What I have learned on Substack in one year

celebrating a year of writing here

On Monday, the fifth of May, my Substack will have its first birthday. Every Friday for the past fifty-two weeks I have written and published a post. Yes, yes, a cake and tea are in order. Join me for the celebration.

My daughter said that being a teacher is so deeply ingrained in me that I can’t resist taking opportunities to share lessons. It is true. Today too, I’ll gladly share what I have learned about writing on Substack in one year since starting.

It was a good thing that I started writing here before I fully understood what Substack is about. Not knowing what was ahead, I plunged into writing without much fear and without giving the inner critic time to compose arguments against it. Sitting on my comfortable living room sofa, with a cup of tea ready, I composed the first post and hit publish. Starting before fully ready and knowing everything is probably the only way to get started with anything because when you wait for the perfect moment and readiness, you might never get started.

Starting as part of a supportive writing group made the beginning joyful. The other people responded to the first pieces, cheered along the way and nudged to continue. Thank you,

Beth Kempton

for leading the community of writers and encouraging to share our writing here. If I had written into the void I would have quit. The comments make me feel seen and understood. Reading what other people wrote had a dual effect. In one way the interconnectedness became obvious. At the same time the varied pieces stretched the perspective and broadened the world. So many interesting people, so many varied voices and so much excellent writing to learn from.

I have heard over and over that the writing quality matters, and I believe it is true. At the same time views and comments are not necessarily in correlation with the quality of writing. Some pieces I wasn’t fully happy about got more attention than the ones I had laboured over and felt proud of. The whole algorithm business remains a mystery to me. It seems as if like in other social media platforms, the algorithm favours when you write about the platform. The posts “How to get started” and “How to get subscribers” attract attention.

I did not get a miraculous subscriber growth and therefore can’t write “How to get subscribers” post. The subscribers I have don’t necessarily read each and every post I write, and this is ok. The amount of writing provided here and everywhere else is overwhelming and there’s life to be lived outside the digital world. I am deeply grateful to anyone reading and taking the effort to let me know that my words in some way brightened their day. The human connection makes me happy. The caring human connection is a big part of happiness for everyone.

Comments matter. It’s a tricky thing though. The fear of other people’s opinions (FOPO) can stop people from doing things they like, sharing their writing for example. Yet we crave the positive feedback and recognition. Hearing only the good comments grows the confirmation bias for seeing my writing in a positive light, when in fact, all of it might be rubbish. Just no one has dared to say so. And please don’t. I like to live with that bias because then I keep writing and it’s my way to keep creativity alive. Creativity and curiosity are also building blocks of happiness for me.

What has surprised me is that my inner critic and I have made peace. He occasionally steps by and waves to me, but mostly he has left me on my own. This is a good thing. Unfortunately, it seems that the muses and cheerleaders have done the same. I can a sit and wait and eventually I have to start and sustain writing without their assistance.

There is a temptation to use the assistance of AI to let it do some of the writing for you. It would be easy to train it to use your voice and style. For me this would take away the essence of my writing practice. I want to see what I’m capable of with the words and how I could become better. Letting the AI do the writing would be as ridiculous as asking a robot do the morning exercise for me. I don’t mind using AI as editor to give me some feedback and help me edit the text for spelling and punctuation.

The dark side of being on Substack is that it’s hard to resist checking the app and website to see what’s new, whether anyone has read the post or liked your notes. When they have, you get a quick boost of dopamine. When they haven’t, there is a danger of spiralling down the path of “Nobody likes me. I’m invisible. I’m insignificant.” One has to be deliberate in creating routines and habits that support the mental wellbeing. I am still working on it.

I have figured that unless you write to earn money and dedicate daily hours to writing, including notes, commenting and connecting, you’ll stay on the outskirts of the playing field. It’s like there are the kings of the jungle gym and the queens of the trampoline who gain lots of attention and admiration from the crowds. I play in my little sandbox. Sometimes someone runs by and says, “Cool sandcastle” and then runs on. Sometimes someone stays a bit longer and creates sand cupcakes to share. Whether alone or with others, building sandcastles is fun of its own. Writing too.

When I had a moment that I felt sad about writing, writing, writing and the views and comment shrinking, shrinking, shrinking, I did a bit of reflecting and realised that writing here is a choice. I don’t have to write and whether I write or not is inconsequential. I’m proud of is that I have showed up every Friday even when I have had a busy week and have left the writing to the last minute instead of the usual collect ideas- draft- revise weekly routine. I have written and this I pat myself on the back for.

This is it for now. Perhaps in a year I’ll be wiser and have more lessons to share. This is if I can keep up the weekly writing. Ready to approach it playfully.

If you pause and look back at the last year what have you learned? About writing? About yourself?

A photo from Kristy Mitchell’s book “Wonderland”: