Intermission: Unplugging to recharge, and doing something I've always been uncomfortable doing—self-promotion

For twenty years I’ve walked these same woods on the shores of St. Margaret’s Bay and every time I do, if I’m paying attention, I see something new. I’ll be honest, I’m not always paying attention— like most people, my mind is often swirling with thoughts, ideas, and yes, worries. But sometimes there is a glorious spaciousness and the boundary between me and the world around me feels either membrane-thin or disintegrates altogether.  

The other day, on one such walk with my dog, Luna, I noticed what looked like a spruce tree growing out of a rock. On closer inspection the tree roots were splayed over the very flat surface, some of it hidden from view under a layer of moss and many years-worth of rotted leaves, needles, and other forest detritus. As soon as I saw the tree, I was struck by how little sustenance it seemed to need to survive, even thrive. But it has to be the right kind of sustenance, I thought to myself, the kind that really nourishes.

Tree growing atop a flat rock. Photo: Linda Pannozzo

And this made me think of life, my life. When I start having trouble accessing that spaciousness, clarity, and curiosity—a really important part of being a journalist—I know it’s time for an intermission to recharge.

But before I do I want to take this opportunity to reflect on the last six months of launching The Quaking Swamp Journal. As I’ve said, I’m committed to raising legitimate questions, even if they are uncomfortable ones, and my goal is to always work in the public interest, in a way that explores both context and nuance. I want to thank all of you from the bottom of my heart, for having subscribed, shared, and taken the time to read my articles and send in your comments. It’s been such an edifying experience — more than I ever imagined — and to be honest, I’ve been pleasantly surprised by my own productivity, and the range of subject matter I’ve managed to cover. While many of the stories question mainstream narratives—all are rooted in fact and official data. Many of the story ideas had been simmering for some time and it was a huge relief to finally be able to flesh them out and publish them.

Salt marsh near Port Williams, Nova Scotia. As I wrote in my inaugural post, Henry David Thoreau’s poem referring to an “impervious and quaking swamp”— one that is unencumbered and self-willed—offers a metaphor for the kind of writing I hope I am offering here, at the Quaking Swamp Journal. Photo: Linda Pannozzo

I also want to take this opportunity to start a conversation I have been avoiding: paid subscriptions. Since starting on Substack, I have offered my work to anyone who was willing to provide an email address, and that will continue. But many readers have asked how they can support my work, and my answer has consistently been: for now, please just share my stories so I can build up my subscription base. For those of you who have done that, thank you so much.

I’m very pleased to say that the number of free subscribers has grown steadily since I started and it now makes sense for me to turn on the paid subscription option (gulp). So, if you want to support the work I’ve done to date, and work still to come, please consider going paid now ($5/ month or $50/ year, or become a founding member). If paying for a subscription isn’t possible for you right now, I totally understand. You can still support my work by sharing articles and encouraging others to sign up. As I said when I started this publication, nothing will be behind a paywall and I feel strongly that I want this arrangement to continue.

If you feel so inclined, I’d love to hear from you — let me know what you think of The Quaking Swamp Journal so far. If you have any story ideas or tips, please send them my way. You can post in the comments or simply reply to the email post.

Whatever you can do to support my writing—whether paid or not—I’ll be forever grateful.