Category: WorkCategory: Work

​What this is: Casual Zoom hang out where we work on our own websites, talk about why having a website is important, riffing on “your blog eats first,” and why not to put all our work on platforms we don’t control

​What this isn’t: a tutorial on building sites, an SEO seminar, a deep dive into HTML and CSS, and other super technical things

Tuesday, May 13
9:00 AM – 11:00 AM EDT

Register here: https://lu.ma/6pc8c308

We used to blog a few times a week, and update our websites. But then we started shoveling our work onto the social media platforms by the truck load. At some point making billboards for our work became the work.

Those platforms would then reward us views, likes, impressions, comments, and most importantly – FOLLOWERS. The whole system was optimized for this: make it easy to post often, and then reap the so-called rewards. Some posts would “hit” because the casino had to pay out – otherwise, people stop playing.

Some of us left social media is various forms, shuttering one account, but maybe holding onto another. We leave, we go back. It’s like a toxic relationship we seemingly can’t quit, because there are conference rooms filled with highly paid people fighting for their livelihoods, doing whatever they need to keep people locked into their platforms.

As Alex Dobrenko says, “the casinos are very good at commodifying all attempts to leave their grasp.”

So when we consider untangling from the idea of, “well, that’s just the way things are,” it feels isolating. This is mostly because when we hit publish on a blog post, nothing happens. We run back to social media to get that one LIKE in the first few minutes. Someone will drop a “nice” comment, or a heart emoji.

When we send a newsletter we just get open rates, and how many people clicked. Or in the case of Substack, we get likes and re-stacks and views.

Some of those numbers tell stories, like a 10% open rate, sure. But we can’t lose sleep when our open rate drops from the week prior. There are real people on the other side of those numbers. People with jobs, family emergencies, break ups, and dentist appointments. Sometimes our work is not the most important thing at that very moment for our audience.

And it’s important to remember all this metric-gazing didn’t happen overnight.

The three tech overlords played a part in all of this; the phone makers, the data suppliers, and the platform barons. Their influence has become the technological equivalent of micro-plastics, embedded deep in our brains and culture.

Avoiding the influence of this unholy trinity will take time, but we’ve got to start somewhere. New rituals, new habits. Hit publish and go for a walk, or call a friend. Get some space between ourselves and the work. Otherwise we allow our work to sift through the never ending filter of commerce and metrics, and that’s not how we want to operate.

Someone said in a recent Escape Pod Zoom call that back in the day a writer might finish their new book, and… that would be it. No social media to check, no unending feed of six second video clips to get lost in. No followers or view counts to monitor.

The work was done, and then it was quiet. Maybe it’s supposed to be quiet.

I contributed my “5 Rules For a Good Newsletter” to Carolyn Yoo’s ‘Rules to Live By: 18 Creative Manifestos’ risograph zine, available now in print or digital format. Limited edition, so get yours today!

It was fun to bust out the Sharpie markers and make sure I kept things inside the lines for this zine that features Coleen Baik, Dan Blank, Anna Brones, Lian Cho, Kristen Drozdowski, Kelcey Ervick, Petya Grady, Amelia Hruby, Nishant Jain, Adam Ming, Jenna Park, Meera Lee Patel, Michelle Pellizzon, Beth Spencer, Nina Veteto, and Mitchell Volk.

Bradley Spitzer got me thinking about doughnuts.

The two of us have been on wild paths over the last 25+ years, and we seem to always be making things like websites and/or random projects.

He mentioned a documentary on Netflix about psychologist Phil Stutz, about how someone can plan all you want for opening a doughnut shop.

“They could spend all their time researching—figuring out the business model, how many glazed versus chocolate sprinkle donuts to make, all of that. And that’s valuable! But the real learning begins the first 15 minutes that shop is open. That’s when it gets real.”

When we get the ideas out of our head and into the world, they become tangible. They breathe the air of the real world and become alive.

We learn if the song we wrote resonates.
If the photos we took made a friend gasp.
If our essay gets picked for publication.

When I launched the Noisecreep metal blog for AOL Music back in 2008, I made a big editorial calendar of regular features that’d be published on certain days of the week.

But once we published on our first post – when our thing was out there in the real world – record labels, publicists, and other industry folk saw what we just launched (AOL Music was the #1 music site on the internet in 2008), and suddenly my inbox was filling up with pitches. I was getting phone calls.

The energy shifted when the thing became real.

I later found this quote from Stutz, “the world of doughnut eaters will give us the information we need” (from his book ‘Lessons for Living: What Only Adversity Can Teach You’).

Make the work you want to make, then look for the flicker of a green light, a signal to keep moving. The people you’re trying to reach will let you know if it resonates. If it’s “working.”

I’m not saying to let the masses guide our creative output, but if we’re looking to make an impact, or maybe just pay the rent, it helps if people actually care enough to share it, buy it, and/or talk about it.

A lot of us are like a local shop with a non-descript name, no clear offering in the window, and nothing that sets us apart from anybody else.

If you don’t put a sign in your window that says COFFEE in big bright lights, people won’t randomly walk in and order coffee.

Instead, we’re hoping to attract as many people as possible, thinking we’ll win over a few fans by way of luck and self-selection.

We’ll link to a pre-order or a Patreon once, but we don’t wanna seem too pushy, so we won’t mention again for another few weeks.

It’s a lot easier when we send clear signals about what we’re looking to do and who we are. We then attract the right people, pulling them into our creative orbit.

So it’s not about going “viral” and crossing our fingers for more subscribers, it’s about getting the right subscribers on our list.

You don’t need a million followers, you need like 200 hardcore fans to make a difference. Then once you get those subscribers, deliver your best work to them on a consistent basis.

Those are the people familiar enough with your work who will understand that yes, you might post about our upcoming book a few times. To your fans it’s not annoying, it’s part of the way things work in 2025.

If they don’t like it, they can unsubscribe. Later.

For example, if you’re been reading this newsletter for awhile, you know I enjoy helping people get away from social media platforms, build an email list, resurrect their website, and build a community along the way to help each other accomplish this work.

• I send two newsletters a week.
• Paid subscribers can join my weekly Zoom calls.
• I offer Email Guidance if you’re seeking personalized help.
• Those are my photos at the top of every post.
• I make soundscapes for interplanetary commuting.

When you know what you’re doing, and who you’re for, it’s easier to find the other weirdos and freaks who get what you’re doing and want to come along on your adventure.

You don’t need a map or a manifesto for this, you just need a compass.

• There’s musicians that don’t play bars or link to Spotify.
• Authors who make block prints.
• Artists who only sell their work via their email list.
• Photographers that make videos about building fences.
• Teachers with French He-Man posters in the background.

The art of “being authentic” online isn’t just “sharing bad stuff, too” but building boundaries and sending the right signals for curious onlookers to recognize from afar.

It’s okay to not be for everybody, because you don’t actually need everybody to make a living, or get the word out.

A bunch of people who love your work could be enough, but those people might need to be reminded on occasion about the work you’re truly trying to make.