An unintended consequence of calling myself a writer is feeling guilty when I haven’t written anything for a while. My stack is anything but consistent. Thankfully, my ability to eat and pay my electric bill isn’t predicated on making a living at this. Ramen anyone? I can simply write for fun, whenever I want, about anything I want, and push a button. So my failure to publish is totally on me, right? Not so fast. Keep reading.
As my fellow writers are keenly aware, Substack has taken away any excuse for not publishing since publishing here is not dependent upon editor acceptance. Critical review is purely reflected by the number of views a post receives and subscribers. Trolls count, right? I’m pretty sure I have two of those. As an ex-school librarian, I don’t mind. At least they are reading.
Honestly, I’m always incredibly surprised and downright tickled when someone out of the blue subscribes. To quote a line from The Producers, “They find me, how do they find me?” Lately, I’ve started to wonder how they found this little minnow of a fish in the big sea of substackers. My hunch is from the comment section of other Substacks. Honestly, I’ve been doing more commenting than writing these days. I may even be using this as a distraction from writing. There is just so much great stuff out there to comment on.
I wouldn’t call myself a "big” commenter. But I do comment, and often on the same substacks I read most because I’m mostly interested in the kind of content they post. I am keenly aware I am posting online and that my views can come back to haunt me, so I try very hard to word my comments thoughtfully and cautiously, the equivalent of spinning plates in today’s censorious world. Can one become a professional commenter on Substack? It seems like a full-time job.
I am also keenly aware that everyone and their alter-ego has an opinion on the very same issue that may or may not gel with mine. As it should be. We are all guests of the poster, and we would be wise to remember that. So instead of getting into a “you’re wrong, I’m right” scenario with a fellow commenter or with the author of the post, I simply try to learn where and why we are at odds. We may or may not come to any understanding, but it’s a healthy exercise. Mostly, when commenting, I ask myself how I might add to the conversation, how to connect with this person? Does my comment have value, can I be supportive, or if we disagree, what about this discussion don’t I understand? Ironically, the comment section can sometimes be more educational than the original posts. So maybe being outspoken as a commenter is how I gained a few of my new subscribers. Or trolls.
There are even weekly stacks where the poster opens their Substack as a place where subscribers can share what cool projects they are working on. Ted Gioia’s The Honest Broker comes to mind. The outpouring of talent posting their work on those occasions blows me away.
Which returns us to my very original question. As the numbers of Substack writers continue to grow and flourish and earn a living from their art, my failure to publish must be on me. Well, I’m here to say, yes. It is. But here’s partially why:
Substack fucks with a writer’s head.
Everyone on here is so freak’n talented. Freaking with a capital F U Substack. I can’t keep up with all the new content generated every day. I went camping for 3 days without cell service and, when I returned to civilization, I had 250 emails. Most were notifications from Substack subscriptions after accounting for the spam junk you can’t shake even upon threat of a lawsuit. What the hell? And the worst part? I wanted to read them all. Substackers are that interesting, that good, that funny, that inspiring. How does one lowly writer with two trolls compete?
I don’t, but I continue to try. In the meantime, I bow to those writers who write like fiends and make our lives richer for their incredible persistence. It sounds crazy to say, but some of these people feel like friends at this point. I look forward to hearing from them. I don’t know them, of course, but somehow I feel like I do through their Substacks.
They’ve given me glimpses into their gorgeous souls. How? By sharing their deepest, most intimate thoughts and hopes, allowing me to consider and comment on their content of expression, and trusting me not to ridicule or judge but to merit their effort honestly and with an open heart. In this spirit of giving and receiving, Substackers create a relationship of warmth in the cold vastness of the internet. A beautiful masterpiece in and of itself.
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