I Have Built a Website. Send Help.
After what can only be described as a mild psychological unraveling
disguised as “creative development,” I am delighted to announce that my website is complete.
Finished.
Done.
Live.
Out there.
Judging me.
What began as a simple idea, “I’ll just put a few songs online,” quickly mutated into font comparisons at midnight, colour palette crises, and long philosophical debates with myself about whether “About” should come before “Music” in the menu. I now have strong feelings about padding, margins and button alignment. Strong feelings.
Then came the technical labyrinth.
I have learned things. Things no guitarist expects to learn.
Mailing list integrations.
Automations.
Conditional triggers.
Free track downloads that only reveal themselves after an email address has been gently surrendered to the cause.
There were moments when I felt like a Victorian engineer laying telegraph wires across the Atlantic. Except instead of connecting continents, I was trying to connect a signup form to an MP3 without accidentally sending myself seventeen test emails at 2am.
But somehow, through persistence, red wine, and the occasional muttered expletive, it is now live.
You can browse.
You can read.
You can even subscribe and receive a free track.
Which brings me to the next emotional chapter:
Will anyone actually look at it?
I am quietly hoping that at least one friend might click the link. Possibly two if one of them accidentally refreshes the page. There is something wonderfully humbling about launching a website and then immediately refreshing your own analytics as if they are a heart monitor.
And now comes the real commitment.Keeping it alive.
Apparently websites do not simply sit there radiating brilliance on their own. They require updates. Journal entries. Fresh content. Engagement. Attention. It’s like adopting a very polite digital pet that survives entirely on relevance.
Still, I’m oddly proud of it. It feels like a proper home for the music. A place where the songs can live without being squeezed between dancing cats and sponsored smoothies.
So if you do visit, know that somewhere in a man is staring at a dashboard, hoping the little visitor counter ticks up by one.
And if you sign up for the mailing list, I promise the automation will behave itself.
Probably.
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