What is the Point of Substack? Making Money? Quality? Community?

A Substack Writer’s Thoughts on the Game

Photo by hannah grace on Unsplash

There’s a consistent debate within the Substack community about what the actual purpose of the platform is. In my mind it’s a fairly silly discussion, really, because it presupposes, as almost all cultural contemporary discussions do, that there’s some sort of easy, obvious binary answer.

There isn’t.

Substack can be anything you want it to be, basically. As a longtime writer who’s had dozens of short stories published in literary magazines and journals over the years (one nominated for the Pushcart Prize), who’s written 12 [unpublished] novels and one published (THE CREW), who’s interned for a literary agent, who’s been a developmental book editor since 2013 working with many authors who went on to be published with major houses, I, personally, take myself seriously both as a person and as a writer.

This seems to be more or less in the minority.

Many on Substack seem to feel that the notion of asking people to pay for your work is not only ridiculous, but borderline evil. Good writing, these people quip, should be pure of all capitalistic incentives. All writing should be free. The point, some say, is not to make money but to produce quality writing, or as some say, “content,” another word which gets debated a lot. (Is it “content” or “writing”? Does the differentiation actually make a difference or mean anything?)

Another take comes from the opposing side: Of course you should ask people to pay for your work; it’s YOUR work and you put your blood, sweat and tears into it.

I fall somewhere roughly between these two poles, but definitely closer to the paid side. I started writing on Substack in August, 2022, about 14 months ago. I began with 50 free subscribers who were a mishmash of family, friends, acquaintances and former clients. I now have 1,150 subscribers with 70 paying. I’m not rich from Substack, but for the first time I’m bringing in a few hundred dollars per month. Not bad for a freelance writer in 2023. Usually writers nowadays make very, very little. (Especially creative writers.)

The reason I ask people to pay for my work—not all of it: Some is free—is because I genuinely think my work is quality. I realize I’m far from the strongest writer around, on this platform or anywhere else, but I think my stuff is really good. Am I allowed to say that? Or do I need to practice insincere humility to sound good online? My stack IS called Sincere American Writing. That’s my sincere feeling: My writing is good. Solid. Powerful. (I feel the same about many other writers on Substack, such as

Sherman Alexie

,

Writers at Work with Sarah Fay

,

Castalia

,

Bowen Dwelle

,

Dee Rambeau

,

Latham Turner

,

Joshua Doležal

,

Lyle McKeany

,

Alison Acheson

,

The Art of Flash Fiction

,

Brent and Michael Are Going Places

,

Junot Díaz

, and many many more.)

The truth is: it doesn’t matter. Substack is fantastic because it’s specifically for writers; there aren’t an ads or hidden costs; they take a fraction off the top of your paid subs (if you have any); and there’s a warm community feel even if you’re tiny and just starting. If you want to start out only doing free subscriptions, or even stay that way permanently: Go for it! If you want to add the paid sub option on your first day writing on the platform: Do it! I did what many have done: Started out free and, later, after gaining a few hundred subscribers, turned on the paid option. And then I slowly started adding in paywalled posts alongside my free ones. At this point I’m probably doing 75% paywalled posts, 25% free. Something like that.

There isn’t one right way to “do” Substack. People come from all kinds of various angles.

Jimmy Doom

, for example, publishes one story a day. Some offer special perks to paid subs, others, like myself, simply paywall certain posts and not others, attempting to entice free subscribers to switch to paid (for only $35/year, by the way) so they can read ALL my writing. Some offer one-on-one consultations for paid subs. It just depends what you’re after. Personally, I’ve never been a rule-follower or a conformist. I learn the hard way, always have, by experimenting and seeing what works and what doesn’t. I try to walk that delicate tightrope between sincere intensity and honesty….and accidently pissing people off and alienating myself.

The point is: However you do Substack, do it respectfully. First off: Understand that different people do things differently according to their own code of ethics. You’ll see snake oil salesmen on Substack because Substack is run by and participated in by human beings, and we human beings are weak, flawed, sensitive, ambitious, greedy and wonderful all at once.

From my perspective, writing is the only thing in my life I’ve always loved. My mom’s an author. Ditto an uncle and two cousins. It’s in my DNA. For years I did everything possible to get a literary agent and “take off.” (Here’s my agent story.) I tried as hard as I could to sneak into the publishing industry, either as a writer or as a book editor. I even moved to NYC to further pursue my writing and publishing goals. And I did make genuine, important industry connections.

But the landscape has changed over the course of the past decade. Ideology has infected the publishing world like a cancer, and furthermore traditionally published authors are generally making less and less money and having to set up their own book tours, sell their own books. Only certain kinds of writers seem, for the most part, to make it into the big leagues. It has become wildly difficult, unlikely, pretentious, exclusive and insular. Mid-twenties NYC agents decide what is worthy of publication and what isn’t. The idea is no longer to translate gritty reality into Art; now you are supposed to have a moral-ethical angle or message.

In short: Art has been commandeered by anti-Artists, people who don’t respect writing as it has been since Homer.

This, my friends, was what ultimately led me to Substack. I finally “gave up the ghost.” The opening line of Henry Miller’s Tropic of Capricorn is: “Once you have given up the ghost, everything follows with dead certainty, even in the midst of chaos.”

Exactly. I gave up the ghost, let go of the determination to “make it” traditionally. Art is dead to these people. We need a digital revolution for serious writers who refuse to be muzzled and who genuinely want to discuss reality and The Truth (as an individual grasps it). This is why I’m here. I’m sick and bored of gatekeepers. Substack doesn’t have those. We can write freely and without fear of censorship or rejection or deplatforming or shadow-banning or removal.

The freedom to write honestly and openly is The American Way. Authors like Mark Twain, Allen Ginsberg and Henry Miller paved the way for the rest of us. Art isn’t safe or uplifting. It can be, but it’s never been a requirement.

So, go paid, or don’t. Write what you want. Let everyone else do their thing. If they annoy you, ignore them.