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)

Sarah Fay and I focused on how people are using Substack right now, especially the temptation to treat Notes like another social feed to optimize and post constantly.

We talked about slowing that reflex down and prioritizing email subscribers instead—saving strong ideas for newsletters, reposting things from Notes into emails so subscribers actually see them, and measuring success by retention rather than public subscriber counts. The emphasis was on engagement, keeping people on the list, and treating email as the primary channel rather than chasing visibility inside Substack itself. 

We also covered practical approaches to writing, video, and business models on Substack. That included writing in a way that feels natural, publishing without waiting for perfection, and getting comfortable sending work to small groups before larger audiences.

On the business side, we talked about proximity, like keeping most work public while charging for closer access through Zoom calls or live discussions, and using Substack as a tool that supports existing goals rather than becoming another platform to manage. We also discussed live video formats, replays, YouTube workarounds, and treating Substack as a professional practice without overcomplicating the model. 

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.

Mario’s been shipping The Morning Shakeout every Tuesday for almost a decade, and the through-line is simple: doing the work every week is the “trick. It’s not hacks, not social reach, not “growth systems.”

We talked about how having your own website isn’t optional if you want staying power, how platforms come and go but archives and backlinks keep paying dividends, and why consistency beats trying to manufacture viral hits.

Mario’s approach is boring in the best way: show up, write, publish, repeat, and do it long enough that people can’t ignore you, and long enough that you actually figure out what you’re here to say.

I sat down with Tim Bailey to talk about his “31 pieces in 31 days” experiment, and how making things regularly helps you notice patterns in your thinking instead of waiting for one “big” idea that never comes.

We also got into the tension between wanting an audience but doing it with grace, as in sharing what feels true right now, keep your sanity, and ignoring the algorithm.

So much of our conversation came back to making work you can live with, and letting the rest take the time it needs.

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.