Core Principles for Making Things on the Internet

When making things on the internet, the attraction of just doing what other people want is always there. But I've found that my most meaningful work comes from following a set of core principles, even when—especially when—they're inconvenient.

1. I always tell the truth, no matter what

Even when nothing is at stake, even when everything is at stake. I apply this principle in nearly every possible place. Everything I say is truthful, to the best of my ability. I research, follow standard journalism ethics and standards, and only say things that I know to be true.

This extends beyond just factual accuracy for me. I try to be honest about my process, honest about what I don't know, honest about mistakes and failures. When something doesn't work, I say it doesn't work. When I'm guessing, I say I'm guessing.

In my photography and video work, this means being as honest to the moment as possible—sometimes emphasizing authenticity at the expense of technical quality. I prefer natural light over fancy setups. I prefer recording things as they happen rather than recreating key moments later. I prefer letting people be their authentic selves with minimal direction.

When I get things wrong, I issue corrections and explain why the mistake happened and what I learned. The internet has a long memory, so I've found truthfulness isn't just ethical—it's practical.

2. I follow journalistic ethics, show my work, stay verifiable and repeatable

I believe every piece of my work should be able to stand up to scrutiny. This means I follow journalistic ethics even when I'm not doing journalism—I cite sources, verify claims, seek multiple perspectives, avoid conflicts of interest.

But I go deeper than traditional journalism. I work like a scientist: I document methodology, share raw data when possible, make my processes repeatable. If I build a tool, I make the code public. If I analyze data, I show the queries and transformations. If I make a claim, I link to primary sources.

For me, this isn't just about transparency—it's about building trust through verifiability. Anyone should be able to retrace my steps and arrive at similar conclusions. If they can't, then either my work is flawed or my documentation is insufficient. Both are problems I want to fix.

I extend this "show your work" principle to creative projects too. I share the tools, share the process, share the failures alongside the successes. I often find the methodology is more valuable than the final product.

I version control everything. I keep detailed logs. I screenshot important moments. I archive sources before they disappear. I treat every project like future researchers might want to understand exactly how it was made.

3. I practice mutual aid: from each according to their ability, to each according to their need

For me, mutual aid isn't just politics—it's how I think the internet should work. I see helping others as a mitzvah, a gift the universe gives me, not a chore or obligation. When someone needs help with something I know how to do, I see that as an opportunity, not an interruption.

This means I share knowledge freely, open-source useful tools, and answer questions without expecting anything in return. I build things that help people solve problems, even if there's no business model attached. I use whatever skills and resources I have to make other people's lives easier when I can.

The flip side is equally important for me: I accept help gracefully when I need it. I ask questions without shame. I recognize that everyone knows something I don't, and everyone needs something I might be able to provide.

I've found this creates networks of reciprocity that are much more resilient than market relationships. When people help each other based on ability and need rather than transaction, the whole ecosystem gets stronger. Projects get better, problems get solved faster, and everyone learns more.

It's also just more fun. I genuinely enjoy teaching someone something new. I find collaborating on a problem with people who bring different skills energizing. Building things that help people feels better to me than building things that extract from people.

The internet has the infrastructure for this kind of mutual aid at unprecedented scale. The only question is whether we choose to use it that way.

4. I document everything, work in public, stay vulnerable even when it's dangerous

I believe in radical transparency about process. I document my work obsessively—not just the successes, but the failures, the false starts, the embarrassing mistakes. I work in public whenever possible because I've found that sunlight makes everything better.

This means I push code to public repositories, even when it's messy. I share work-in-progress screenshots, even when they're ugly. I write about projects that don't work out, about ideas that seemed brilliant at 2 AM but fell apart in daylight. I tweet about debugging sessions that go nowhere.

Working in public creates accountability. It's harder to abandon projects when people are watching. It's harder to cut corners when your methodology is visible. It's also incredibly useful—some of my best insights have come from people who saw my messy work and offered better approaches.

The vulnerability part is crucial and scary. I share personal struggles, creative blocks, moments of self-doubt. I admit when I don't understand something, when I'm in over my head, when I'm making it up as I go along. This feels risky because the internet can be cruel, but I've found it mostly creates connection.

When I'm vulnerable about my process, other people feel permission to be vulnerable about theirs. When I admit I don't know something, other people share what they know. When I document a failure, it becomes data that might help someone else avoid the same mistake.

The documentation serves multiple purposes: it's accountability, it's pedagogy, it's insurance against forgetting, and it's a gift to my future self. I can't count how many times I've googled a problem and found my own blog post from three years ago with the exact solution.

5. The world is editable

Everything can be modified, improved, or completely reimagined. Software, systems, processes, traditions, assumptions—nothing is so sacred or fixed that it can't be changed if it isn't working.

I approach problems with the assumption that there's always another way to do things. If a tool doesn't exist, I build it. If a process is tedious, I automate it. If a system is broken, I find ways to route around it or replace it entirely. If something seems impossible, I look for the assumptions that make it seem that way.

This isn't about changing things for the sake of change—it's about recognizing that most of the constraints we accept are artificial. The software you use every day was written by people. The workflows you follow were designed by someone. The "best practices" in your field were invented by humans who were probably making educated guesses.

I find this perspective incredibly liberating. It means every frustration is potentially a project. Every "that's just how it works" is an invitation to ask "what if it worked differently?" Every inefficiency is an opportunity to build something better.

The flip side is taking responsibility for the edits you make. When you change systems, you become responsible for maintaining those changes. When you build tools, people start depending on them. When you challenge assumptions, you need better ones to replace them with.

But I'd rather live in a world where people feel empowered to improve things than one where everyone accepts broken systems because "that's just how it is." The world is editable, and the people doing the editing shape what everyone else experiences.

These five principles—truth-telling, scientific rigor, mutual aid, radical transparency, and the belief that everything is editable—form the foundation of how I approach making things on the internet. They're not always easy to follow, but they've consistently led to work I'm proud of and relationships I value.

The internet gives us unprecedented tools for creativity, collaboration, and change. How we choose to use those tools matters more than we might think.