You are a person, not a platform.

Introducing my Sunday series, and a return to Substack simplicity

When I started my Substack last spring, I originally intended for it to be a replacement for my email newsletter. I’d been sending my newsletter weekly, via a separate email platform, for a good while, and was attracted to the simplification of Substack as well as the tools for audience-building and connection. Some of my favorite writers were already on Substack, and many others have made their way over since.

I liked the idea of a cohesive reading, writing, and sharing experience, and Substack has definitely delivered on that. I’m still glad to be here.

Over the past five or six months, however, there’s been a definite shift - not only in my experience as a reader on Substack (wow, has it gotten busy here!) but also, in the way I view myself as a writer — that is, I’ve noticed, through an increasingly Substack-specific lens.

I’ve found myself studying other writers’ Substacks, looking for clues as to their success. And I’ve seen some impressive stuff, with writers expanding their newsletters into full-fledged communities with daily discussions, online magazines and more.

It’s inspiring, and also, kind of exhausting. Because along the way, I’ve found myself trying to “game” the Substack-sphere, adding new series and hooks to try to bring in subscribers or convert existing subscribers to paid, while then feeling pressure to up the ante and offer more value to the subscribers who’ve already upgraded (I so appreciate you.)

And frankly, I don’t love what all that hustle does to my writing.

There’s nothing wrong with being smart about the way we use the platforms we’re on. They don’t call ‘em “best practices” for nothing. But it’s easy to start identifying more with the practices and customs of the platform itself than we do with our own instincts and goals as writers.

I’ve been there, most recently with Instagram, where I found myself chasing an ever-changing set of tactics and tools to boost engagement and grow an audience instead of focusing on the two things I truly wanted to do better: write and connect.

I’m not there yet with Substack, but I smell danger in the air in this space; a whiff of gold-rush excitement (or desperation?) that I’ve experienced many times before in my two decades as a digital content creator.

So this is a reminder to myself, and any other folk who need to hear it: you are not the platform you’re using to share your art. You’re a storyteller and a creative; not a Substacker, an Instagrammer, or a Youtuber.

The platform you’re on may be a helpful and fun tool, but it didn’t make you who you are, and it’s not worth reshaping your craft to fit its shape if, in the process, you lose connection with who you were when you started creating on it—or simply run out of time and bandwidth to invest in the projects that really call to you.

I’m working on a book right now. I want to write the very best book I can. That can’t be my only priority, of course—I do have a family and work and basic bodily needs to attend to—but in the end, I want to create something I’m proud of; something that one day, I can look back at and say “This was the best work I could do at the time.” Being able to do that by necessity means limiting my output elsewhere.

When I’m honest, I don’t love that reality. I want to be someone who can do all of it, and do all of it well, who can be in All The Places, optimizing my content to suit All The Platforms.

But here I am, crying a proactive Uncle before I find myself in that pickle.

Maybe it’s a midlife realization of my limitations and reorganization of my priorities. Or maybe I’ve just been around the block enough times to realize that platforms, even the best ones, won’t ever love you back. That sooner or later you’ll run up against the limitations of what it can do for you. The platform changes, or the audience, or your goals. What’s left when that happens? Hopefully, your art.

These days, I’m feeling more protective of my time and effort and the soul of my work. I don’t want to compete for attention share. I don’t want to “game” anything. I just want to do the very best work I can as a writer, and connect with you as readers, however many of you there are.

What does this mean for my presence here on Substack?

I’m going to go back to my original goal here - a once-weekly, newsletter-style update that will combine personal writing with links to other things I’ve been reading or loving or working on. The So-Slow Book Club will move mostly to chat threads, and I’ll offer monthly “deep steep” bonuses for paid subscribers, but not a whole lot of extras, and not a whole lot of content in general. Just, hopefully, my best stuff.

It will mean showing restraint. Some of the writing I would have put here may need to be held back so I can give it more time and attention. (Restraint is a good habit for writers to practice; as important as the courage to publish, I think.)

I hope that for you, the reader, it will mean a more streamlined and restful experience.

And I also hope, if you’re a creative for whom a certain platform has begun to feel less like a friend and more like a beast that’s constantly demanding to be fed, that this post acts as a tiny permission slip to step back.

Remember: the platform is not you. You were a creative before you found it, and you’ll still be creative after you’ve moved on.

That’s all for today, friends, but you’ll be hearing from me again next Sunday with a deliciously slow read that I hope will feel like a letter from a friend, and an experience to be savored.

In the meantime, don’t forget who you are, and the true value of what you do.