Alphabetical by title. Entries carry no outbound links — the FAQ explains why — but every one of these is findable in a minute with the title and the author's handle. Last shelving: March 2026.
Weekly letters from a Sheffield allotment, begun as a widower's to-do list and slowly becoming something else entirely. The tomato chapters are funnier than they have any right to be. Self-published in print in 2020; the web version remains up and is better, because the comments from the plot-neighbours are part of the text.
A detective serial set in a fictional Baltic port town, published a chapter a month when the author's shift schedule allows. Reads like Simenon translated by a dock worker, which is roughly what it is. Start from chapter one; the recaps lie to you on purpose.
Two hundred and six recipes scaled for a single person, each with a paragraph of diary on top, in the tradition the food blogs ruined — except here the diary is the point. The last twenty entries, written after the diagnosis, are as good as the form gets. Print edition exists but cuts the diary. Skip it.
Four years of dispatches written on the N29, posted raw at 5 a.m. and never edited after. What survives of a city between 3 and 5 in the morning, by someone who cleaned its offices. Went quiet in 2023; the archive stays up. The February 2021 run alone earns the shelf.
An Argentine engineer's diary of moving to Umeå, in deliberately plain English that curdles into something like poetry every winter solstice. The entry "On light, rationed" gets passed around every January and deserves it. Posts roughly monthly.
A couple documents restoring a 1930s semi, room by room. The house gets finished; the marriage doesn't; the blog stops mid-sentence in a way no editor would ever allow and no editor could ever write. Shelved as a cautionary masterpiece. Abandonment, too, is an ending — see notes for the argument.