Category: WritingCategory: Writing

I’m always telling you to have an email list, but it’s only going to be helpful if your newsletter is worth opening.

Is your email showing up like those messy grocery store flyers we all get in the mail?

That’s the sort of noise we easily tune out, knowing we won’t really miss out on anything if we ignore it.

But those vinyl record deliveries, that package of zines, artwork, or art supplies we ordered – those feel different, right?

These are things we’re looking forward to. We ordered something, and then we keep an eye out for those shipping updates. Delivery confirmations.

But then we all get emails like this everyday.

”New merch in our store”
”Deals ending soon”
”New workshop announced”

Sure, these can work. They’re serviceable. “Don’t ask, don’t get.” I get it!

But consider this email from Lauren Denitzio, of the band Worriers, with this subject line: ”Tips for tour and life.”

Everyday we get emails asking for something; buy now, book soon, pre-orders available.

But how many emails are we getting that are giving us something, too?

How many creative beings send out emails of stories, unraveling the wonders of life by way of their unique viewpoint?

• Like Lauren above, sharing tips for life while also promoting their hand written lyric sheets.
• Like Cody Cook-Parrott sharing how they got XC skiing equipment for free during their spending ban while also promoting a limited edition version of their new book.
• Like Tom Bland and Diana Pappas who decided to live blog the making of their latest photographic art drop.

You’ve already done the hard part; you’re a photographer, a painter, a professional mountain biker, a comic book maker.

We just need to use that same creative vision to talk about the work we do in our own unique way.

If our newsletters stopped acting like product catalogs, maybe our newsletter becomes something that people won’t want to miss.

I got a great question from Maja Lampa asking about using a stand-alone blogging platform like Pika versus using Substack.

Deciding between Pika (or any stand-alone blogging platform) and Substack depends on what you’re trying to achieve.

Pika gives you more control but no built-in audience, so driving traffic is entirely up to you.

If you want a nice quiet corner on the internet, then Pika is great!

Substack, however, has a built-in network to help readers find your work and makes it super easy to grow an email list, which I think is super important at whatever level you’re at.

Again – it depends on what you’re trying to achieve. I love the built-in network that Substack provides because it makes it super easy for people to subscribe and get my posts in their inbox.

That means if someday I leave Substack, I can export my email list and set up shop somewhere else, and my fans won’t have to find me elsewhere or re-subscribe on another platform.

I found out my dad died on July 30th, 2024.

We don’t know the exact time he passed, but he died alone in a trailer park in Florida. We didn’t have much of a relationship in the last seven or so years of his life for reasons I won’t go into, but I want to share a bit about his music.

My dad was an absolute music theory genius. He spoke in keys and modes and time signatures. He could play multiple instruments, listen to a song once, and play it for you backward and forward.

When I was a kid, he played in a country rock band called The Buckaroos, playing at ski resorts on the weekends and clubs during the week. He made good money playing guitar in the eighties.

Live music started to fade in our area, so he started teaching music out of his house. One of his students was a fiddle player who moved to Nashville and toured with a notable country artist or two.

In his later years, he’d seek out bass players and drummers, always looking to form a jazz trio. He had some luck getting gigs back in PA and later in Florida.

But when these groups fell apart, so did he.

He would still play at home, with his little Polytone amp that he bought in the 80s, playing his be-bop jazz and whatever else came out from his decades of experience.

While loading up our rental car with some of his belongings to take home, a neighbor named Otto pulled up, rolled down his window, and asked, “do you a photo of Ronnie I could have?”

My sister found a photo during the two days we cleaned out his trailer. It was newer, a shot in a grassy backyard, wearing his fancy shoes and his beret.

He loved that fucking beret.

“We would sit outside and listen to your dad play,” said Otto.

I handed him the photo that my sister found.

He didn’t say a word, but his eyes welled up.

“I’m glad you got to hear him play,” I said, and Otto drove away.

Dad’s idea of “success” was having a group so he could get booked at local venues. Without that, life seemed not… worth living.

And yet, his neighbors loved hearing the music he played.

It’s a lie that you’re not a real musician if you’re not booked at an actual venue.

The lie is real artists are in galleries, their names are on marquees, they have engineers setting up expensive mics in a studio in the hills.

The biggest lie is we have to make our entire living on the sale of our art, or else we’re just no-talent wannabes.

So many artists fall for this, feeling like 100 views isn’t enough, and they stop because “no one cares.”

I wake up thinking about the artists, poets, writers, and musicians we’ve lost because they couldn’t keep up with the “hitting it big” rat race of social media.

Somehow, 10,000 views aren’t enough because you really need 100,000. Having 12 people at a show on a Tuesday night is a waste of time. No one buys your art because you’re not making enough Reels.

It’s lies, it’s all bullshit.

Otto probably has that photo of my dad on his refrigerator or next to his record player.

The world doesn’t need another hot-take reaction to Spotify rates, or Instagram impressions – it needs you to release a three song demo you recorded you in your bedroom. Self-publish that piece of fiction.

Like the wise Cassidy Frost says:

“Go play a roller rink. Create your own festival. Tastemakers can’t take away your power if you’re creating a sick world around your music that other people want to be a part of. You have the tools. You don’t need the tastemakers.”

Someone needs your podcast episode about Edward Bouchet.

Someone in a small town would love to read your essay about landlocked countries.

You need to go to that open mic night and sing that song the universe dropped in your lap three months ago because someone in the crowd really needs to hear it.

Like Amy Stewart wrote, you need to “Be the Artist-in-Residence of Your World.”

Don’t wait for external validation from someone who just needs to fill up a Tuesday night, or fill a slot in their editorial calendar.

Don’t wait, don’t wait, don’t you dare wait to release your magic into the world because time spent waiting adds ups, and the regret compounds, and most of your belongings will end up in a dumpster a week after you die anyways.

Today Substack rolled out Substack Originals to go along with their new media tab in the app, and I got this question from Johnathan Dodson, which I answer above.

I think two things are true here:

1. Video and audio can be a great way to deepen your connection with your audience (heck, it’s what I’m doing right now).
2. You should do it only if you want to do it.

I reference Beth Spencer and the amazing work she does with her drawing sessions on Zoom, but she also makes videos for some of her posts, too.

A video like that brings you just a little bit closer to Beth. If you’re a fan, well, you’re probably a little bit more of a fan after watching that clip, you know?

At the same time, if the thought of talking on camera makes you sick to your stomach, then yeah, it’s probably a good idea to skip making videos. Or find a way to make videos in your own style, like Marcus does with his Probably Riding channel on Youtube.

I love how Marcus shares his love of riding bikes without ever doing the whole “talking into a camera” thing.

Photographer Noah Kalina walks around the woods and answers questions from his audience.

You can even just record small audio clips and upload those right to your posts, and those are wonderful, too! You don’t even need to make a full podcast – single blips of audio are still wonderful!

I don’t think you’ll get left behind by Substack if you don’t start making videos. Just focus on the subscribers you have in front of you today. Those are the people you need to build with, before you ever need to hope to get “promoted” by some official Substack channel.

A decent ChatGPT prompt could write you some copy for a new product, an upcoming tour, or a fancy new thing. Sure.

“Hey, new podcast episode!”

It just lays out the facts. The dates. The logistics.

But friends, there’s enough safe, dull, dry text out there, and we don’t need more.

Your work comes to life from your magic.

Don’t stop using your magic when talking about your work.

As Courtney Romano wrote recently:

“If you’re not creating an experience (aka something that has ups and downs and richness and depth and confusion and friction and tension and delight), then no one will pay attention. There are just too many other things to do.”

I hate to say you’re competing with other artists, authors, musicians, photographers… but… the people you’re trying to reach are busy watching Netflix, going to shows, walking around bookstores, going to exciting restaurants, swimming, kissing!

You don’t need to buy billboards or hire an agency to get the word out. You don’t need to make “video assets” or use trending audio.

But you must do better than “new thing!”

Paul Rudd doesn’t go on late-night TV shows, say, “Hello, my new movie comes out this Friday,” and walk off set.

He tells stories that aren’t even related to the movie. This comes easy for him because he’s been making movies since the early 90s, but still – HE IS USING HIS MAGIC.

In fact, he started a running gag with Conan O’Brien by not showing a clip from the movies he’s promoting. Instead, he’d show a clip of 1998’s ‘Mac and Me’ over and over again, for many years.

Only Paul Rudd could do that Mac and Me thing because he’s Paul Rudd. No computer – no other human – could provide the magic he brings.

You don’t need to perform outlandish stunts and hacks to promote your finished work, but you can do better than a dumb computer.

As an artist, you’ve got the same spark, the same magic inside you, just waiting to be set free. It probably won’t look like what other people are doing, but it can still resonate with the people you’re trying to reach because it’s 1000% you.