Writing for An Eternal Public: On Substackophilia, Overcoming Self-Doubt, and Playing the Long Game as an Aspiring Author

The love for Substack is justified, but today's writers face insurmountable obstacles—some external and some self-imposed. So why try?

Sisyphus (1920) by Franz von Stuck. Image credit: Wikimedia Commons

“He who writes to himself, writes to an eternal public.”

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Greetings fellow wanderers,

“Why do I write?” is a perennial question for any writer. As I approach the first anniversary of Those Who Wander (July 7^th) I’ve returned to that question and am reflecting on it a lot this week. Thus, this week’s post is a little different and I hope you’ll forgive the momentary departure from travel, adventure, and anthropology and allow me to share with you some thoughts on the love for Substack, how I think about the process of writing, and my hopes of soon becoming a published author.

Cheers!

-JSB

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There is a ton of Substackophilia on Substack and it’s becoming a bit of a cliche to see Substackers boast about how great Substack is. And yet…cliche or not the love for this platform feels justified to me because we’ve all been through the gauntlet of social media services by now where the modus operandi has been all about “me, me, me”.” In contrast, Substack has somehow managed to incentivize an ethos of “let’s grow together.” There is a general sense of camaraderie here, and it can be intoxicating and enlivening for both readers and writers.

While it’s questionable that any online environment can be deemed a true “community”, Substack does feel like a breath of fresh air. There’s a wonderful sense of online community I didn’t think was possible 12 months ago before I began my ventures here. I feel enthralled by the spirit of generosity I’ve discovered, and I’m uplifted nearly every day to strive to not only write better but be more attentive to the work of others. Much credit is due to the founders and designers of this wonderful orange gem.

That said, I’ve got a long way to go to figure out how best to make anything close to a respectable income as both a writer on Substack and as an aspiring author in the market today. As it turns out, that may be unrealistic in the end–yet another romantic fantasy of mine. As neuroscientist and author

Erik Hoel

recently argued in his piece on Substack ‘Making a living as a book author is as rare as being a billionaire.’ As Hoel states,

“…the economics of publishing are a lot like venture capital investment: most books, the overwhelming majority, don’t sell. Companies make many mini-bets. Very occasionally, a bet in their portfolios goes absolutely wild and they finally make a profit entirely on the success of just a handful, or at most a couple dozen, books a year, despite officially publishing hundreds or even thousands. To publish a book (which is hard enough as it is, and requires a good deal of luck) is merely to enter this further grand lottery.” 

Another enlightening piece by journalist and author

Elle Griffin

lays out the hard truth that No one will read your book due to the imbalance between authors and readers. Like any other market, everything whittles down to supply and demand, and the truth is not enough people read books to begin with. Plus, there is hyper-competition for everyone’s attention across many mediums of entertainment and social media these days to contend with. Griffin bluntly puts the numbers in perspective, 

“Almost a third of Americans don’t read books at all. And, according to the US Bureau of Labor Statistics, the ones that do spend only 16 minutes per day reading. Compare that to the average Netflix watcher who spends close to three hours per day consuming video content. At that pace, a watcher might get through 681 movies in a year while a reader gets through only 16 books—and that’s presuming those 15 minutes are spent reading books.

These harsh realities are sucker punches to the gut of any aspiring author today. Many statistics and revelations on the changes in the publishing world abound that demolishes the idea of anyone besides celebrities or already well-established authors making it as an author in our contemporary culture.

Like pursuing a humanities degree, how does one justify such an unwise and unmarketable career trajectory? In short, why try?

As an archaeologist and anthropologist trying to find a way to be an author in today’s publishing ecosystem and market, I know too well that money is not in the forecast for me any time soon. So, I’ve had to level with myself time and again to abandon the notion that I’ll ever make a respectable amount of income writing no matter how well I craft my words and what kind of credentials I obtain behind my name. I’ve been doing everything I can to pitch my manuscript for years with no hint of finding an agent or publisher for a first-time author going the traditional publishing route.

So, in some sense, it’s been a complete waste of time trying to go this route because traditional publishers only care about selling large quantities of books and if you don’t have a large built-in audience they can immediately tap into, they will not be interested in you even if you’ve written the next War and Peace. And for the record, I’ve not written the next War and Peace. So, I’ll soon be pivoting to self-publishing with the knowledge that, even still, the chances are more than good that I’ll make little to no money on something I’ve worked years to polish and perfect.

In fact, I can probably expect to lose money. I view self-publishing a bit like I view all the pickaxe manufacturers and those selling survival equipment and flannels in the Pacific Northwest circa 1896 at the peak of the Klondike Gold Rush. The entrepreneurs nestled comfortably in Seattle were the ones making the money off the suckers thinking they were about to hit it rich up in the Yukon. Only about a few hundred adamant prospectors out of an estimated 40,000 who made the journey got rich from such a risky adventure. But alas, those that fell short could at least say they tried and had their adventures…

On the one hand, this is discouraging and a hard pill to swallow because I want my ideas and writing honed to the best they can be and given the best chance of success in the market. I want a team of professionals by my side who are aligned with my interests, eager for me to succeed, and can give me the best advice and guidance on all these bewildering aspects of the publishing world I presently know little to nothing about. 

On the other hand, I’ve discovered over the last year on Substack what the long game means in terms of marketing my ideas and building an audience over time. The latter I’ve found to be incredibly rewarding because it’s given me realistic expectations of what it takes to be a writer and an honest window into what it will take to better myself over time. In short, Substack is teaching me some hard truths—there are no shortcuts and you are playing the long game.

The transcendentalist poet and essayist Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote that,

“He who writes to himself, writes to an eternal public.”

Emerson is someone who greatly inspired me to think a lot about the concept of self-reliance which has been at the core of my life philosophy ever since I began to care about understanding things like philosophy, science, and religion late in high school all those years ago. I kept several journals at that time, one was a book of quotes I would gather any time I stumbled upon some author’s inspiring words, and another was for jotting down my own random inchoate thoughts. But through this act of writing for myself, I realized how profound it was entertaining the idea that your words could potentially transcend you. Emerson has been gone for 142 years, and yet his words are embedded somewhere in my skull. I am the eternal public he was referring to.

Striving for this idea of the “eternal public” and pursuing knowledge for its own sake reorients how you think about the world. Knowledge has intrinsic value and the things we write, we can never fully know their longevity and durability—for whom, years from now, our words may inspire. This has quite an impact on what we choose to write about. The “eternal audience” can’t exactly be put down as your target audience on a book proposal but we must imagine writing for those yet to come nonetheless.

Who is the eternal public? Who writes for them? Can you write for them–someone in a decade, a century, a millennia from now? Is it possible to write in such a way to speak to the distant future? Whether authors of the distant past were conscious of it or not, their words have managed to speak to us today. So of course it’s possible. 

Now famous authors like Melville, Poe, Kafka, and many others throughout time lived out their days in virtual obscurity and poverty. They knew too well what insecurity and self-loathing meant. However, they wrote for an eternal public that would never be able to reciprocate and reimburse them for their inspiration and insights into the human condition. So, in some sense, this issue of authors not making money or even being recognized in their time isn’t a new one at all.

In short, I write for writing’s sake but also because I love to see new subscribers trickling into my inbox and witnessing a handful of people quoting words I’ve written–seeing comments on one of my posts that “this is essential reading” or “this resonates with me” is currency enough and the only metrics I care about right now. 

I also write for some of the reasons George Orwell detailed in his essay “Why I Write.” The one that sticks out the most for me is what he called “historical impulse” or the “desire to see things as they are, to find out true facts and store them up for the use of posterity.” I’d rank “aesthetic enthusiasm” second or the love for the written word and language. But of course, there’s some “sheer egoism” and “political purpose” in the mix if we’re being honest, but I’d hope those motives wouldn’t ever outflank the other two. 

I’m not a full-time writer. But I want to be, not because I want to make money, but because I want as much time to perfect my craft. Substack has given me a glimpse of what the long game will be for me. Each new and paid subscriber, like, restack, and quote translates to a vote for more of my writing, and I take that very seriously. Substack has granted me an opportunity to at least experiment with what it might take to become a full-time writer. 

Like everyone else striving to chase their creative outlet, whether in music or art or sports or martial arts, the path of an author is incredibly demanding and something I suspect I won’t be able to fully accomplish if I also have to work my normal 40+ hour week. Many aspiring authors too feel this time crunch.

There are also plenty of other things we want and need to do that impose on the writing process. For me, my other endeavors include staying active and healthy by practicing Brazilian Jiu Jitsu 2-3 times a week, running, reading, and being a good father and husband and son and uncle and friend. Trying to find the time and concentration to write in this context feels like an uphill battle. But I keep pushing, nonetheless. Though Roosevelt’s oft-cited quote may be cliché to most readers by now, I still find it reaffirming when I’m questioning why I’m doing what I’m doing: 

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

And what else is expected of an author today? As mentioned, I have been working for years to publish my book—writing and revising; pitching query letters and book proposals to agents and publishers; and hiring a professional editor on my own dime to make sure my manuscript is the best it can be. And yet…I’m still not there. Still facing rejection and few signs of what else I could be doing to improve. I’ll also have to continue to work to be a better public speaker, marketer, advertiser, and manager if I go this self-publishing, self-reliant route. Emerson’s words of caution bubble up in my head in these moments of self-doubt and tedium, 

“Stick to one business, young man. Stick to your brewery and you will be the great brewer of London. Be brewer, and banker, and merchant, and manufacturer, and you will soon be in the Gazette (published as bankrupt).”

But in today’s world, there is no “sticking to one business” anymore. We’re asked to wear and juggle many hats if we want to compete and succeed. It always feels like we’re all being asked to do more and more and more in this world. It’s hard to know sometimes when we’re not trying hard enough or are simply at capacity. I feel like Sisyphus, climbing and pushing and begrudgingly ambling along only to find out there’s yet another hill to climb. But we cling to Camus’s words, that “One must imagine Sisyphus happy” and keep persisting onwards and deriving some solace from our struggles. 

I’ve always looked at older generations of writers and wondered how they’d respond to the idea of needing to sell themselves on Twitter and Instagram every day being tethered to a screen hunting for likes and hoping something they put out into the winds of the internet goes viral. I can see Hemingway perhaps taking a liking to social media with his braggadocious personality. Then again I sense he and many others might also be repulsed that modern writers do anything else other than write. I can almost hear him pontificating, “Writers, write! Claim yourself to be the best damn writer and do it well. That is your one job!” That sounds quaint to my ears now. If only it were that simple.

And don’t get me wrong, these are good, one might say, privileged problems to have. I’m presently reading Solzhenitsyn’s Gulag Archipelago–talk about the fear of living in obscurity and poverty as a writer! So no, most of my problems exist only as metaphors and pale in comparison to actual human struggle. And yet…writing is still an exercise in vulnerability regardless of where you fall on the privilege hierarchy. Expressing your inner monologue to the world takes some guts because self-doubt runs rampant in just about any writer’s mind just as it does with anyone pursuing their “dream job” or life goals. “Am I good enough?” is probably a question virtually every one of us asks ourselves countless times throughout our lives. It isn’t anything new, but we all have to find a way to cope and overcome such insecurities. Self-doubt is ever-present for me although I sense I’m getting better at handling it and some of that is also thanks to Substack.

In nearly every big decision I’ve made so far in life, I’ve been wracked by anxiety and questioning whether I’m worthy of whatever it was that I was about to launch myself into, whether it was going to school to pursue archaeology and anthropology, backpacking the Appalachian Trail, or writing a book. Why do these things? Isn’t adventure a thing of the past? Don’t we have enough books about adventure and the Appalachian Trail by now? What could I possibly contribute? What’s the point? I reflect more on these insecurities and how to overcome them in my forthcoming book,

To be sucked in by the poor nihilistic logic that tells us that nothing is new and that it’s been done before is demotivating and debasing one’s creativity. After all, “Creativity” as the anthropologist and explorer Wade Davis deems, “is not the spark of action, it’s a consequence of action.” We become more creative in the aftermath of our initial plunge into the unknown. We can’t afford to sit around and wait for creativity to tap us on the shoulder to get us going. The trick is making the first leap. That someone else has done something you desire to do means very little because YOU haven’t experienced it yourself. And once we experience something remarkable that others have also experienced, we become MORE relatable to others: we experience a particular rite of passage in that particular niche of adventure. We become a part of a unique fraternity of like-minded adventurers. It is as essential now, as it always has been, for us as a species to continue exploring because there is always something our minds have yet to encounter. When framed this way, adventure is not a thing of the past after all but a thing of the present and future. Experiences and knowledge are the true infinite resources we can never fully exploit and we live at an extraordinary time with extraordinary means of wandering. Take advantage of it. No matter how trodden the beaten path may seem, it still hasn’t seen your footprints.

While Substack hasn’t exactly changed my life, it has enhanced it and given me both a growing community of writers to be a part of along with a realistic expectation of what becoming an author means—for it demands grit and persistence, of putting in the late-night hours when your child has finally gone to bed to hone your craft and cultivate an authentic and charitable audience.

In some sense, I’ve known this for a while. I’ve had a few wonderful people cheering me on as mentors over the years, not least Michael and Kathleen O’Neal Gear who have given me insight into the life of what it takes to be an author, being bestselling authors themselves for many years:

“Any way that you go, it will be a lot of hard work. Twelve-hour-a-day hard work. 90% of this gig is tenacity, and never giving up no matter how many times you get kicked into the mud. Talent is good, you can't make it without it. We know a lot of writers who have a basket-load of talent. More than we have. Who failed to make it because they didn't have the sheer guts, work ethic, or commitment to see it through.”

Thus, the love for Substack is justified mainly because it’s given prospective authors a template to work with but the finer lesson I’ve learned both on Substack and from the authors I admire is that you are more than likely going to have to play the long game if you are going to be an author. There are no shortcuts and success is not guaranteed. I’ve come to terms with that. I am in it for the long game and perhaps it’s best to take that a bit further and envision that I am, after all, writing for an eternal public.

Thanks for being a fellow traveler with me through this read. Please consider subscribing, sharing, and supporting this project—much more to follow.

Cheers!

-JSB