The two paths to Substack success

Photo by krakenimages

I’ve read them all; every single one: the “How to be Successful on Substack in 3 Easy Steps” articles. Call it my 3-wing, call it my internal glory-seeker, call it the part of me that treats everything like a drawing I hope Dad will pop on the fridge beneath a strawberry magnet next to math tests and a picture of me as a baby. I want to be successful; the numbers in my stats are never enough, and I want more paid subscribers (aka, MONEY PLEASE).

And that’s what drives me to click those articles, scan them, and then go find some articles by others to skim and leave comments on because that’s the way to be successful on Substack. I read yours, left some guilt in the comments, so you better come read mine.

I’ve learned there are two paths to success on Substack:

1. Daft Punk

You’re a writer, so you’re thinking about what to write next. And maybe it hits you: driving home from work, sitting down to sausage, beans, and risotto with the family, or when you climb into the shower.

Then you poke and prod the idea to see if there’s any life in it (I’ve never encountered a dead body, but this is me assuming what I’d do). Maybe it stirs; it’s just asleep and needs waking up.

So you sit down at the computer, blast your inspiring music (Africa by Toto), and … nothing happens. 128 measly words come out that you could knock over with a feather.

This is stupid. You leave, deflated.

And it sits there in your drafts.

And it meanders in the back of your thoughts.

Then one day, you’re getting into the shower, and BOOM. The shower head might as well be siphoning ideas into your brain because you’ve got it: this is what the story, the article, the essay, the poem, the recipe, the ransom note (dude…), the love letter, the SUBSTACK POST needs!

So you quickly shampoo, let the soap roll off you onto the floor and assume that’s enough to wash your feet because you must write.

You sit down at the computer, blast Toto, and … 198 more words come out. Maybe this was a dead body because all you’ve done is pile heaps of dirt on top of it.

You eat both of the Pop-Tarts in the sleeve because sugar helps you cope.

Later, in a fit of surrendered rage, you slam down a few hundred more words, tidy up some things, and think it’s only mostly bad, not all bad. You found something, the something this piece was really about, and you did your darndest to try to get that across without getting out the jackhammer to force it.

Then you post it and go to find that second Pop-Tart until you realize you already ate them both.

But you sleep well without ideas rattling your brain because you got them out; they’re somewhere other than your cranial pathways. They’re out in the world where they might just do some good.

And now we’ve come to it: here’s where you might just Daft Punk.

You “get lucky,” and the post finds someone, some people, a lot of people. And it means something because it came from the secret place where the best stories, essays, poems, and love letters come from (not ransom notes; that’s a different secret place we hope the SWAT Team has triangulated).

You get some real comments, notes, and possibly new subscribers who are on the path to maybe becoming paid ones.

Or you probably don’t Daft Punk. Your post gets a few views, likes, and a comment or two.

You wait until your next shower when you can get a new idea and try again.

2. Write about how to be successful on Substack.

Rather than do all this silly work, you tell other people how to be successful on Substack.

Which is what I’ve opted for: