It's Almost 2026!
Friends,
I don't know when it happened, but 2026 is almost here.
One minute I was flipping the calendar page, the next I was tearing it off the wall. The annual calendar Jamil sent to my house—something I weirdly keep every year as a bit of kitschy political décor—didn't survive December. I ripped it down, not out of anger exactly, but out of disbelief. Another year gone. Another one somehow finished before I felt ready for it to be over.
As the holidays conclude and the new year looms, I've found myself doing what everyone pretends they don't do: taking stock. Not in a sentimental, Instagram-caption way—but honestly, sometimes uncomfortably so. This year was not perfect, far from it.
There were long stretches where things felt stalled. Moments where I genuinely wondered whether any of this was going anywhere. Whether the hours, the stress, the financial uncertainty, the constant second-guessing—whether it would all amount to something, or whether I was just yelling into the void with a nice logo and a Ghost.io backend.
Independent journalism is not always glamorous. It can be very lonely work. You don't get a newsroom buzz, you don’t get institutional backing, and you definitely don't get stability. There were weeks this year where I asked myself if I was being naïve—if passion alone could actually carry a career.
And then April happened.
Will Adams
One rally. One piece of first-hand reporting. One moment where I decided to trust my instincts and write exactly what I saw, not what anyone wanted me to say. That coverage took off in a way I never could have planned for. It traveled far beyond my own audience, far beyond my own circles.
When Dean Blundell publicly endorsed it—calling it “the best first-hand piece from a Poilievre rally” he'd read up to that point—it felt surreal. Not because it was flattering (though it was), but because it confirmed something I'd been quietly hoping for: that there is an appetite for honest, unvarnished reporting, even when it makes people uncomfortable.
From that point on, things shifted.
Now, I'll log onto Threads, Bluesky, or X when I wake up and see people I don't even know sharing my work. Not arguing with it. Not dunking on it. Just… circulating it. Treating it as something worth reading. Worth passing along.
That's not something I take lightly.
For someone who operates outside the right-wing establishment media, outside party structures, outside the usual pipelines of approval, that kind of organic recognition means everything.
It tells me the work is landing.
That it's resonating.
That it's cutting through.
This year showed me that progress doesn't always look linear. Sometimes it looks like doubt followed by momentum. Sometimes it looks like months of quiet followed by one loud, undeniable moment. Sometimes it looks like ripping a calendar off the wall and realizing you survived another year doing something that actually mattered.
I didn't wait for permission. I didn't wait to be welcomed. I did the work, and I made it happen.
As we head into 2026 and toward a new year, I'm grateful, not just for the support, but for the reminder that persistence still counts for something. That truth still travels. That independence, while difficult, is still worth defending.
And finally, a practical note.
If you've appreciated the work this year and want to help ensure I can keep doing it, I'm raising funds to get to Calgary to cover the upcoming Conservative convention. These events matter. Power concentrates there, narratives get set there, and someone needs to be in the room asking uncomfortable questions.
If you're able to contribute—even a few dollars—it makes a real difference. The GoFundMe link is below.
Thank you for reading. Thank you for sharing. And thank you for sticking around through a very wild year.
Happy New Years Eve, and on to the next one!
— Will Adams
Editor, The Provincial Times
