Where Have All The Eve Bloggers Gone?

 When I undocked my blog again after a long stay in station, I expected to find familiar beacons lighting up the system. Instead, local was empty. My old blogroll looks like a killboard after a bad gatecamp—nothing but wrecks and abandoned hulls. The capsuleers I used to fly with through words and hyperlinks seem to have warped off to parts unknown.

It’s not that the EVE community went silent. Far from it. They just moved their citadels. These days, you’ll find them streaming on Twitch, narrating their fleets on YouTube, or debating fits in a Discord channel that pings more than CONCORD on a bad day. The grand blog alliances of yesteryear have disbanded; the starbases are offline. Somewhere out there, an ancient WordPress installation is still spinning in space, quietly auto-renewing its domain while the owner forgot the login.

It’s easy to see why the exodus happened. Writing a blog post feels a lot like hauling PI through lowsec—technically rewarding, but dangerously time-consuming, and someone’s always ready to blow it up before you reach your destination. Streaming, on the other hand, is like running Abyssals with blinged-out fits and guaranteed viewers: instant gratification, visible loot ticks, and chat reactions in real time. No waiting for comment moderation, no fiddling with RSS feeds, no wondering if anyone actually read to the end.

Then there’s the attention economy—EVE players’ true final boss. Once upon a time, people followed RSS feeds the way they now chase killmails. These days, they prefer short, shiny things. If your post doesn’t have a thumbnail or a meme, it’s cloaked. You could write the next great analysis of null-sec economics, but someone will scroll past it to watch a two-minute video titled “I Accidentally Titan Bridged Myself Into a Wormhole”. You can’t really blame them. That’s premium content.

Still, I think there’s hope for those of us who like the long warp. Blogs don’t need to compete with streams or videos; they just need to do what they’ve always done best: tell stories that last longer than a single patch cycle. The universe of New Eden runs on drama, numbers, and nostalgia. There’s room for quiet reflections between fleet fights, for thoughtful dissections of market crashes, or for poetic laments about losing a freighter full of skill injectors because you “just needed to grab one more module.”

Maybe the EVE blogosphere isn’t dead—it’s just in deep safe, cloaked, waiting for the right moment to decloak and fire a fresh volley of words. Maybe the future isn’t about massive alliances of blogs but smaller, scrappier capsuleers who keep the tradition alive.

If that’s true, then I say: hit “undock.” Write that after-action report nobody asked for. Chronicle your wormhole misadventures. Complain about your corp mates in a public post your CEO will definitely read. Be the blog you wish you could still find in your bookmarks.

After all, someone’s got to put the next killmail on the board of history—and it might as well be written by you.

Life of Lise - Fiction

So, more than a break has occurred since I last attended to Life of Lise. I hope to keep this as the main part of my blog. The last update had me slap bang on the frontline of the Caldari faction war. Our presence was becoming a problem for more than a few and the whole ordeal ended in us being pushed out of our home system. Being 7 or 8 jumps from the safety of highsec we decided to disband. however much fun we had there I think it burned quite a lot of us. from, there on I have kind of been solo. going from small corporation too small corporation. Let me Entertain you whilst trying to bring Lise's Story up to date, Enjoy...

Breakfast in Venal

The station seems strangely busy.
Lise thought to herself as she wandered down the long gunmetal alleys toward the serveries. It was uncommon to see more than two or three people on her morning walk for breakfast. She was still residing in her original stalking area in Venal, a place she had chosen for its lack of residents and the absence of the usual hustle and bustle of an average constellation.

It had become more of a home these days than a hideaway. Lise had retired from the militia—it felt like an eternity ago—and the quiet hum of the station had suited her just fine.

“Morning!”

The chirpy voice startled her. Lise dropped her datapad, the clatter echoing down the corridor.

“Let me get that,” the man said, stooping to retrieve it.

Lise stood frozen. She tried to say thank you, but it came out as little more than a breath.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said with a grin. “Name’s Eveh. I’m here with my crew—assessing the system. Seems quiet.”

Eveh was tall, broad-shouldered, with a chiseled jaw and a casual posture that made him look entirely out of place among the drab station corridors. His uniform jacket was unzipped, and he looked more like an adventurer than a fleet commander. He crossed his arms and studied her, waiting for a response.

“Your crew?” Lise finally managed. “Er… ah… okay, yeah… um, normally I mean…” She gave up, blushing.

Eveh chuckled. “Heh. So it is quiet then. You don’t speak much?”

Lise cleared her throat and rubbed at her eyes. “Sorry, I just woke. I’m not used to conversation so early in the day. Yes, it’s normally quiet. These are all your people?”

She gestured toward the group of four capsuleers who had just passed them, talking idly among themselves.

Eveh nodded. “Scouts, engineers, a couple of logistics pilots. We’re mapping out the system—thinking of setting up a colony here. I do have history here you know, besides It’s remote, stable, and… well, beautiful in its own lonely way.”

Lise’s expression stiffened. “A colony?”

“Yeah,” Eveh said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “We’ll start small. An industrial wing, maybe a few research outposts. Nothing that should get in your way.”

Lise frowned. “You will get in my way. You bring a fleet into Venal, others will follow. You can’t just plant a flag and expect it to stay quiet.”

Eveh smiled faintly, a knowing glint in his eye. “You sound like someone who’s seen it before.”

“I’ve lived through it,” Lise said flatly. “I came here to be away from it.”

The silence between them hung heavy for a moment, filled only by the faint vibration of the station’s life-support systems.

“I understand,” Eveh said finally. “But sometimes quiet systems need a bit of life breathed into them. Maybe you’ll see it differently, in time.”

Lise crossed her arms, mirroring his stance. “Don’t count on it. I’ll be staying, no matter what you decide to do.”

Eveh grinned again—calm, confident, maybe even a little amused. “Good. It’ll be nice to have someone local to keep us honest.”

He gave a half-salute, then turned to leave. His crew followed, boots echoing on the metal floor.

Lise stood watching until they disappeared down the corridor. The air seemed heavier now. She picked up her datapad and continued toward the serveries, her appetite dulled.

She could already picture the flashing lights of new beacons in orbit, the quiet skyline fractured by industrial scaffolding.

“Colonize the system,” she murmured to herself. “Over my dead clone.”

But deep down, even she could feel it—the faint, unwelcome spark of curiosity.

to be continued...

The Lone Wolf’s Path: The State of Solo PvP in EVE Online

 

Excuse the AWOL elephant in the room I may come back too address that some point. Still in and out of game. I still thoroughly enjoy Solo content in all forms. My recent absences had me questioning if my usual approach was still viable...

Flying solo in EVE Online is one of the purest expressions of what makes New Eden special. It’s dangerous, unpredictable, and at times brutally unfair—but that’s also why it’s so rewarding. Every fight is yours alone. Every escape, every kill, every explosion is a direct reflection of your skill, guts, and creativity.

In an age where massive fleets dominate the headlines, solo PvP remains a quiet art. It’s the difference between commanding a warship and being a duelist in the void—stripped of safety nets, politics, and doctrines. You choose your fights, your fits, your routes. There’s no waiting on a fleet ping or a logistics chain—just you, your ship, and whatever New Eden throws your way.

Of course, the lone wolf life isn’t easy. You’ll lose ships. You’ll get blobbed. You’ll fight entire alliances who see your killmail as a trophy. But every time you survive, every time you outfly or outthink a fleet, the rush is real. Solo PvP teaches you faster than any fleet fight ever could—because your mistakes and triumphs are all your own.

Recent updates from CCP, like the Legion and Revenant expansion tweaks, have shifted the balance once again. Jump bridge changes have made travel riskier but more interesting, creating ambush opportunities that solo hunters can exploit. Ship rebalances—like tweaks to the Tornado and Ferox Navy Issue—have shaken up old metas, rewarding those who adapt quickly and punish those who fly by habit. In other words: perfect conditions for creative pilots.

Despite EVE’s constant evolution, solo PvP remains sustainable if you approach it with the right mindset. The trick isn’t to “win every fight”—it’s to fight smart, fly ships you can afford to lose, and keep your learning curve steep. Cheap, versatile hulls like frigates and cruisers let you stay dangerous without going broke. Combine that with an eye for patch notes, flexible fittings, and a few escape bookmarks, and you’ll thrive where others hesitate to undock.

But sustainability isn’t just about ISK—it’s about mentality. A solo pilot learns to embrace loss, to laugh at bad fights, and to celebrate even the smallest victories. Over time, you build intuition—when to commit, when to disengage, when to warp off and live to fight another day.

So yes, solo PvP is absolutely viable in 2025. In fact, it might be more exciting now than ever. CCP’s recent balance passes have made the galaxy a little more unpredictable, and unpredictability is where solo pilots shine. If you can roll with the punches, keep your ships light, and your map routes fluid, you’ll find more opportunities than obstacles.

The truth is, EVE will always reward those willing to take the risk alone. The galaxy may be vast and hostile, but for those who dare to fly solo, it’s also deeply personal—a space where every killmail tells your story.

So fit up, undock, and embrace the chaos. In New Eden, the most sustainable strategy might just be to keep flying anyway.