2025-01-26 12:00:00
Hello, you. There’s a thing we used to do, way back when, where bloggers would write a post, and then tag in some other folks to see how they’d respond. I did a different challenge a few years back, and was delighted when Jon and Naz kindly tagged me for this latest one: to answer a set of questions about how I blog, and why.
So! Here I am, and happily.
Everybody was doing it! When I got started in the tech industry, I think Scott Andrew LePera was one of the first bloggers I read who was writing about, well, what I was doing every single day. Through him I found Mark Pilgrim, Molly Holzschlag, Jeffrey Zeldman, Erin Kissane, Paul Ford, Dean Allen, and so many, many more. Every single one of them was posting industry news, links, opinions, and — this is the important bit — space for other writers, linking to other, newer voices onto their own sites.
It felt like a community, really. In those early days, it felt like home.
Last year, I switched from jekyll to Eleventy. I wrote up a few of the reasons I chose it, but: it’s fast, it’s flexible, and its community seems to be thriving. It’s early days yet, but it’s working pretty well so far.
Prior to that? Oh my goodness, let’s see. I started blogging on a home-rolled CMS, if you can call some frankly horrendous PHP and MySQL a “CMS.” A year or two after that, I switched over to WordPress.1 A few years later, I used ExpressionEngine to launch my next blog.
I tinkered with a few other platforms in those early days — I set up TextPattern (😢) for a side project; I worked with Movable Type when I was part of the Web Standards Project — but those are the main ones that got me started.
I’m always writing in Markdown. New posts get created in a directory I’ve set up for drafts, and I’ll edit them in the text editor I use to work on my website.2 If I have a longer post — something with a lot of moving parts, or something I know I’ll want to edit on my phone — I’ll work on it in Obsidian, which is easily my favorite writing environment since Editorially. But regardless of the app I’m using, I’ll work in that drafts directory until the post’s done; once it is, I’ll move it over into the “live” folder, and deploy my site to publish it.
Ultimately, I’d love to just work exclusively in Obsidian, with my posts auto-building as I write. This was all sparked by this demo I saw from the CEO of Obsidian, and at some point I’ll spend the time to get all of that wired up.
Oof. This is a hard one to answer.
In the early days, blogging was something I used to share: something ridiculous I’d read online, a weird little code snippet, or even a new technique I wanted to get in front of other people. Hell, sometimes I’d just gripe about the weather, or post some photos online. It was my own little Twitter before Twitter existed, really: have a thought, post a thought.
It’s hard for me to look at those old links now. There’s some cringing, to be sure, but also a little envy: I sometimes wish I felt comfortable writing so openly.
These days, my blogging feels a little…heavier? Definitely more circumspect. This site’s a mixture of the personal and the professional — and for me at least, the ratio feels skewed more toward the latter. There’s nothing inherently wrong with that, I suppose. But it does mean that when I’m writing, it’s about a professional milestone, some thoughts on the industry, or to work through something heavier.
Anger is a motivator as well, though I’m not proud to admit it. I wish the tech industry was better; I wish the world was better; right now, I sorely wish my country was better. This website’s one outlet I have to wish things were different, and to maybe dream of something better.
I’m somewhere between the two. My drafts don’t usually sit around too long, taking shape after a day or three. If I can get a post to a workable point, I’ll do a few editing passes before publishing.
Honestly, I wish I was a lot more casual about my writing here, but I’ve always felt really self-conscious about the words I’m putting online. I know, I know — this is “my” blog. But at the same time, I’m keenly aware there’s someone else who’ll read this. So: edits.
It’s not a blog post qua blog post, but I think my favorite entry in the ol’ journal is the transcript of “The World-Wide Work”, my first talk on the need for unions in tech.
I’ve got a few things. Nothing especially thrilling, but:
No big platform shifts in the works, thankfully. The switch to Eleventy just happened, and I’d like to give it a year or two to see how it works out.
I know how busy people are, especially while the world’s on fire. But if they’re game, I’d love to hear how anh, Katherine, Maya, Jacky, and Henry would answer these questions.
This has been “A challenge of blog questions.” a post from Ethan’s journal.
2025-01-18 12:00:00
It’s cold out, and the sun’s hidden behind a flat, gray scrim. I look around the park. My brain immediately wants to make a comparison to the last time I was here for a rally — the last time things broke down. Back then, I was a tiny speck floating in an ocean of people. This time, I’d guess there are a few hundred attendees, maybe five or six hundred. When I think about the math, it hurts.
I then realized that my brain’s not exactly helping. Comparison’s the thief of joy, and all that. The air at the rally is casual, friendly. Toward the back of the crowd, small groups — friends, families, groups of chatting — are chatting. Many are laughing, their smiles bright; others are chanting, yelling, singing. I spot a couple to my right. I read them as a man and a woman, both much older than I am, and possibly married. She’s holding a sign I can’t quite read; he’s standing with his hands clasped behind his back, his figure a bit stooped. I wonder how many protests they’ve attended. I wonder how many more they’ll attend.
There’s a small stage at the center of the rally. A local elected official is speaking. She comes to politics through local organizing, and reminds the crowd that it’s okay to pay attention to your fear, to sit with it. But she reminds us that hope is an engine for fighting back. For getting your feet under you, for finding the people next to you, and — most crucially — for building something different. Something better.
I’m immediately and sharply glad I came.
After she leaves the stage, two speakers from a local trans and non-binary rights organization take her place. One of them speaks with clarity, precision, and more than a little fury. They’ll never take my joy, they say, their voice rising. We must never forget to dream: if we can dream it, we can build it; if we can build it, we can change it.
Some elected officials give perfectly fine speeches. As they leave the stage, they plug their Instagram accounts. I look at my watch.
I stay for a couple hours — I clap for the speakers; I holler when it’s appropriate; I cry when I’m moved, or scared about what’s coming — and then I head back to the subway. I have Ursula Franklin’s voice in my ears, and I get off a few stops early to pick up a nice cup of coffee.
I’m glad I went. I’m out of practice with showing up, and with raising my voice alongside others. I think, I’ll probably need to do more of that, and soon. I start crying again, but just a little. I feel like my feet are under me. I keep walking — toward whatever comes next, but also and always toward home.
This has been “Ames & Amherst.” a post from Ethan’s journal.
2024-11-13 12:00:00
Earlier this year, following the closure of my publisher, I reacquired the rights to my three books. And as of last night, you can read the first two books — the second edition of Responsive Web Design, and Responsive Design: Patterns & Principles — online, right here on this very website. For free.
I have a lot of emotions about my publisher’s sudden closure, but I’m just thrilled I was able to rescue these books, and make them publicly available. And there are two people in particular who helped make it happen. First, Jeff Eaton’s Dancing Queen library made it possible for me to export my books’ contents into Markdown. Second, Mat Marquis’s book site builder was a helpful reference for me, an Eleventy naïf, in figuring out how to build these two little mini-sites. I’m deeply grateful to both Jeff and Mat for their work, and for making it possible for all of us authors to preserve our books.
Because I’m me, a few caveats.
First, these books are old. If you see any code, I hope you’ll remember it is extremely Of Its Time. These books were written when Internet Explorer was still a going concern, when flexbox support was relatively minimal, and CSS Grid was still but a glint in the W3C’s eye. The books’ principles are, I think, still incredibly sound, but I can recommend skimming the implementation details.
Somewhat related to that, the images aren’t currently retina-friendly. I might go diving into some old files at some point, and see if I can export sharper versions of that artwork. But with everything [gestures around] going on, that’s pretty low on my list of priorities.
Now, with that out of the way: because I’m me, a few emotions.
The process of getting these books online was, overall, tinged with melancholy. It always feels a bit weird to revisit old writing; doubly so when I think about how much easier things felt back then. And the books — those lovely yellow and orange paperbacks — don’t exist any more. It’s hard for me not to feel like putting the books online is a kind of lessening. That the books are, like, gone.
Of course, the books aren’t gone, not really. After all, I still have the memories associated with them: pecking away on my phone at the first draft of Responsive Web Design while I was riding the train to The Boston Globe’s offices; working with Jason, David, and Mandy on Editorially, which sparked all sorts of thoughts on seams and modularity in responsive design; getting a chance to work with editors the likes of Dan, Anna, Mandy, and Erin, and watching both books become so, so much better for it.
And of course, I have memories of all the people and places those books brought into my life. Chances are good you and I might’ve even chatted about your design work, and talked through a thorny design problem together. I’ll always be grateful to these little books for bringing those moments into my life. I’ll always be grateful to you for picking up a copy of one of these books, getting ideas from it, and making this whole “responsive design” thing real simply by making something with it.
So here I stand, considerably older than I was when I first wrote an article, and the two books that followed it. I’ll miss those days, but I’m just glad these books are still here. They’re just different than they used to be. I suppose I am too.
Thank you, as always, for reading.
This has been “Two books, no longer apart.” a post from Ethan’s journal.
2024-11-06 12:00:00
Here are some things I know.
I know have a home. It’s a little home, framed with and bounded by four walls. Those four walls are draftier than I’d like, especially as the New England days get shorter. But they’re solid, those walls. I’m glad to have them. Especially today.
I know She is here. She took care of me today, held me together until I got my feet back under me. I don’t know that they’ll stay under me — I doubt they will — but we’ll see. I also don’t know what I did to deserve her, but I’m more grateful than I can say.
I have two little cats. They’re sweethearts, and seem to just know when someone needs them. They’re quick to cuddle, or to bring over their favorite toy. I know I’ve needed them a lot today. They seem to know, too.
I know I have friends. They’re the kindest, fiercest, sharpest people I’ve ever met. I went for a walk with one of them tonight; I spoke to another on the phone when I was walking home. Nothing was fixed, mind, but both of them helped me more than they probably know.
I know I have my fear, my despair, my anger, my dread, my heartbreak, and my grief. But I also have my love. I will say I’m not feeling much hope right now — but maybe it’ll come back.
I know I’m still here.
What’s more, I know you’re here, too. Whatever happens next, we’ll find our way together.
And I know that counts for something.
This has been “A catalog.” a post from Ethan’s journal.
2024-11-04 12:00:00
Something momentous is happening this week — it’s happening right now, in fact. And no, I don’t mean that thing. It’s something else entirely: namely, the largest union of tech workers just went on strike.
The New York Times Tech Guild walked off the job at 12:01 a.m. Monday, making good on a threat that has loomed over the company for months and could disrupt the newspaper’s ability to cover this week’s election results. The Tech Guild called the open-ended unfair labor practice strike after increasingly intense negotiations between the guild and Times management failed to yield a contract agreement, Tech Guild representatives told The Washington Post.
Laura Wagner for The Washington Post, “New York Times Tech Guild goes on strike”
Why does this matter? Well, let’s start with what a strike is. Here’s a quick definition from my most recent book, You Deserve a Tech Union:
A strike is simply another kind of collective action workers can take. In fact, collectively withholding your labor — collectively stopping work — is possibly the most powerful form of action at a worker’s disposal. When used intelligently, it can draw public attention to an important issue, which in turn can apply pressure to your employer. But it exerts internal pressure, too: when a group of workers withhold their labor, that slows productivity, which impacts their employer’s bottom line. That pressure can, in turn, be used to win concessions from an employer.
We’ve seen strikes in the tech industry before.
These are just a few quick examples, mind. (If you need more, I can recommend Collective Action in Tech’s open database of worker-led actions.) But in each case, those workers identified something wrong with their workplace, and decided collectively to withhold their labor: applying pressure to their employer by walking off the job, all in service of fighting for something better.
At the same time, these strikes have been timeboxed. They’ve often lasted a few hours, or maybe an entire day. Now, don’t misunderstand me — these shorter actions still very much matter. I simply mention their length to note that what we’re seeing at the Times is something new: for the very first time, tech workers have declared an open-ended strike, one that could last days, weeks, or longer. And they’re doing this precisely because the company’s leadership has failed to negotiate in good faith with the union: after two years of fighting, the union still doesn’t have a contract:
Times senior software engineer and Tech Guild member Kait Hoehne said the group was hoping to avoid a strike as negotiations continued late Sunday night, but that management’s failure to make concessions on key issues left tech employees feeling like they had no other option.
“We love our jobs and we’re looking forward to being able to do them,” she said, “but we haven’t seen enough movement from management and we’ve been bargaining for far too long … the ball is in their court.”
Over the last decade, we’ve seen tech workers become increasingly comfortable flexing their labor muscles — from workplace petitions to protests and, increasingly, to strikes. With the Tech Guild’s fight, I think we’re entering a new chapter for the tech industry’s labor movement — and a win for them truly is a win for the rest of us.
Want to support the workers of the New York Times Tech Guild? Well, you’re in luck: there are two solid options available to you. First and foremost, the union has declared a virtual picket line, as noted in The Washington Post’s piece on the strike — and they’re asking us to not cross it:
The striking employees will picket in front of the newspaper’s Times Square office from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. daily and are asking readers to honor the Tech Guild’s digital picket line by not accessing Times games or cooking apps.
In other words, they’re asking us to abstain from our favorite word games and cooking apps, in the hopes that the dip in traffic will help bring the company’s leadership back to the negotiating table. Break game streaks, not strikes.
Second, the Tech Guild has opened a strike fund, and could use our financial support. What’s a strike fund, and why does it matter? Here’s the union’s explanation:
Going on strike means we lose our paychecks for the duration of the strike. While this is an important sacrifice in order to win a fair contract, many of our union members will need financial assistance, particularly those who are the primary earners for their families. No one deserves to face financial hardship for taking action with their coworkers. Your donations will help us win this fight.
Strikes are incredibly hard for every worker on the line — they’re literally foregoing their wages to fight for a better deal. If you’re interested in helping them fight on, this is another way to do it.
This has been “Times to strike.” a post from Ethan’s journal.
2024-07-21 12:00:00
Last year, I wrote a book called You Deserve a Tech Union. When I first announced it, I said it was the hardest thing I’ve ever written, and that I was incredibly proud of it. I think that assessment holds up, even now: I’m deeply glad I got the chance to write it; I’m beyond grateful my publisher was willing to publish a book about the urgent need for unions in tech.
A little more than six months later, my publisher announced they were suspending operations, and would no longer be publishing new books. A few months after that, they announced their business was no longer sustainable, and that were permanently closing their doors.
I’m certain this was a difficult decision for the company. It was hard enough for me to hear about it — and heck, I’m sure that applies to anyone who’d published a book with them. But as difficult as that news was, something wonderful happened in response: a bunch of authors got organized, reached out to our former publisher, and collectively asked if they’d be willing to let us reacquire the rights to our books.
Then something else wonderful happened: they agreed.
Following on from a flurry of paperwork, I stand here the sole owner of my first three books: Responsive Web Design, Responsive Design: Patterns & Principles, and my latest title, You Deserve a Tech Union. The books’ internals are currently unchanged from when they were published, and they’re still available for purchase everywhere you buy books online; the only thing that’s different is that when you buy a copy, I’ll be getting paid directly, rather than through my publisher.
There are two changes I’m excited about — one small, one big:
That’s where things are right now. But really, I don’t quite know what comes next. For my two older books, I’m weighing whether or not I should just release them online for free. But as for You Deserve a Tech Union, I’d like to put it on a more sustainable path. Honestly, the most likely outcome is that I’ll continue to self-publish it: give the book a new coat of paint, maybe update a few sections that would benefit from a refresh. At the same time, I’m curious if there’s another publisher who’d be interested in giving the book a proper home.1
Anyway. The last few months have been a bit of a journey, to say the least. But wherever my little books happen to land, I’m always, always, always going to be grateful that they got a chance to be out in the world. And right now, I’m especially glad that they’re still here.
And finally, I am — as ever — incredibly grateful to you for reading my books. Thank you.
I’ve reached out to a few publishers already, but hey: if you happen to work with an interested publisher, or if you have a connection to someone who does, please feel free to drop me a line. ↩︎
This has been “Reacquired.” a post from Ethan’s journal.