The Not-So-Triumphant Return of the World-Weary Writer

Go ahead and say 'I told you so!'

I didn’t want to write this. I’ve been going back and forth, beating my head against the wall and stubbornly clinging to past decisions.

A year ago, I left Substack amidst the whole controversy surrounding a lack of moderation and the persistent issues I was seeing with hate speech on the platform. It was messy, and I was loud about my irritation with the whole thing.

I decided to leave and try running a publication on Ghost instead. I figured that if I was doing my own moderation anyway, I might as well own my site and pay a set fee rather than giving up a portion of my subscribers’ money to a parent company.

I thought I could make it work. I thought I would be able to do better on my own. I had my nose in the air, foolishly thinking it would be easy and painless to do so, and that it would be better for my publication and my message in the long run.

But here I am, a year later, having to admit defeat. Talk about a kick in the teeth!

It’s a lot of work to run your own site, especially when you’re working on multiple platforms and doing your own promotion. Especially when you’re planning a wedding, trying to build up inventory for a potential craft show in the future, and dealing with all of the curveballs thrown by daily life.

All on top of the editing and writing I do for the family business I’m working at on the side.

I could make all of that work when I had multiple decent income streams. I could eat the cost of my website and the slow growth as long as I could count on reliable income elsewhere; I was willing to do that for the return I was getting.

Unfortunately, I’ve run into a brick wall in that regard.

As it turns out, despite my best intentions, there’s no such thing as a perfect platform. If you’re rolling your eyes at my naivety, don’t worry; I’ve already climbed off of my high horse and I’m hungry for a slice of humble pie.

Now, I’m not trying to say that I’m here as a sellout—feel free to judge me for that; I don’t blame you—but rather that I’m a poor writer who quite literally cannot afford to keep doing things the way I’m doing.

It simply costs me too much. I’m not far away from actively losing money that I can not afford to lose. I’m expecting no riches, I just need to stop throwing cash into an empty hole and crossing my fingers.

I could stop writing entirely, but like…first of all, no. Secondly, if I did, my pent-up rage would morph into daily rants at the people around me, and that’d get old real fast.

I’m too mouthy to be silent. I’ll happily admit that flaw.

In the end, a platform is just a tool. Even if I still feel that the criticism I made at the time was—and still is—valid, we choose where we work based on what will work for us.

The fact is that right now, Substack is simply a better tool. And for better or worse, it’s where the cool kids are.

I have so many wonderful friends who have made the jump to Substack, great people who have created a bulwark against hate and bigotry, spreading good messages of hope and optimism for the future.

I’ve even got some friends spouting satirical sarcasm to the masses here. You love to see it—especially these days, when we so badly need a spark of joy to get through the day!

In short, they’ve been smarter than I am. I let my outrage get the better of me, and I jumped before checking my landing. Never do that, by the way. Measure twice, and cut once.

It’s no longer practical for me to work the way I’ve been working. It’s also not working just from the perspective of what I’m trying to do; it’s really hard to get your message out there when people don’t know that you exist.

Whatever my complaints, I have to admit it’s a lot more effective to engage here than it is to yell into a megaphone at an empty auditorium.

World-Weary is about discussing the state of the world, and human rights, and spreading the word about serious issues and the activists working to make a difference. It’s hard to have discussions when only one or two people seem to have anything to say.

So…hello again, Substack. I hope I didn’t burn too many bridges on my way out the door; I know I dropped some matches as I stomped down the hall. I probably left some muddy footprints in the foyer, too—I know, how rude!

But I’m here, standing on the front step with my hat in my hands and a bouquet behind my back.

Will you forgive me?