We're on a mission to power 1,000 local newsletters by 2030 to help revitalize small towns across America using technology. đź’»
No. 01
Cars, transit, and shopping malls made American Main Streets extinct, desolate, and empty. But, recently we're experiencing a promising cultural shift in which people finally want to get offline. They want to be outdoors. They want to live in walkable places. They want to stroll down charming streets. They want to patronize local businesses. And, that means that small towns across America finally have a chance to make a comeback. We're helping local communities, local businesses, and local residents use technology to make their places better, connect with one another, and find creative ways to attract the kind of people they're hoping will visit.
No. 02
We accomplish all of this using one secret weapon: local newsletters. đź’Ş
Lick is the new queen of local newsletters—an emerging digital trend that replaces old-school town newspapers, old-school radio, and old-school websites, in an effort to do one thing better than ever before: lead.
No. 03
Widespread change requires a different sort of thinking. We cannot work in isolated ways, in single towns, hoping to bring America back inch by inch. We've got to think bigger. We're creating a platform that gives small towns and local businesses the tools & knowledge they need to start cool things—and make their communities better.
THE ORIGIN STORY
I'm a 16-year internet publishing veteran, newsletter nerd, author, writer, and passionate traveler determined to make small towns better using technology.
I'm a small-town girl who grew up in rural Pennsylvania on food stamps, tomato plants, and homework assignments. I loved a good homework assignment.
I left town, and the trailer park, on a college scholarship from the Chairman of Monster.com, Andy McKelvey. Studied Communications. Did another degree in Spanish. Eventually went on to get a Masters in Linguistics in Philadelphia. Started traveling. Started writing. Became one of the world's first pro bloggers, where I made half a million a year with my words on the internet. Influencers were not yet a thing; neither was Instagram. (This was a good thing? LOL.) But, the internet revolution had begun. I was proud to be a pioneer of something that, at the time, felt extraordinary. Here we were, using technology to create entire worlds for ourselves.
Soon, a literary agent reached out. Then Penguin Random House did. Then I had a book contract, both in New York and London. The book was called THE MIDDLE FINGER PROJECT, and it was all about using technology to create an unconventional career on your own terms. All the sudden, the TODAY Show was scheduled to come to my house. I went on the radio at CBS. And, my email list of loyal readers cheered me on the whole way.
In the meantime, I bought my first apartment in Old City, Philadelphia, in the historic section. I spent months at a time in Europe, driving cars around the French countryside, staying in designer Airbnbs in Spain, roaming around my favorite city on earth, London—and then traipsing all over the British countryside, gawking at tiny chocolate-box villages, wondering why the farmland of England was full of stylish people, and the farmland of America was full of struggling people.
No matter where I traveled—Scotland, Ireland, Slovenia, Switzerland, Portugal, Belgium, Chile, Argentina, Ecuador, Panama, Costa Rica, Mexico City, and beyond— I found myself not taking selfies, but taking photos of something else: buildings. I was captivated by architecture and by the way a place could make you feel. Was it possible that aesthetics actually had more power than it seemed? Why were some places attracting flocks of people, residents, tourists, businesses, activity, interest, and liveliness, while others fell into decay? And, who was in charge of helping these places thrive?
Every time I'd go back to my hometown to visit, it had deteriorated more and more.
Businesses shut down. Homes were in decay. The community began to look as if it were abandoned.
The local market had closed (and was now being used for storage). The Family Farms convenience store had closed (and was now being used as a municipal office). The nice restaurant had burned down, as did the town pub. There was no longer a pet store, or a candy store, or a video store. The arcade was closed. The barber shop had closed. The local diner had closed. The antique store had closed. Even the town judge had high-tailed it out of town.
Hopelessness set in. As did opioids. It was the town that had been forgotten—and the people felt forgotten, too.
Later I got word that my favorite place in town—the place that saved us all as kids—had also burned to the ground. It was the place where we'd spend countless weekends, learning how to make friends and make jokes and flirt with boys and learn who we were. It was the place where we could all hang out and feel like we belonged. It was an icon in the town—and it was a second home for us kids.
It was the skating rink.
And with it, burned down the last of the town's memories. And, dare I say it, the town's gumption.
Years later, in 2023, I came across a big old white farmhouse and cottage on 5 acres of land, on an old dirt road, right outside where I grew up. It was for sale. I had always wanted to have a place in the area; some place where, when I visited, I didn't have to stay at the truck stop hotel.
I bought the property.
And then something completely unexpected happened.
I'm ash ambirge, founder of lick.
I fell in love with the place.