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.

Put something new on your website, and link it in your next newsletter. Your newsletter isn’t your permanent address, it’s a delivery truck. Build an archive of work on your website and link to your stuff from your newsletter!

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.

I’m working with a client who writes magnificent 3,000 word essays. They’re well researched, beautifully arranged, and they’re starting to gain traction and getting paid subscribers.

The problem is; they write a 3,000 word essays every week.

If this were their full time job, this would be great. But it’s a side thing, and side things can easily start to crowd into other areas of our lives if we let them. And when it’s work we love doing, it happens quick, before we even realize it.

Your newsletter writing shouldn’t be a prison sentence. It shouldn’t feel like digging ditches. It shouldn’t be fraught with stress, or like dealing with a horrible boss. None of these things are desirable, and yet so many times we create these situations for ourself.

We get so wrapped up in the moment, in the performance, and we see a sliver of it working, and we lean in.

Before we know it, we’ve painted ourselves into a corner.

But I have good news: you’re the artist. You’re the conductor. You’re the band leader. You’re the director, the captain of the ship.

You got yourself into this situation, and you can get yourself out. Otherwise you burn out, resentment builds, and you’re working this new job for yourself that doesn’t pay the rent.

It’s okay to take your foot off the gas. It’s okay to write one 3,000 word essay 12 times a year.

If you need the extra day of travel time to show up bright and refreshed for a talk or a performance, take it, because otherwise you’re putting on a different kind of show, trying to impress everyone else except yourself.

We’re trying to be our own boss, so don’t be a bad one.

Believe that your true fans will probably stick around. Let the other people leave, that’s okay. There are thousands of people out there today who’ve never heard or seen your work, who have no idea exist.

What then?

What happens when they do find your writing, or your music, or your artwork, but your latest output was from seven years ago?

You crashed and burned because you piled up too many expectations of yourself, trying to meet some un-said protocol, trusting gurus instead of your gut.

The saying “it’s a marathon, not a sprint” doesn’t even apply here because marathons hurt, too, but in a different way.

Writing is still hard work, yes, but it shouldn’t leave you sore.

We’re going to see more of this in the months to come.

“The London Marathon will no longer post on X after its race director Hugh Brasher said the social media platform had “ceased to be a positive place“.

The London Marathon’s official account, which has 191,000 followers, last posted on X on 17 January 2025.”

The London Marathon probably has quite an email list, and decades of branding behind it. But don’t let that stop you from leaving places or platforms that no longer feel right.

Link via Fast Women.

Kate Ellen and I (mostly Kate!) wrote ‘Ghosting Spotify: A How-To Guide‘ which got people talking.

We laid out why she pulled her music from Spotify: the streams weren’t translating into real support, and the platform made it almost impossible to build direct relationships with listeners.

We talked about how Spotify keeps people inside its walls, as listeners don’t click through to emails, don’t buy vinyl, don’t follow links. The listening numbers might look cool on paper, but they rarely lead to anything that pays the bills or creates momentum. Leaving forced Katie to focus on places where people actually show up, like Bandcamp, her website, and her email list.

Once she made that shift, she started seeing repeat buyers and more meaningful conversations. We dug into how owning the audience gives you room to experiment — releasing small projects, selling limited runs, offering commissions — instead of hoping a playlist bump solves everything.

The takeaway wasn’t “streaming is evil,” but that depending on Spotify (or social media!) as the center of your work keeps you stuck waiting for something that rarely materializes.

Our relationship soured in his later years, but boy, could he play the guitar.

My musician friends would talk with him about scales and modes, astonished at his musical knowledge. They shared laughs and insights. He spoke with them and his students (he taught guitar out of his house) like old pals, just hamming it up.

Not with me, though.

He gave me a few lessons, but for some reason he never poured out that same enthusiasm.

Like they say, artists are complicated people.

I ended up with his guitar when he passed. I had zero intention of ever playing it, and just knew it’d take up space in the figurative and literal sense.

An old musician friend came to town recently. A buddy that my dad shared a musical conversation with many years ago. This friend spoke glowingly of my dad, blown away by the depth of his musician wisdom and knowledge.

So I gave him the guitar.

I’d rather it go to someone who won’t resent it, or let it waste away. I’m bitter, but my friend is joyous. He’s sent me several photos already.

“I’m at a guitar show,” he told me, “and the luthiers are flipping out at the guitar. It’s mid 70s. They are guessing a mint condition would be around four grand. I was about right saying three.”

It’s just a guitar, and I connected too much with it for it to be useful to me. I’m believing in the hands of someone else it can do so much more, and so far I’ve been proven right.

In the end we own nothing, and we’re always able to give it away.

From ‘Where does blogging fit in your newsletter strategy?’

First, publish freely on your own site. When stuck, employ constraints. Follow-up anywhere else you want. This keeps you healthy, curious, and prolific.

Remember, anything can be a blog post. Not everything can be YouTube video, a podcast, or pithy quote for social media.

The full post is gold, really.

I’ve been saying for awhile now, your subscribers eat first (a play on the old “Instagram eats first” saying). They deserve your gold, your finest work, your biggest news.

But really – “publish freeling on your own site.”

Do this for years and see what happens.

(via Rhoneisms)