This is a very good piece, and I recognise myself in it more than I would like to. Because I am frustrated. Very frustrated.
I write Notes. I write longer pieces. I think they are good. At least I believe they are worth reading. And most of the time, nothing happens. Maybe one like. Very rarely a reply. Even more rarely a repost.
I reply to many people. I read their Notes. I engage. I try to add something real. And still, most of the time, nothing comes back.
So yes, I have also reached the point where I ask myself: Why should I keep writing when hardly anybody sees it anyway?
And then someone says: “Write for yourself.”
Great. Then I write for myself.
But honestly, that does not make much sense to me. I do not sit here for four hours, eight hours, or three days writing a public piece only for myself. I do not need to write it for myself. I already know what I think.
Publishing means that you want it to reach somebody. That somebody reads it. Maybe thinks about it. Maybe responds. Maybe disagrees. Maybe something happens between people.
Otherwise I could simply leave it in my head.
So yes, I agree with you that cynicism can become comfortable. I agree that blaming the algorithm for everything can become another way of giving up responsibility.
But culture is not created by telling invisible writers to keep writing meaningful things while everybody continues to look mainly at the people who are already visible.
It does not work like that.
And it also cannot always be the less visible people reading, replying to, and supporting those who already have an audience, while hardly anybody looks back. Those who are already seen also have to look at those who are still trying to be seen. They have to read them. Respond to them. Share them sometimes. Notice them. Otherwise we are not creating a different culture. We are only rebuilding the same structure inside a new platform.
Writing something real is one part of it.
The other part is not only asking for attention, but giving it.
Because resonance does not happen by itself. Somebody has to answer.
And I think this is where the real difficulty starts.
Karina, I would not underestimate the power of writing down ones own thought. It changes things.
Beyond that, I feel like there are two different worlds at play here:
-The world of art. Fundamentally, this world acknowledges that the audience’s perception cannot be anticipated. It does not even matter. What matters is that you create in alignment to your inner truth. Stay close to the vision, the initial spark, the core feeling. Any outside resonance will happen when it happens. It cannot be forced without contaminating the essence.
-The world of business. Here, the audience matters. You adjust your work to create resonance. Because you have a product to sell, and the vision you had needs to be flexible / strong enough to accommodate the market.
I think you need to think about what you want out of this platform. If it is maximum engagement, you may be interested in growth hacks. If it is deep connection, trust in yourself, and be genuine. Every little connection is incredibly valuable - be it on substack, or anywhere else (perhaps even the analog world?) Gratitude for the little things.
Wishing you all the best ❤️ The numbers are secondary - sincerely: someone with very small numbers.
I was not talking about maximum engagement, growth hacks, numbers, or changing my writing to please a market.
I was talking about public writing. About resonance between people. About the fact that visibility cannot always go in one direction.
And your answer is again: write for yourself, stay authentic, be grateful for the little things, perhaps even look to the analog world.
That is, in essence, the same answer again, only expressed softer.
I am a published author. I have just finished my third book. I publish articles regularly — my last article appeared in February, and the next one will be published in September. I know what writing does. I know that writing something down changes things. And I also know the difference between writing privately and publishing publicly.
Public writing seeks a reader. A response. Someone on the other side. Otherwise I can leave it in my head or in a private document.
And no, this is not about contaminating art or chasing numbers.
It is about people who are hardly visible constantly reading, answering, supporting, commenting on, and sharing those who are already visible, while very little comes back from the other side.
That is the point.
You cannot talk about culture, connection, and community while attention keeps flowing only in one direction.
And telling the person who receives almost nothing back to trust herself, stay genuine, and be grateful for every tiny connection does not answer that point. It makes the point smaller than it is.
Art does not stop being art because it wants to be received.
Publishing is not the same as writing for yourself.
I hear you, and apologies, for my first response failed to acknowledge that struggle. The struggle is real. It sounds rough what you’re going through.
Looking at the times I felt unseen, it’s one of the worst feelings I’ve experienced - as if the world wasn’t just rejecting, but outright ignoring me. Cultivating a sense of gratitude for the little things helped me a lot, but there’s no universal solution for these things, and we obviously have different ambitions.
Have you found an angle to deal with this situation? Especially in times dominated by algorithms and tiny attention spans it appears to me more important than ever to elevate voices unheard. I’m curious how you feel about the future of this all.
Thank you for acknowledging that you misunderstood parts of my first comment. But I have to be honest: parts of your reply still feel condescending to me.
“Cultivating a sense of gratitude for the little things” again turns this into a question of how I personally manage my feelings. As if the problem might be that I am not grateful enough for the little that comes back.
And “we obviously have different ambitions” misses my point again. Our ambitions are irrelevant here. This is not about whether someone wants ten readers or ten thousand. It is about the fact that public writing seeks connection, response, and exchange.
You ask whether I have found an angle to deal with this situation. I think I already gave my answer.
For me, this is not mainly a question of finding a better personal coping strategy.
Culture does not change by teaching invisible people to cope better with being invisible. Those who are already visible have to act differently too.
You say it is important to elevate unheard voices. Yes. But that means actually reading them, responding to them, sharing them, and allowing attention to move in both directions.
That is not a personal coping strategy. It is a change in how people behave.
I write and no one reads or even hit the like botton. But with time I understand that these numbers likes, comments if craved constantly begins to do something bad to me. I begin to measure my self worth with these numbers. If I have let's say 50 likes in a post I am valuable. If I have 10 pr maybe no reaction then I am not.
As you described yourself i know that you have been writing for a long time.
Sometimes we need feedback.
All human beings want to be seen.
If you ask me I had tell you I want the likes, the comments and everything. I want feedback.
But also I have learnt that susbstack most of all is a one way media. Many people come hear for a human connection, to create and unknowingly they transform their self to start teaching about writing like it's the only thing that makes you a creative. They say if you want to see your mind write...
I don't write for myself and post it online. If I wanted to do that I would have gotten a diary.I write because I want to be relevant too.
I wish you the best of luck and remember don't let the algorithm decide who you will be as a creator.
I agree with you that numbers can become dangerous when they start deciding how we feel about ourselves or our work. I do not want that either.
But no one writes publicly because they want their words to disappear into silence. We want resonance, connection, interaction, perhaps a conversation in which something can begin and grow.
And this sentence of yours is exactly it:
“I don't write for myself and post it online. If I wanted to do that I would have gotten a diary.”
That made me smile, because it is so true.
Thank you for reading all of this and for answering so honestly. I really appreciate it.
I find it hilarious that there are "creators" with thousands of followers but all they post is "tell me about your writing" or maybe try and sell access to a workshop.
Its like the old Geocities pages where you traded links for links with other people.
The worse ones are the people who have a platform and they hide it all behind a paywall.
Writers writing about writing about writing. Curious to see where it all goes - will this platform cannibalize itself? Will the new money bring in actual readers?
I find substack one of the better places on the internet. Every now and then, thanks to the algorithm putting it in front of me, an amazing piece of writing is discovered, that I would never have found on my own.
As far as my writing goes... Well... uuhm... Yeah. But I post a note everyday, not for the algorithm, but so it "sees" - heavens, this sounds wierd - but anyway, so that it sees I'm there, and so I get something out, for me, personally. And do a post once a week.
And yes... Crickets. But the followers are coming. Little by little. One here, another a month later. And to me, that's more precious than gold.
I’ve found a thriving neurodivergent community here writing from the inside of their own experience in ways I’ve never seen anywhere else.
I don’t write much, but I do produce podcast episodes with some of these thinkers. They aren’t viral, they take weeks to complete, but the work lands in a space that wants to know more.
Writing frequently still gets the most engagement, but I’ve found that deep inquiry also thrives online, albeit much less visibly.
I came across your article through Marisa’s comment. You astutely capture the deeper pattern: the unconscious noise bouncing off the walls of social engagement.
And that may be the real ache of it. There is often very little actual engagement.
So much of what passes for connection online is performance behavior dressed up as thought leadership, personal branding, curation, or “deep work,” which apparently now means arranging five familiar quotes into a bullet list and waiting for civilization to applaud.
We crave to be seen, validated, and understood, but many of us are terrified to actually be seen. So we perform instead.
And every performance enters the little marketplace of likes, metrics, replies, shares, and algorithmic reward. The result is strange and sad: people trying desperately to feel significant inside systems that often leave them feeling more hollow, more reactive, and more unseen.
That is the trap.
What still gives me hope is that the people who keep showing up with real courage, originality, honesty, and creative humanity become a kind of lightning rod for psychological and cultural change.
You can tell when someone has crossed real thresholds in their life.
You can feel it.
There is a difference between someone who has metabolized experience and someone who is still hanging out in the hallway, pontificating about thresholds.
We know the difference when we meet it.
And I think that is what many of us are hungry for here: not more performance, not more recycled wisdom, not another spiritual snack tray of quotes, but writing that has actually passed through a life.
Reading this 'V-shaped' comment helped me put things in perspective about what I am doing here.
In the first half, I got increasingly disillusioned about the state of affairs on Substack as it becomes a social media platform. As someone who never posted a word on Facebook and quit Twitter long before it got 'X-ed out' I thought to myself "I'm not cut out for this." The platform you described looked foreign to me.
But then you flipped it around and talked about what gives you hope. Then I saw myself. I have no idea how many subscribers I have beyond 1 paid subscriber who is a friend of mine. My weekly publishing schedule that I began in January slowed down to a complete halt by March as I decided to focus on quality rather than quantity. For me, Substack is like a garage where I work on assembling a custom vehicle that may eventually help move certain people. Currently the parts are all over the shop floor.
I'm ok with that. I'm in no rush. But I really do appreciate the optimism you share in the rising portion of your comment. At least I know I'm not alone in my mad undertaking.
Thanks for your reply Philipp. I agree Substack is the best alternative. But I think it might be useful to describe my experience so far
The thing is, being a Social Media 'immigrant', I had no idea what the rules were (still not sure). I could understand Substack from a technological point of view, but I could not understand the culture. At all.
Like a baby duck, I followed the first movement I saw - I signed up for an annual subscription to a (wait for it) growth hacker 'club'. Immediately I was lost in the fog of self-referencing, pointless activity.
For months, I reallv began to doubt the value of Substack. I couldn't find anyone who was writing about anything I cared about. I didn't realize it at the time, but the algorithm had locked me into the growth hacker universe. I even tried to find an actual writer that I could hire to show me what to do. Eventually I got help from Burk who generously would not accept any payment.
It was only when the algorithm found a semantic overlap and served up one of your Notes that was *critiquing* growth-hacker-ism, that it pointed me to a way out. I ran for exit, the algorithm 'noticed' and flipped into an anti-growth-hacker mode. And since then, it has slowly morphed into a wider spectrum.
So in many ways, 'signing up' for Substack, with the sheer mass of its algorithm, reminds of walking my untrained, anti-social, 150lb rescue Rottie. Steering is an acquired skill. For now, it's much easier to stay out of sight, in my back yard, occasionally tossing a ball at him while scribbling in my notebook. But I remain optimistic for the future, and plan to step out again when I have something to steer towards.
Micha. You are so awake and in the best explorative, discovery, creative mode. Your garage metaphor is absolutely brilliant—and honestly, it's a masterclass in what it means to create something that has actually "passed through a life."
There is immense integrity and confidence in having engine parts all over the shop floor while you take the time to assemble a custom vehicle. In a digital culture obsessed with mass-producing identical plastic tricycles, choosing a slow, mad garage build is its own glorious act of rebellion. Let the algorithm have its high-speed assembly line; I'd much rather read whatever custom, roaring machine you are building in there.
You are definitely not alone in this mad undertaking. Keep sweeping the floor and tinkering at your own pace. The right people will absolutely be ready to hitch a ride when it rolls out of the shop. And probably before as they want to watch your work.
Thanks for this generous feedback Thom. Despite my wilful thumbing-of-my-nose at the Substack algorithm, it is a real boost to find resonance like this.
One thing I can say about Substack is that once in a while we make really worthwhile connections and I'm glad we crossed paths today.
- Micha
P.s.
Lol, in my first reply to you I may have inadvertently drafted a new profile blurb. I'm going to give that some thought.
Every platform ages the same way: tools become theaters. The writers who survive the transition are the ones whose work would survive the platform’s death. An owned list and a body of work was never a growth strategy. It’s an evacuation plan.
I do understand the complaints. Writers who have been here for awhile don't want change. But the truth is, if it was working the old way, why change at all? With that said, Substack is evolving for a new economy in the age of AI. It is creating a platform for entrepreneurs. If it stayed the old way it most likely would die, or be irrelevant which leads to death of any platform.
the weak mindset struggle painfully, forcing themselves to suppress the longing for likes.
the strong mindset transform their relationship with likes. When likes come, they give thanks for genuine resonance. When none arrive, they give thanks for fulfilling self-expression. Once the inner disposition shifts, outward conduct changes naturally.
The platform is a martial arena with its inherent rules. Yet you are a wanderer on this path, and a wanderer answers only to their original aspiration.
I am new here and have been thinking about community. Community takes time to build, which begs the question, where do I want to spend my time? It may be here, but I refuse to let it take all, or even most of my time. I do appreciate finding writing that resonates with me, and so, here I am ready to read and write, selectively.
This is a very good piece, and I recognise myself in it more than I would like to. Because I am frustrated. Very frustrated.
I write Notes. I write longer pieces. I think they are good. At least I believe they are worth reading. And most of the time, nothing happens. Maybe one like. Very rarely a reply. Even more rarely a repost.
I reply to many people. I read their Notes. I engage. I try to add something real. And still, most of the time, nothing comes back.
So yes, I have also reached the point where I ask myself: Why should I keep writing when hardly anybody sees it anyway?
And then someone says: “Write for yourself.”
Great. Then I write for myself.
But honestly, that does not make much sense to me. I do not sit here for four hours, eight hours, or three days writing a public piece only for myself. I do not need to write it for myself. I already know what I think.
Publishing means that you want it to reach somebody. That somebody reads it. Maybe thinks about it. Maybe responds. Maybe disagrees. Maybe something happens between people.
Otherwise I could simply leave it in my head.
So yes, I agree with you that cynicism can become comfortable. I agree that blaming the algorithm for everything can become another way of giving up responsibility.
But culture is not created by telling invisible writers to keep writing meaningful things while everybody continues to look mainly at the people who are already visible.
It does not work like that.
And it also cannot always be the less visible people reading, replying to, and supporting those who already have an audience, while hardly anybody looks back. Those who are already seen also have to look at those who are still trying to be seen. They have to read them. Respond to them. Share them sometimes. Notice them. Otherwise we are not creating a different culture. We are only rebuilding the same structure inside a new platform.
Writing something real is one part of it.
The other part is not only asking for attention, but giving it.
Because resonance does not happen by itself. Somebody has to answer.
And I think this is where the real difficulty starts.
Karina, I would not underestimate the power of writing down ones own thought. It changes things.
Beyond that, I feel like there are two different worlds at play here:
-The world of art. Fundamentally, this world acknowledges that the audience’s perception cannot be anticipated. It does not even matter. What matters is that you create in alignment to your inner truth. Stay close to the vision, the initial spark, the core feeling. Any outside resonance will happen when it happens. It cannot be forced without contaminating the essence.
-The world of business. Here, the audience matters. You adjust your work to create resonance. Because you have a product to sell, and the vision you had needs to be flexible / strong enough to accommodate the market.
I think you need to think about what you want out of this platform. If it is maximum engagement, you may be interested in growth hacks. If it is deep connection, trust in yourself, and be genuine. Every little connection is incredibly valuable - be it on substack, or anywhere else (perhaps even the analog world?) Gratitude for the little things.
Wishing you all the best ❤️ The numbers are secondary - sincerely: someone with very small numbers.
What a beautiful comment LaBrea.
❤️
I feel that my point has been misunderstood here.
I was not talking about maximum engagement, growth hacks, numbers, or changing my writing to please a market.
I was talking about public writing. About resonance between people. About the fact that visibility cannot always go in one direction.
And your answer is again: write for yourself, stay authentic, be grateful for the little things, perhaps even look to the analog world.
That is, in essence, the same answer again, only expressed softer.
I am a published author. I have just finished my third book. I publish articles regularly — my last article appeared in February, and the next one will be published in September. I know what writing does. I know that writing something down changes things. And I also know the difference between writing privately and publishing publicly.
Public writing seeks a reader. A response. Someone on the other side. Otherwise I can leave it in my head or in a private document.
And no, this is not about contaminating art or chasing numbers.
It is about people who are hardly visible constantly reading, answering, supporting, commenting on, and sharing those who are already visible, while very little comes back from the other side.
That is the point.
You cannot talk about culture, connection, and community while attention keeps flowing only in one direction.
And telling the person who receives almost nothing back to trust herself, stay genuine, and be grateful for every tiny connection does not answer that point. It makes the point smaller than it is.
Art does not stop being art because it wants to be received.
Publishing is not the same as writing for yourself.
I hear you, and apologies, for my first response failed to acknowledge that struggle. The struggle is real. It sounds rough what you’re going through.
Looking at the times I felt unseen, it’s one of the worst feelings I’ve experienced - as if the world wasn’t just rejecting, but outright ignoring me. Cultivating a sense of gratitude for the little things helped me a lot, but there’s no universal solution for these things, and we obviously have different ambitions.
Have you found an angle to deal with this situation? Especially in times dominated by algorithms and tiny attention spans it appears to me more important than ever to elevate voices unheard. I’m curious how you feel about the future of this all.
I think this is an essay worth writing.
Can we discuss it in Dms.
Thank you for acknowledging that you misunderstood parts of my first comment. But I have to be honest: parts of your reply still feel condescending to me.
“Cultivating a sense of gratitude for the little things” again turns this into a question of how I personally manage my feelings. As if the problem might be that I am not grateful enough for the little that comes back.
And “we obviously have different ambitions” misses my point again. Our ambitions are irrelevant here. This is not about whether someone wants ten readers or ten thousand. It is about the fact that public writing seeks connection, response, and exchange.
You ask whether I have found an angle to deal with this situation. I think I already gave my answer.
For me, this is not mainly a question of finding a better personal coping strategy.
Culture does not change by teaching invisible people to cope better with being invisible. Those who are already visible have to act differently too.
You say it is important to elevate unheard voices. Yes. But that means actually reading them, responding to them, sharing them, and allowing attention to move in both directions.
That is not a personal coping strategy. It is a change in how people behave.
I feel this too Karina..
I write and no one reads or even hit the like botton. But with time I understand that these numbers likes, comments if craved constantly begins to do something bad to me. I begin to measure my self worth with these numbers. If I have let's say 50 likes in a post I am valuable. If I have 10 pr maybe no reaction then I am not.
As you described yourself i know that you have been writing for a long time.
Sometimes we need feedback.
All human beings want to be seen.
If you ask me I had tell you I want the likes, the comments and everything. I want feedback.
But also I have learnt that susbstack most of all is a one way media. Many people come hear for a human connection, to create and unknowingly they transform their self to start teaching about writing like it's the only thing that makes you a creative. They say if you want to see your mind write...
I don't write for myself and post it online. If I wanted to do that I would have gotten a diary.I write because I want to be relevant too.
I wish you the best of luck and remember don't let the algorithm decide who you will be as a creator.
Thank you. You understood what I was saying.
I agree with you that numbers can become dangerous when they start deciding how we feel about ourselves or our work. I do not want that either.
But no one writes publicly because they want their words to disappear into silence. We want resonance, connection, interaction, perhaps a conversation in which something can begin and grow.
And this sentence of yours is exactly it:
“I don't write for myself and post it online. If I wanted to do that I would have gotten a diary.”
That made me smile, because it is so true.
Thank you for reading all of this and for answering so honestly. I really appreciate it.
They call it "enshittification".
I find it hilarious that there are "creators" with thousands of followers but all they post is "tell me about your writing" or maybe try and sell access to a workshop.
Its like the old Geocities pages where you traded links for links with other people.
The worse ones are the people who have a platform and they hide it all behind a paywall.
Writers writing about writing about writing. Curious to see where it all goes - will this platform cannibalize itself? Will the new money bring in actual readers?
I find substack one of the better places on the internet. Every now and then, thanks to the algorithm putting it in front of me, an amazing piece of writing is discovered, that I would never have found on my own.
As far as my writing goes... Well... uuhm... Yeah. But I post a note everyday, not for the algorithm, but so it "sees" - heavens, this sounds wierd - but anyway, so that it sees I'm there, and so I get something out, for me, personally. And do a post once a week.
And yes... Crickets. But the followers are coming. Little by little. One here, another a month later. And to me, that's more precious than gold.
The sound of the crickets is the applause.
I’ve found a thriving neurodivergent community here writing from the inside of their own experience in ways I’ve never seen anywhere else.
I don’t write much, but I do produce podcast episodes with some of these thinkers. They aren’t viral, they take weeks to complete, but the work lands in a space that wants to know more.
Writing frequently still gets the most engagement, but I’ve found that deep inquiry also thrives online, albeit much less visibly.
I came across your article through Marisa’s comment. You astutely capture the deeper pattern: the unconscious noise bouncing off the walls of social engagement.
And that may be the real ache of it. There is often very little actual engagement.
So much of what passes for connection online is performance behavior dressed up as thought leadership, personal branding, curation, or “deep work,” which apparently now means arranging five familiar quotes into a bullet list and waiting for civilization to applaud.
We crave to be seen, validated, and understood, but many of us are terrified to actually be seen. So we perform instead.
And every performance enters the little marketplace of likes, metrics, replies, shares, and algorithmic reward. The result is strange and sad: people trying desperately to feel significant inside systems that often leave them feeling more hollow, more reactive, and more unseen.
That is the trap.
What still gives me hope is that the people who keep showing up with real courage, originality, honesty, and creative humanity become a kind of lightning rod for psychological and cultural change.
You can tell when someone has crossed real thresholds in their life.
You can feel it.
There is a difference between someone who has metabolized experience and someone who is still hanging out in the hallway, pontificating about thresholds.
We know the difference when we meet it.
And I think that is what many of us are hungry for here: not more performance, not more recycled wisdom, not another spiritual snack tray of quotes, but writing that has actually passed through a life.
Reading this 'V-shaped' comment helped me put things in perspective about what I am doing here.
In the first half, I got increasingly disillusioned about the state of affairs on Substack as it becomes a social media platform. As someone who never posted a word on Facebook and quit Twitter long before it got 'X-ed out' I thought to myself "I'm not cut out for this." The platform you described looked foreign to me.
But then you flipped it around and talked about what gives you hope. Then I saw myself. I have no idea how many subscribers I have beyond 1 paid subscriber who is a friend of mine. My weekly publishing schedule that I began in January slowed down to a complete halt by March as I decided to focus on quality rather than quantity. For me, Substack is like a garage where I work on assembling a custom vehicle that may eventually help move certain people. Currently the parts are all over the shop floor.
I'm ok with that. I'm in no rush. But I really do appreciate the optimism you share in the rising portion of your comment. At least I know I'm not alone in my mad undertaking.
- Micha
That’s the thing. Substack IS social media. By signing up here, we accept the rules of the game. And I agree, Substack is still the best alternative.
Thanks for your reply Philipp. I agree Substack is the best alternative. But I think it might be useful to describe my experience so far
The thing is, being a Social Media 'immigrant', I had no idea what the rules were (still not sure). I could understand Substack from a technological point of view, but I could not understand the culture. At all.
Like a baby duck, I followed the first movement I saw - I signed up for an annual subscription to a (wait for it) growth hacker 'club'. Immediately I was lost in the fog of self-referencing, pointless activity.
For months, I reallv began to doubt the value of Substack. I couldn't find anyone who was writing about anything I cared about. I didn't realize it at the time, but the algorithm had locked me into the growth hacker universe. I even tried to find an actual writer that I could hire to show me what to do. Eventually I got help from Burk who generously would not accept any payment.
It was only when the algorithm found a semantic overlap and served up one of your Notes that was *critiquing* growth-hacker-ism, that it pointed me to a way out. I ran for exit, the algorithm 'noticed' and flipped into an anti-growth-hacker mode. And since then, it has slowly morphed into a wider spectrum.
So in many ways, 'signing up' for Substack, with the sheer mass of its algorithm, reminds of walking my untrained, anti-social, 150lb rescue Rottie. Steering is an acquired skill. For now, it's much easier to stay out of sight, in my back yard, occasionally tossing a ball at him while scribbling in my notebook. But I remain optimistic for the future, and plan to step out again when I have something to steer towards.
- Micha
Micha. You are so awake and in the best explorative, discovery, creative mode. Your garage metaphor is absolutely brilliant—and honestly, it's a masterclass in what it means to create something that has actually "passed through a life."
There is immense integrity and confidence in having engine parts all over the shop floor while you take the time to assemble a custom vehicle. In a digital culture obsessed with mass-producing identical plastic tricycles, choosing a slow, mad garage build is its own glorious act of rebellion. Let the algorithm have its high-speed assembly line; I'd much rather read whatever custom, roaring machine you are building in there.
You are definitely not alone in this mad undertaking. Keep sweeping the floor and tinkering at your own pace. The right people will absolutely be ready to hitch a ride when it rolls out of the shop. And probably before as they want to watch your work.
Thanks for this generous feedback Thom. Despite my wilful thumbing-of-my-nose at the Substack algorithm, it is a real boost to find resonance like this.
One thing I can say about Substack is that once in a while we make really worthwhile connections and I'm glad we crossed paths today.
- Micha
P.s.
Lol, in my first reply to you I may have inadvertently drafted a new profile blurb. I'm going to give that some thought.
Thanks for your thoughtful and very accurate comment Thom.
This is my fuel to ignore the noise. It’s proof that the right people are still here. They are just more quiet than the performers.
We’re human. First we destroy. Then we suffer. Then we grow.
Break the machine. Organize an “Unsubscribe Day”. Drop every sub, every follow. Let the algorithm parasite suck on that a while.
Extremely helpful Phillip thank you for all the work you put into this … Seeker here 🐝
Yea, this is enshittification and every platform does it.
being YOUR own voice.
Every platform ages the same way: tools become theaters. The writers who survive the transition are the ones whose work would survive the platform’s death. An owned list and a body of work was never a growth strategy. It’s an evacuation plan.
I do understand the complaints. Writers who have been here for awhile don't want change. But the truth is, if it was working the old way, why change at all? With that said, Substack is evolving for a new economy in the age of AI. It is creating a platform for entrepreneurs. If it stayed the old way it most likely would die, or be irrelevant which leads to death of any platform.
I think the problem is not the changes in technology but the changes in values.
The arguments in this article are crystal clear.
"Know what to do and what not to do."
These represent two distinct cultural attributes.
the weak mindset struggle painfully, forcing themselves to suppress the longing for likes.
the strong mindset transform their relationship with likes. When likes come, they give thanks for genuine resonance. When none arrive, they give thanks for fulfilling self-expression. Once the inner disposition shifts, outward conduct changes naturally.
The platform is a martial arena with its inherent rules. Yet you are a wanderer on this path, and a wanderer answers only to their original aspiration.
This reminds me of a Neil Postman quote from Technopoly:
“Once a technology is admitted, it plays out its hand; it does what it is designed to do.”
Pretty fitting.
I was asking Labrea.
But it's an issue worth discussing.
You are welcome to join us.
I was thinking of collaborating with Labrea .maybe we could write an essay about this issue sometime in the future.
Labrea was asking maybe there is an angle to take to deal with this situation especially in times dominated by algorithms and tiny attention spans
Ironic, huh?
Substack is a healthy kind of social media.
I am new here and have been thinking about community. Community takes time to build, which begs the question, where do I want to spend my time? It may be here, but I refuse to let it take all, or even most of my time. I do appreciate finding writing that resonates with me, and so, here I am ready to read and write, selectively.