What [Substack] Readers Want

Facing the Inevitable

Photo by Clay Banks on Unsplash

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I think it’s fair to say a majority of the readers on Substack are also writers on the platform. Not all, certainly, but many. Sherman Alexie recently posted a note commenting on how, ironically, writers penning pieces discussing fiction seem to do much better than actual fiction itself. Or more to the point: Readers crave essays detailing how one can succeed on the platform more than creative work itself. (Not always, of course; I am speaking in overarching, general terms.)

I have found this to be true.

Much of the reason for this seems to be answered fairly obviously: Readers want a manual of sorts for rapid growth. Think of Substack producers like

Writers at Work with Sarah Fay

, who contributes a TON to the Substack community in terms of helpful and actionable advice related to making money on the platform, including how long posts should ideally be, how often to post, how to efficiently and respectfully self-promote, etc.

All this is to the good, in my eyes.

But, it does bring up the old saw: Art versus Commerce. This has of course always been an important factor in both traditional and self-publishing. A writer’s work—whether novel, short story, essay, etc—is both creative art as well as commercial product saleable in a modern capitalist market. Whether you see this as good, bad or neutral it is the reality. Sure, there are some writers, both on Substack, self-published and even traditional, who honestly [largely] just write for their audience and who care little or even sometimes don’t care at all about the financial side of things…but let’s be honest: They’re a tiny minority. I admire their pure-art perspective…but I don’t personally share it.

I want that golden in-between: I want to write strong novels and stories and essays—click here for my NYC COVID FICTIONAL MEMOIR posted in full for paid subscribers; first 5 chapters = free!—that move people emotionally, spiritually, artistically, psychologically. But I also—I fully admit—want to make money. I don’t need to be rich. Or famous. Or even well-known within a certain literary community. I used to think I wanted that when I was in my twenties. But now, at 40, making a decent living on Substack would be perfect; glorious, even. And I think it’s doable. Right now I make roughly $300/month on the platform, more than I ever made before in any writing capacity, despite several dozen traditionally published short stories. (Bread was always made as a developmental book editor.) Writing has rarely paid well, generally speaking, and increasingly so since the 1980s and 1990s. (Clearly there are exceptions. Stephen King anyone?) The rise of the iPhone, internet, social media etc has more or less broken the back of books.

Some on Substack claim that you “shouldn’t” try to make money here. Others say it’s all you should do. Still more say you simply “can’t” make good money on the platform. There are writers like Anne Kadet—Café Anne—who produce free content but have the paid option available for those who choose to pay, and she seems to do well this way. Others—like myself—paywall. I have been experimenting with things lately. For example, posting Notes where only my paid subscribers can comment. Anyone can like or restack (with or without a note added), but only my paid subs can comment. Or not having a paywall on a post but only allowing paying subscribers to comment on the actual post.

Some people find these little tricks annoying. I get that!! I have felt annoyed at times when they happened to me, for example reading an entire essay only to find out after the fact that, as a free subscriber, I cannot comment. Frustrating! And yet, I can’t really blame any writers for trying new techniques. Some stuff works, some stuff doesn’t. Personally I’ve never followed the rules/directions/guidelines of almost anything in my life, for better and for worse. It’s just my contrarian, free-thinking, naturally stubborn nature. I tend to do things the hard, unknown way. It’s how I learn. Sometimes it feels like bashing my head against the wall. But that’s okay. It’s just my style. That wall has taught me a lot.

My sincere goal is to write quality posts which people will find value in. For sure, some of my posts—such as this one about Gustave Flaubert—gain less traction, meaning less likes, less comments, fewer free and/or paid subscribers. Like I said, I think this is largely because, lovers of true art many of us may be, we also want the big, broad, basic formulas: How-To-Gain-Growth tutorials; culture war battles; discussion of AI and general news; business and tech info; etc. And that’s perfectly splendid! That’s the democratic beauty of a platform like Substack: Everyone can produce what they want. It’s fantastic to have different writing, different voices, different styles, different views and opinions. We get everything from The Free Press and Ann Coulter to Junot Diaz and Story Club with George Saunders.

I see this is a good thing. Substack has shifted a chunk of American culture away from the blatant extremism we see both on the right and on the left, on social media, news organizations, and other writing platforms. We’re free to say our piece here, devoid of any fear of being shadow-banned, deplatformed, canceled, etc. Whatever your view on capitalism, Israel, Trump, Biden, free speech, race, gender, etc etc etc, Substack allows you to speak openly and honestly. This I cherish. We all should.

Am I saddened a little that my novels and short stories don’t get nearly as much attention as my essay how-to or what-about pieces do? Yes. I wish more people wanted to read fiction, wanted to do the deeper emotional/psychological work of thinking harder, grasping for metaphor, symbolism and cognitive depth, but I think for a majority of readers in our contemporary times, this type of work just isn’t as desirable as it once was.

We’re all perpetually “busy,” for one thing. Who has the time? Secondly, fiction requires being invested in a story, which means using your imagination. Especially for novels or nonfiction books: These are long, slow commitments. I think this is especially tough for young people today, largely conditioned by the rapid speed of iPhones, streaming, social media, especially TikTok. A book is a long emotional investment; it’s much easier to stare at your screen and watch the changes. Everything is done for you. You don’t have to think.

Hey, look: To a certain extent I do it myself. Substack has exploded with writers. The activity is nonstop. Notes goes all day every day 24/7. And, just like online dating or any social media, it’s highly addictive. Lately I’ve begun to realize more and more the futility of culture war debates on Notes. For one thing: No one’s mind ever gets changed. For another: Obviously, deeply nuanced and complex issues such as Ukraine and Israel cannot be solved by twenty essay-length threads back and forth online.

Also: Who cares about your (or my) dumb American opinion anyway? Is your opinion actually going to solve anything or fix the issues in Ukraine or Israel/Palestine? What, precisely, is it that you imagine you’re “contributing”? Thirdly: Too often these regressive “debates” are led by angry, loose-cannon, uninformed neophytes who quickly shift to name-calling and ad hominem attacks. Never have I witnessed more people in their fifties, for example, who, when you read their ranting threads, sound like they’re about age 12.

Of course I know I have no control over any of this. I myself sometimes contribute to the problem. Because, like all of you, I’m a weak, flawed human. That’s all any of us are. Weak, flawed humans trying to write our “truth” to the best of our ability, online, with millions of others, competing for time, attention, energy, money, subscribers, etc.

As an artist I’ll keep writing fiction, novels and stories. As a producer of “content” (or, if you’re one of those angry purists who loathes the word “content,” how about “prose”) I’ll keep writing essays like this one. Because, in my opinion, you CAN very much do both. In our absurdly binary, uncritical-thinking world nowadays, you’re either A or Z; good or evil; right or wrong; safe or harmful; white or Black; oppressed or oppressor, etc etc etc. But this isn’t, all we rational adults fundamentally understand, reality.

Reality is complex, nuanced, always gray area. We aren’t one or the other; we’re everything all together, and none of it, all at the very same time. You can be a serious artist and also care about making money. You can also care solely about making art or solely about making money. Or it could be 80/20. It doesn’t matter. Everyone gets to do their own thing. Choose your own adventure. Experiment. Bend the rules. Take risks. Get vulnerable. Tell your truth.

But whatever you do: Be brave.