Substack kills creativity

When I was fifteen years old in high school I had a blog called Jenny Likes to Run. It was hosted on Wordpress and I posted three blogs a day (absolutely bonkers, I know), about my running and healthy living journey.

(Upon reflection I now see that I actually had an eating disorder, but ANYWAY!)

I shared every aspect of my life in this way and learned everything I could about coding and HTML to format that ugly ass platform. The website still exists today.

Before switching to Wordpress, I posted on Blogspot. I treated that little website like my digital diary, which was not a great thing given the lack of development of my pre-frontal cortex… I’m sure if my mother knew how much of my life I was sharing to a bunch of strangers online she would have had a conniption.

Throughout my busy schedule posting three times a day and also studying for exams, I ran a modestly successful Tumblr account call Lez Girls, inspired by The L Word. It was more of a visual diary, and as a baby queer living in the regions of Aotearoa, the only place I was able to find any other fellow gays. I also met my first girlfriend on there which is kinda cute.

The point of all of this is, I felt so free.

Even if my ideas were shit, they flowed freely and abundantly. Even if no one read them, I didn’t care. I had a lot to say and a desperate urgency to say it.

I didn’t just write about what was happening in my life, I would write essays and opinion pieces, hoping that I would one day make a living as a writer and even then understanding that the only way to get better is to just do it.

The level of confidence I had in my extremely average work was honestly delusional but kinda inspiring. I wish I had retained even one iota of that enthusiasm.

It used to be that each day I’d fill pages in a notebook with story and essay ideas. I was constantly thinking about what I could write an article about and how I could improve and build my portfolio.

Fifteen year old me would have absolutely FROTHED over Substack. I would have been so prolific and insufferable. And when I started my account of here, I had high hopes for the same zeal and enthusiasm I had in my teens.

Sadly, instead, I am overwhelmed and absolutely clueless as to what to talk about on here.

Every day I come on this platform and see endless analytical essays from twenty-somethings about their deeply philosophical take on the world. So many of these young ones with so many organised thoughts to share constantly. (I honestly have no idea how they find the time.)

When I open the Substack editor to write something of my own, I am stumped.

Where is that same energy of extremely ADHD fifteen year old me?

Part of the joy of partaking in online blogging back in the day were the people I’d meet. I connected with others around the world (and across the country) who shared the same interests as me.

And maybe it’s just me, but I don’t get that here on Substack.

Instead, of a close-knit community vibe, even like that of Tumblr, it can often feel like an echo-chamber of “intellectual competition” between people barely out of their teens who are desperate to sound like a thought daughter or the next Joan Didion.

(Although I will say, I felt so seen on my last post by other fellow haters who were glad to see some acknowledgement that it’s ok to hate terrible books.)

My inability to churn out regular think-pieces often leaves me questioning my ability and validity as a writer. I know that’s stupid but it’s the truth. I always imagined I’d be writing essays and opinion pieces for a living in my studio apartment and having weekday brunches with my friends à la Carrie Bradshaw.

I want so bad to believe that Substack, this up and coming platform that was founded in New Zealand, is the future of social media. But with good writing sinking to the bottom and mediocre fluff content being rewarded and rising to the top, I’m not entirely sure this platform is helping me to do my best work and become the writer I hope to someday be. Or to make genuine connections with likeminded people.

This is not a leaving post or anything. I’ll still be here to share book recommendations (and un-recommendations) and I have some exciting collaborations coming up soon.

But I felt compelled (for the first time in a long time) to share an experience I am having that I think a lot of writers on here might be feeling but not saying.

As for that 15 year old girl, I think she grew up and became self-aware. She refined her taste in art and writing, and raised her expectations of her own work accordingly.

I will continue to write and work on honing my craft, but as of now I’m relinquishing myself of my self-imposed expectations around posting frequency.

If you’ve felt any of this, then please feel free to share. This could be a fun little space for conversation.

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