying orphaned humanity across the galaxy. A sentient sun. A race of aliens that live in television signals. Some episodes are space operas; others are bottle dramas; some are screwball comedies with robot Santas. Occasionally, it’ll make you cry over a character who appeared for five minutes and then died nobly to save a moon that turned out to be an egg.

At its best, Doctor Who manages to be profoundly silly and heartbreakingly sincere in the same breath. It lets you believe that logic and love can coexist. That monsters are sometimes just scared people. That sometimes scared people can become monsters — and that they can still be saved.

There have been missteps, of course, as you’d expect from anything this experimental. Some come from changing expectations; there are certainly some racial stereotypes in the 1960s/70s episodes that did not age well. More recently, there was an era of the show where Rosa Parks was robbed of agency as an activist. In the same season, an apparent critique of Amazon-style capitalism led into a bizarre statement from the Doctor, who announced: “The systems aren't the problem. How people use and exploit the system, that's the problem.” And writers made queer people and people of color expendable.

It wasn’t the best, to be honest, but the show has ably course corrected. More recently, trans and non-binary characters have become central — all while expanding the narrative canvas of the show under a refreshed budget and a focus on new viewers. Ncuti Gatwa as the first openly queer Doctor is a revelation, full of joy and life. It’s as brilliant as it ever was.

Why it matters now

The world hasn’t gotten any less terrifying since Doctor Who first aired in 1963. If anything, the monsters feel closer, less metaphorical. They’re holding office. Writing curriculum. Rewriting history.

But that’s exactly why this show endures.

Because Doctor Who doesn’t promise us a perfect future — it promises us people who will fight for one. It shows us a universe where the best tool you can carry is your mind, your heart, and your ability to listen. Where change is baked into the story, and where survival requires transformation.

It’s a story that insists on second chances. That redemption is possible. That the most powerful force in the universe might just be compassion.

And in a world that tells us to numb out, shut down, or look away — Doctor Who dares to say: be curious. Be brave. Try to be nice, but always be kind.

It’s great television.

But also, maybe that’s how we save each other.

Get started

If you’re Who-curious, here are a few places to start:

Blink (2007). A gripping, self-contained episode with an innovative narrative loop that happens to star Carey Mulligan.

‌Rose (2005). The first episode of the revived show. Why not begin at the beginning?

‌The Eleventh Hour (2010). Matt Smith’s first story as the Doctor. Guest stars include Olivia Coleman as a barking alien. Positively cinematic.

It’s time to try something new.

Starting today, you can support my writing on Patreon. I’ll never put up a paywall for my blog or newsletter; in effect, by supporting, you’re helping to continue to make it available for everyone.

Here’s what you’ll get:

• At $5/month or more, your name will be listed as a “thank you” on a supporters page on my website.
• At $25/month or more, your name will also link to your website from the supporters page, and you’ll receive a linked “thank you” credit at the bottom of each newsletter.
• At $100/month or more, you’ll get a linked name and static logo at the top of every newsletter, and a linked “thank you” at the bottom of every page on my website. (I’ve limited the number of supporters at this tier.)

The site you link to must be yours, safe, legal, and not an affiliate page. I won’t allow gambling, adult sites, or anything designed to abuse the trust of the reader.

This is an experiment! If it doesn’t work out, I’ll remove the Patreon but ensure that everybody receives the acknowledgment they’ve paid for.

Here’s what I like about this model: there are no paywalls and there’s no user tracking involved, and there are no penalties for people who don’t have the means to support. It helps me with my server costs, but otherwise, everything stays the same.

But if you have concerns, I’d love to hear them. As always, you can shoot me an email at ben@werd.io.