I’ve be irritated over my relationship with Substack recently.
Maybe I need social media management counseling.
What started as a project to write consistently has turned into an endless voice in my head screaming, “You’re not doing it right!” I’ve taken a hiatus due to a recurrence of a chronic illness, but I still find myself reading Substacks weekly. When I do, I compare myself to others, beat myself up, and feel like I must invest in classes to constantly improve my Substack skills—what even is a Substack skill?!?—rather than write.
But the realization that keeps stabbing me in the gut is that I was persuaded into believing the only way I could ever thrive on Substack was to pay other people for their Substack expertise because I was Substack stupid.
It’s a damn blogging platform, people! Why do we need all these rules?
And how many of these Substack posters throwing up their writer-affiliated jazz hands know how to craft a good story?
What I’m seeing are newbies paying Substack gurus for guidance and then the gurus shout out the newbies, opening the noobs up to a sea of followers that grows an audience. That seems to be the golden ticket. Yet, I continue to hear how your Substack’s success is all based upon the quality of your writing.
I’m calling shenanigans.
Could Substack be less about your writing skills and more about you’re willingness to rub elbows online? You know, write a little, schmooze a lot by participating in Notes and weird chat convos around the clock. Maybe we should all attack Substack like an MLM boss babe and then claim our wild success is due to our hard work and writing chops.
GASP! Like you never noticed this little problem.
Okay, fine, I’ve got no real stats to back up my accusations, just pure snark. The only thing I know for certain is Substack continues to let me reinvent myself. To scrap my art and start again. And again.
For that I am grateful. I like that it’s a platform for constant destruction and recreation.
For the sake of my sanity, however, I’m going to need to make a radical move. I’m unfollowing many popular Substacks. I’m no longer up for following big names and people who come highly recommended. Yes, yes, I’m ruining my chances of becoming a household name, I know it. But I don’t care. I want to follow people with interesting ideas who might appeal to a limited audience. People who don’t often get seen but have a unique vision and craft that into something worth reading.
Like Suzanne Vega once sang,
“If you want me You can find me… ...In the fringes In the corner Out of the grip.”
Yep, that’s where I want to reside on Substack. And I think limiting some of the trendy and time-consuming noise might improve my ability to write consistently. I have work to do, ghosts to keep alive, and it needs to happen outside the self-indulgent world of “see-me social media.”
Yes, I’m never going to win awards. Nor will I ever sign up for a write-along where I do my solitary work among a large group of peers so I can tell everyone on social media what a prolific author I am. Shocking, I know. But hey, if you dig that kind of thing maybe invite all your friends over to your next shower.
I’m going to keep my solitary stuff solitary. And probably ride this anti-hero crap right into the ground as I get back to who I am as a writer.
Want more Anti-Substack advice? (Always remember you can undo everything in the morning!)
Here are 7 ways I’m re-learning how to use my Substack rather than letting it use me:
If a Substack comes highly recommended by or is from a big-name celebrity, personality, or author, I don’t follow it.
If the Substack lists a large number of Substack followers, I ignore that Substack.
If there’s some Substack badge prominently displayed anywhere on their page, I don’t follow that Substack.
If I’ve spent time on a Substack that speaks out of both sides of its mouth, i.e. claiming success on Substack is all about high-quality posts while getting subscribers simply through exposure to platforms with large audiences, I unfollow that Substack.
Going forward, I’m committed to following Substacks of people based solely on my connection to their writing and not on who they know or how successful they claim to be. The mainstream is not my friend.
I’m determined to write on Substack. Not advertise my Substack.
I’m allowed to break the rules. If I fall for a Substack that happens to be popular I’m not going to ignore them just to make a point.
So here I go again, running away from what everyone else claims must be the magic bullet to Substack's success. Guess I’ll aim low and shoot myself in the foot.
If you’ve ever felt like a renegade, an outsider, or a misfit, maybe you should join me. You get it. We won’t win any popularity contests, but we might just find a connection through our words. Or like a male main character in a Brontë novel, it’ll give us a reason to carry a chip on our shoulders—and nothing but damn good writing comes from stewing in our resentments!
So join me—or don’t. I’ll just keep writing.