Discover more from As I Was Saying with Poorna Bell
Navigating the Substack overwhelm even when you’ve been writing for years
On imposter syndrome, writer's block and the comparison hellscape
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Here’s the thing no one will really tell you, when it comes to writing. Particularly writing books or any other set-up such as Substack which requires having to consistently write.
You might have gotten into writing because you think it will make you happy, but most of us don’t continue as writers because we think it will make us happy.
Anyone who has ever published a book will tell you that while getting an agent and getting a publishing deal can create moments of extreme happiness (and relief), these are fleeting moments in the grand scheme of writing and then publishing the book.
Those of us who write do it for a much bigger set of emotions such as fulfilment, agony, joy, love. Put simply: the catharsis. And sure, money, but it is a rare person who writes only for that purpose.
We do it because there is no alternative. Because it is the human condition to emote and communicate, and this is the way we can do it that elevates it into something that transcends beyond the individual, to create something beautiful, something that connects every person who ever read something you wrote, and in doing so, makes your existence a little less lonely.
And here’s the other thing no one will tell you – even if you write five books, work 20-plus years as a journalist, started writing short stories from the age of seven, you will still experience moments of writing fear, fragments of imposter syndrome that perhaps you have used up all your writing juice, and nothing you write will ever be good enough. Maybe you stop writing altogether, maybe you change your writing, maybe you do a combination of lots of different methods and yet still remain unhappy with what you write.
If the whiff of self-projection hasn’t quite come through, let me be blunt: for the last three months on Substack, this is precisely where I have been dwelling. In fact, when I manage to crawl out of my self-pitying odysseys on occasion, I find myself shocked that I’m still able to feel this way despite being a seasoned writer. Despite being someone who is about to embark on their sixth book.
Substack is mostly an incredible place. Some days, I can’t believe how much good writing there is, and that there is this whole community of us who love reading and writing, and are united by that. I’ll go on Notes, fall down a rabbit holes of someone else’s design, and find myself lost in a world of words. Not all of these worlds are good. But most are wonderful. I turn their phrases over in my head, I think about how they made me look at even the most humble of things in a new light, how they changed how I feel about something and taught me something new. I marvel at the freshness of thought, the arrangement of sentences.
But at some point, the pink glow of that writing fades and I am left with: how the fuck am I going to compete with that?
And perhaps you may be thinking, well Poorna, not everything is a competition and shouldn’t we all sing kumbaya and praise each other’s writing? Yes, of course we should – but if we’re saying that writers are not competitive and do not compare and contrast, then I must respond with: Pinocchio, your nose is growing.
Just as with musicians and artists, we are all looking for our own unique expression of things. Most of us want our writing to be thought of as fresh and clever and for a reader to tell us it changed their life. And when we witness someone else’s extraordinary talent, it can make us question our own abilities and how we write. It can make us second guess which path we should take, the narratives we construct and what we write about.
While I hate being reacquainted with the uncertainty of my early writer days, perhaps it is a good thing because complacency is the death of anything creative. And, there is also a lesson to be learned in needing to push through the anxiety and imposter syndrome, in order to get to a closer approximation to what it is you actually want to create versus what other people on this platform are creating.
Because as much as I love it here, there is nothing guaranteed to make my eye-twitch more than the How To Make Your Substack Successful posts. While these can be helpful in providing a steer, I think they can be tricky reading for a number of reasons I’ve said before, starting with the basic fact that the variables might be different for people. That includes: whether someone migrated subscribers from another newsletter, whether they had help internally, whether they had an established follower base as a writer before coming on here and so on.
While I don’t believe writer’s block exists in the traditional understanding of it (there is no muse, or visiting spirit that will make you write, just you, your hands and your brain), I think the incredible quality of writing on here, alongside the posts on how to make your Substack successful, can contribute to a paralysing sense of overwhelm. As someone who has seen my paid subscribers steadily drop, even though I don’t rely on Substack as a significant source of income, it has created a sense of panic, which in turn has suffocated my creativity.
The whole reason I was drawn to Substack was to be able to create freely, and it feels necessary to return to that original purpose. It has led me to the conclusion that I have to tear up and burn down everything that I shaped my Substack around.
While some may be able to plan their content schedules, and have regular weekly chats with subscribers – I cannot. While I have a strong sense of discipline and adherence to deadlines, I left the 9-6pm of a media corporation because I wanted to feel a certain sense of freedom around my writing, and being able to write about what I am thinking and feeling in the moment. I have enough structure through contractual deadlines for my books – I don’t want Substack to be yet another unyielding thing in my life.
There is also something to be said for fluidity of thought and wanting to discuss things in the comments in real time, and writing something a few days ahead of time means that by the time it is published, I probably don’t want to have a discussion around it. Which means an important and integral part of why I like Substack – the community – ends up being something I don’t engage with fully.
I want chats. I love chats in Threads. I like questions and sharing ideas. But again, I am not ever going to be the type of person who can commit to a particular weekday at a particular time, week in and week out. My schedule doesn’t permit it as it changes weekly, and trying to stick to a rigid timeframe has meant I haven’t done them at all.
In conclusion, I’ve realised that I don’t have to feel intimidated by another person’s writing or Substack success as long as I am doing Substack in a way that reflects who I am, in a way I am comfortable with, and that allows me to be part of my community.
It may go against the rules, and it may be jarring to people, but my approach going forward is to publish when I want to as opposed to sticking to one particular day – as long as I publish at least once a week. Chats will be announced with a day’s notice - more where possible - but they will become more regular, and I’d love to encourage more people to direct message me with any questions they’d like me to answer.
Will it work? I have no idea. While paid subscribers do keep my Substack going, I can’t create something false in order to convince them to stay. I have to return to what I know best, which is that sometimes you have to create your own rules, and that no one ever truly got successful by following someone else’s plan to the letter.
If it fails horribly, at least I know I am doing something I love, in a way that’s right for me. And most importantly, being able to have faith and belief in my own writing, allows me to appreciate someone else’s writing with a pure heart. If that isn’t a good incentive, I don’t know what is.
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Social commentary and essays from career to mental wellbeing, capturing the general WTF of life and topical news, by award-winning author, former HuffPost Exec editor and lifter of heavy weights, Poorna Bell.
Love this! I’ve been writing on Substack for a year now - I even went paid and then changed my mind and turned it off. I also didn’t want to adhere to a certain frequency of posts and writing for the sake of it. I write when a topic calls to me. It might not grow my subscribers as well but it aligned more with my life. (I work in publishing full time so my Substack isn’t for the money!)
I have noticed that Notes always seem to be full of ‘grow your Substack’ type posts. It makes me not want to look at that tab. And I totally get the intimidation of so much excellent writing on here!! It’s both wonderful and terrifying as a new writer. 🤯
Thanks for the honest post, it really resonated.
I’m new to Substack and have felt very overwhelmed (and annoyingly seduced) by the ‘ten steps to make Substack a success’-type posts. But I don’t want to adhere to a set of rules, it doesn’t feel true and authentic. I keep reminding myself to put my blinkers firmly on and write anyway, my people will find me. Thanks for your honesty and your reflections on creating freely - it feels like the only way 👍🏼