Substack hates me.

And I’m beginning to return the sentiment.

Opening the Substack app, as I used to open Instagram, in hopes of finding something more meaningful than rage bait, staged reaction videos, or Rush dances, once again. Maybe, just maybe, I want to see that super sweet notification that I have a new subscriber (God only knows how all those who have found me did so, but hey, sometimes miracles happen).

So, what do I see on my Substack feed? New posts? Original quotes? Something that interests me? I wish.

Exhibit A: the algorithm hacker

“Share your work, drop a link below, because I would love to read it”.

Real meaning: I just want the algorithm to pick it up; I don’t give a rat’s ass about your scribbling.

Exhibit B: The helper

“Have less (it’s fewer, you idiot, but I guess you don’t catch it when you copy-paste) than 100 subscribers? Let’s change it this month!”.

Real meaning: I want to sound like I care about the community, not just about the five buckaroos I desperately want from a new subscription to my grand newsletter full of helpful stuff on how to grow on Substack.

Exhibit C: the (fake) community builder

“Substack, please connect me with people who have no people who read them”.

Real meaning: I am so big and generous, and I probably write about writing, so I want to get your attention by spreading my blessing to you, tiny man with a laptop. You will subscribe for sure, because my Sub is so shiny with its thousands plus follower count, and you really want to know how to get there.

Exhibit D: the big brother/sister who’s just looking out for you

“If you are new to Substack, I want to read some of your work and support you”.

Real meaning: I don’t really, but I just read in someone’s article about writing that this type of note is what’s going to bring me my sweet-sweet engagement, so tap that like button and fill out my comment section with a link to your sh-t that nobody is going to click on.

Exhibit E: The LinkedIn transplant

“In five words, what is your Substack about?”

Real meaning: soliciting digital elevator pitches for no good reason.

These are just the most common ones, but the list goes on. As a newbie, of course, you start falling for the cookie-cutter messages, thinking that this really works. You begin leaving your profile under every post like that in hopes that The Author who promised to “read and support” will come through, and the others will take notice. The maximum you get is a like. The sting of disappointment persists, but you keep trying, worrying that you probably missed the window because there are hundreds of comments under every post that the algorithm shoves in your face, and you will never get spotted in that red ocean.

I stopped leaving the link to my Substack under posts like these a while ago. After three months of trying to get myself out there, I got one genuine read and a very positive comment from a successful writer, but that’s just the exception that proves the rule. At one point, one of those “supporters of other writers” responded to my comment under his post with a message in all caps: “THIS IS MY SUBSTACK. READ! LIKE! COMMENT!” followed by an emoji of a raised fist. The little, gentle snowflake I am, I gasped at the audacity and closed my app.

Another category for self-promotion that the algorithm favors and that’s worth mentioning is called the “pity party (I’ll-cry-if-I-want-to version”). It doesn’t matter what you’re whining about – being ugly or having no subscribers because it’s your first day on Substack. It works. I genuinely saw a girl who felt like “screaming into the void” after publishing for two days, which she had shared with the world. When I clicked on her profile, I saw that she had over 200 subscribers. Then I realized she had only been screaming into the void, aka publishing something that looked awfully a lot like shenanigans-filled diary entries, for about five days in total. And guess why all those people subscribed? Right, because she was a depressed newcomer.

I know, I know, I had created my own misery. I should have never responded to any of those posts to begin with, and now that the positive feedback loop got me, I have only myself to blame. But I want out of the engagement farmland to find interesting writers to read and like-minded readers to see me.

Ok, life is unfair, I get it. But if you spend days researching, writing, editing, nail-biting, then publishing and getting a big load of nothing in return - I feel you. If, on top of that, you are an excellent writer, it only makes the rejection of the Universe feel that much worse. Substack won’t give you a chance.

To get noticed, choose your fighter. Who do you want to be? A hacker - sucker for attention? A fake community and follower base building expert? Would a self-loathing newbie be more suitable for you? You can be one in the morning, and another one in the evening. The opportunities are boundless. But you have to brace yourself, shove your ego and intellect that you used to write that amazing piece, and do it.

Once you do, please let me know if it worked for you, because I sure can’t take a dip in that shallow water just yet. Not because I’m superior to you, but simply because I lack motivation. Once I get that, I’ll master the courage, I promise. Until then, keep climbing, my fellow writer friend. And remember to drop the link to your latest post in the comments, because I want to support you.