We asked for her advice on tackling heavy subject matter while keeping her audience engaged. Lauren is an award-winning journalist and photographer of more than 20 years. She spent more than a decade reporting from war zones in which women and girls are violated and, before that, five years documenting violence and the suppression of journalists globally. 

She has written for The Atlantic and The Guardian and is a contributing writer for Washington Monthly and an adjunct professor at NYU’s graduate school of journalism. Lauren writes from the front line of conflict in her newsletter, , and gives a behind-the-scenes look at how dangerous investigative journalism gets made. Read on for her response.

This is the tenth in a recurring series of longform writer advice, following Holly Whitaker’s advice on writing like it matters, Lucy Webster’s advice on writing from lived experience, Scott Hines’s advice on cultivating connection in the internet age, Robert Reich’s advice on sharing your personality, Helena Fitzgerald’s advice on isolation, Alicia Kennedy’s advice on learning to listen, Kate Lindsay’s advice on creating trust with your readers, Anna Codrea-Rado’s advice on learning to celebrate how far you’ve come, and Mason Currey’s advice on creative growth.

We asked Holly Whitaker to share advice on her writing practice. Holly writes Recovering, a newsletter that looks at recovery as a way of living that is accessible to everyone. Holly started blogging in 2013 after going sober, which turned into a sobriety school, a digital recovery startup, and New York Times bestseller Quit Like a Woman. She is also working on her second book and a podcast. Read on for her advice, or listen to her read it aloud.

Dear writer, how does your Substack fit into your wider writing practice and online presence?

Before I knew I was a writer, I was an accountant. My job title was Director of Revenue Cycle Management Operations, and the only essays I wrote were soul-destroying emails I cc’d your boss on. If you would have told me back then that one day I’d be explaining how something called a “Substack” fits into my “writing practice” and “online presence,” I would have done what I did the other night at a comedy show, which is spit on someone. Because of laughing.

But that’s where it started. I was wearing lots of Ann Taylor Loft and formatting spreadsheets by day, and by night—because I was newly sober and exploding inside and having to pretend everything was normal over here, and there was nothing to see, folks—I wrote for a WordPress site, anonymously. I start my answer there because that’s where it counts and what I want you to get from this answer. I didn’t start writing to build an online presence or even to have a writing practice, but because I needed to write. I had to write. I didn’t know what else to do. I was lost. I was alone. I was stuck in the wrong life. I had a lot to say and I didn’t know who to say it to. That was 2013.

“I didn’t start writing to build an online presence or even to have a writing practice, but because I needed to write. I had to write.”

In 2021, by then a New York Times best-selling author and someone who had been featured in Vogue multiple times and had sold hundreds of thousands of books and counted among her assets a very loyal and large social media following, I grabbed a Substack handle for the same reasons I secured that WordPress domain way back when: I was lost, I was alone, I was stuck in the wrong life. I had a lot to say and I didn’t know who to say it to.

What I mean to tell you, fellow writer, is that I didn’t start a Substack as a strategy, as a way to hone my writing chops or build a brand or make a living. I started it out of desperation, as a lifeline. Much like 2013 and the now-defunct littlemisssurrendered.com, Substack was the only thing that made sense, and even that makes it sound like it was more planned than it actually was.

When I say I was lost (in 2021), I mean I was not sure what I stood for anymore. I’d recently been squeezed out of an organization I founded; I’d lost many of my friends; I lived alone in the woods on a dead end road, and my cat was who I talked to the most, and my identity was hanging in a closet somewhere. My head was a soupy mess of ideas, and my thought loop was nihilistic, and everything I believed in felt fraught, and I was scared I’d written myself into a corner or that maybe I had peaked and it was all downhill from there. Back then, the thing that felt so great about Substack was that it wasn’t some blog people might attend or even a Mailchimp that might turn into a sales pitch. Substack was a place where readers had to figure out how to sign up, a place where they had to agree to get your emails on a regular basis, a place with barriers to entry, (in some cases) a cover charge, and those things were not available on social media or a blog site. People had to want to read me, effort to read me, and in some way all that made my writing holy again. It created a boundary, a haven, a netting between myself and the scant few that might follow me here from places where I was more well known and my art was consumed in the blur of a scroll. Here, I started to experiment with a different voice that felt closer to my own. Here, I started to test out what it might feel like to write instead of catch eyes. Here, I got honest in a way that I don’t think I’d been anywhere else. Here, I started charging for my words, daring to believe that my writing wasn’t some side project but the main event. In 2021, trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life, I thought “maybe writer.” Some 50 Substack essays later, I think “writer.”

What has been so delicious about writing on Substack is that it isn’t something that fits into my wider writing practice, like some piece of a puzzle—it is my writing practice. Writing here also isn’t something that fits into my wider online presence, because in being here, I have learned that an online presence isn’t something I care to curate the same way I once did, if at all.

Read more: #1 Being All Of It

I think we ask people things like I am being asked because we want to know the formula, the juice, how to replicate or establish or build. We are conditioned to believe that it doesn’t matter unless there are clicks, impressions, likes, comments, engagement; that our work doesn’t matter unless we’re known. I’ve been successful in the measurable ways because I followed those playbooks, but that has always left me miserable. Here, I have not followed the playbooks, I have done a lot of it wrong, but I have written like it matters, like what I have to say matters. If there’s any advice I have to give, it’s that. Sure, pay attention to the technical bits, the hacks and the best practices, and drive your engagement and whatever. But write like it matters and like what you have to say matters. Write like it’s 2013 and no one knows who the hell you are or cares what you have to say, and do it anyway.

Sincerely and truly yours,

Holly Glenn Whitaker

Subscribe to Recovering on Substack, and you can also find Holly on Instagram and her personal website.

Welcome to our new podcast, The Active Voice. It's about how great writers are reckoning with the challenges of the social media moment, how they find the space for themselves to create great literature and journalism despite the noise, and how to make a living amid the economic volatility of the 2020s.

In the first episode, Substack co-founder Hamish McKenzie talks to George Saunders, one of America’s greatest living writers (and author of the wonderful Substack Story Club). You can listen to it and subscribe at read.substack.com. 

This podcast is called The Active Voice because we enjoy the double entendre, and because it is about the writer in the arena: the writer who, despite the pressures of the social media moment, has the courage to say what they believe needs to be said; the writer who finds a way to speak truth to power; the writer who seeks understanding over takedowns. This podcast is for those who know that what you read matters and that great writing is valuable. 

I can’t wait to share all these conversations with you. 

The Active Voice is produced and shared using Substack for podcasts. Find out how Substack makes a richer podcasting experience, supporting multimedia and subscriptions, and fostering a direct relationship with your listeners here. 

We asked Robert Reich to share his advice on learning to use his writing and drawing skills to illustrate his Substack. Read on for Robert’s advice, or listen to him read it aloud above.

This is the fifth in a recurring series of longform writer advice, following Alicia Kennedy’s advise on learning to listen, Embedded’s Kate Lindsay’s advice on creating trust with your readers, Lance’s Anna Codrea-Rado’s advice on learning to celebrate just how far you’ve come, and Mason Currey’s advice on creative growth.

Could you use some advice or inspiration from a fellow writer about creativity, motivation, and the writing life? Submit your question for consideration for a future advice column by leaving it in the comments below.

We asked Helena Fitzgerald to share her advice on navigating isolation as a writer. Helena writes Griefbacon—a newsletter on the weirdness of relationships for “the last people at the party after everyone else has gone home.” Listen on for her experience of solitude in writing, or listen to her read it aloud above.

Dear writer, how does isolation play into your writing experience? When do you crave it, and at what point do you seek support, collaboration, or edits? How do you come up for air when the loneliness of writing becomes too much? 

*

This is the fifth in a recurring series of longform writer advice, following Alicia Kennedy’s advice on learning to listen, Embedded’s Kate Lindsay’s advice on creating trust with your readers, Lance’s Anna Codrea-Rado’s advice on learning to celebrate just how far you’ve come, and Mason Currey’s advice on creative growth.

Could you use some advice or inspiration from a fellow writer about creativity, motivation, and the writing life? Submit your question for consideration for a future advice column by leaving it in the comments on Substack.

Are you a podcaster, audio creator, or author of a sound-focused publication? Next month, Substack will open applications for our next intensive: the Summer of Sound. 

In this month-long immersive workshop, we will invite a select group of writers and audio creators to deepen their focus, build a strategy, test techniques, and grow their publications into sustainable projects. 

Applications will open on June 9, 2022, and close on June 21, 2022. To be eligible for this opportunity, applicants need to have an existing publication on Substack with at least 5 posts. If you want to kickstart, revive, or grow a podcast, audio show, or sound project on Substack, now is the time! 

To learn more about podcasting and audio tools, check out our resources and our support articles.

We are looking for writers and creators with a substantial audience, growth potential, and a strong desire to grow an independent media business on Substack. Once selected, participants will dedicate a considerable portion of time in late July and August to developing their publication strategies, experimenting with our features, and learning from experts.

We’ll share more information as we prepare to launch the application in June.

Read more: How to move your podcast over to Substack and Podcasting questions answered

One year ago this week, writers and the Substack team started gathering in weekly Office Hours discussion threads together for the first time. In 38 threads with tens of thousands of comments, writers shared bold ambitions for publishing on Substack, swapped sharp insights on growing an engaged email list, and celebrated milestones like going paid.

A year in and the discussion threads continue, with writers learning and navigating a new chapter for online publishing. Together through Office Hours, Substack writers have authored advice for the future.

In 1997, Chicago Tribune columnist Mary Schmich wrote an essay as a hypothetical commencement speech entitled “Advice, like youth, probably just wasted on the young.” Going viral, the essay was adapted and shared as a spoken word song by Baz Luhrmann. “Everybody's Free (To Wear Sunscreen)” was an instant hit. 

Today, we bring you Substack’s remix from lessons and advice writers have shared over the past year in Office Hours read by Jackie Dana, one of the generous Office Hours stewards.

Everybody’s free (to connect with each other)

Writers and readers of the class of '22:Connect with each other. 

If we could offer you only one tip for the future, connecting with each other would be it. The long term effects of engaging have been proved by data scientists whereas the rest of our advice has no basis more reliable than our own meandering experience. On behalf of the writers of Substack, we will dispense this advice now:

Don't wait for your writing to be perfect, or the time to be just right. Neither will happen. Your publication will likely be quiet for a while. Keep going anyway. Building something good takes time. The only real short cut is luck, and that’s no real strategy. 

Don't try to do this alone. The actual writing part usually has to be done alone, with distractions turned off and a faintly unhealthy supply of coffee to hand. There's usually no getting around that. But the part where you're coming up with ideas, or trying to think bigger and bolstering your confidence and hopes...don't try to do that just by sitting by yourself. If you need the door closed when you're writing, try flinging it open when you're not. 

Learn wildly. Connect madly. Allow yourself to be corrected. Being gracious in the face of criticism is a good way to take the venom out of it. And make lots of good friends who are doing something like what you're doing.  As writers, we are all in this together so we need to do our best to help each other grow and succeed. 

Slow and steady is entirely normal growth. Some people come to Substack with an enormous platform already. Some people grow very quickly for a variety of reasons (very few of which are actually controllable). The vast majority of us just plug along, trying different things, without ever having insane overnight success. Doesn't mean you can't be successful, it just means "slow and steady" is entirely normal growth, and success is subjective and depends on your own personal newsletter and goals.

Extra slow days shall pass. It's hard but just keep writing good copy during the plateaus. They too will end.

Dive deep into your niche. The average person on the street may not understand the appeal of your Substack, but you'll gain loyal subscribers and face less competition than if you go mainstream. 

Don't feed trolls. Don't allow them to ruin your day. Just block them and move on.

Celebrate at milsteones. Exclaim: Bravo!!!!! This is awesome! Way to go! That's huge - congrats!!!

Remember: engagement is not just likes and comments, but also conversations between you and your reader in their inbox. Ask questions. Propose ideas. Agree. Disagree. Agree to disagree.

Be careful with the advice you take to heart and put in practice. You might find yourself saying, “I actually didn't follow that advice, and I'm happy I didn't.”

But trust us on connecting with others.

We also want to take a moment to pause and say thank you to the writers who have made helping other writers at Office Hours this year a central rhythm in their week by attending the majority of sessions, and generously answering other writers questions. We hope you'll join us in giving the following writers a virtual applause.

Jackie Dana, Cole Noble, Sarah Miller, Alison Acheson, Elizabeth Held, Michael Fritzell, Geoffrey Golden, Mike Sowden, E. Jean Carroll, Melanie Newfield, YouTopian Journey, Paul Macko, Joan Demartin, Chevanne, Lloyd Lemons, Karen Hoffman, moviewise, Петър, Emily Miller, Heather Johnston Brebaugh, Linda Tapp, Rishikesh Sreehari, and Asha Sanaker.

Join us for Office Hours today 

Each week on Thursdays, we gather the writer community and members of our Community, Product, and Writer Development teams together in a written discussion thread like this one to answer writer questions for an hour. 

Whether you are returning to the thread to celebrate one year of Office Hours or joining for the first time, we hope to see you today. Together we will answer your questions on publishing, growing, or going paid on Substack.

Do you have a favorite memory from Office Hours?

A sharp insight that you learned that you’ve taken with you? Someone you met in the discussion threads that you’ve stayed in touch with? We’d love to hear about it in celebration of one years of hosting Office Hours.

We asked writer, author, and podcaster Emma Gannon to share her advice on maintaining your energy to keep writing. Emma has had an extraordinary few years, publishing four more books, continuing her acclaimed podcast Ctrl Alt Delete, and adding ever more value to her ever-growing community. Emma recently moved her newsletter, The Hyphen by Emma Gannon, to Substack, where she also shares discussion threads, book recommendations, and Q&As. Read on for her advice, or listen to her read it aloud.

This is the fifth in a recurring series of longform writer advice, following podcaster Alicia Kennedy’s advice on learning to listen, Embedded’s Kate Lindsay’s advice on creating trust with your readers, Lance’s Anna Codrea-Rado’s advice on learning to celebrate just how far you’ve come, and Mason Currey’s advice on creative growth.

Could you use some advice or inspiration from a fellow writer about creativity, motivation, and the writing life? Submit your question for consideration for a future advice column by leaving it in the comments on Substack.

We asked Alicia Kennedy to share her advice on interviewing. She calls From the Desk of Alicia Kennedy Podcast, her weekly podcast that’s part of her food newsletter, “a curated conversation series.” She recently wrote about her belief in unscripted, unedited interviews here. Read on for her advice, or listen to her read it aloud above.

Dear writer and podcaster, what’s the secret to a good interview? 

My podcast always begins with the same question: “Can you tell me about where you grew up and what you ate?” This establishes the conversation in some straightforward biography, while also grounding it in the flavors and food philosophies that have shaped the guest’s life. From there, the audience and I will get to go deeper, but the guest sets the terms of the conversation by choosing what and how much to share. Do they become wistful and nostalgic, or do these memories seem painful? Are they tinged by grief and loss, or by joy and whimsy? The question sets the tone and tenor of the rest of the conversation.   

To me, a good interview is governed by the same thing as good nonfiction writing: curiosity. I’ve made mistakes before by doing interviews with people whose work I, frankly, was not curious about, and that means I’m just going through the motions. But what makes an interview good for the audience—whether a listener or reader—is that the people having the conversation are actively engaged with each other, and ideally with each other’s work. As an interviewer, I want the people listening to feel like they’re overhearing a natural conversation, something that would happen spontaneously after the plates are cleared away from the dinner table and all that’s left is some wine and cake.

There also needs to be a spirit of generosity on the part of the person being interviewed. When people come on who’ve never bothered to listen to a past episode and don’t respond generously to good-faith questions, it can feel like pulling teeth. I’ve learned for myself, whether I’m the host or the guest, that I shouldn’t show up unless I can get locked into having a generous conversation. This means being curious and being engaged, of course, but also believing that every question is a good question, a worthwhile question, and if I think perhaps it hasn’t been phrased well, that I can reframe it in my response. 

I want the people listening to feel like they’re overhearing a natural conversation, something that would happen spontaneously after the plates are cleared away from the dinner table and all that’s left is some wine and cake.

In order to facilitate better conversations, I send my guests the questions a week ahead of time. This provides not too much time to overprepare and thus kill spontaneity, but it does allow them to get a sense of the trajectory of the conversation and tell me whether they’d prefer to go in another direction. I want guests to be comfortable and know that it will be a safe space for anything they wish to talk about, and I like to establish their boundaries ahead of time. 

I try to ask big, open questions, too, so that the guest feels free to take their response in any direction. Specific questions, I’ve found, lend themselves too easily to simple answers. The worst feeling is to receive a “yes” or “no” in response. Though sometimes one can want to flex just how deep they’ve researched in their questions, I find it better to be looser and to let the guest guide the conversation a bit, because their spontaneity will also be more compelling to the listener. 

In writing these bigger, more open questions, I dive into all the person’s work and also try to listen to or read past interviews. I want to honor the subjects that drive the guest’s life while also bringing something different to it, something less anticipated. My questions that I ask to everyone are very important for this reason, such as in how I begin, but also in how I finish, which is with the same two questions. Each guest responds to the same questions in new ways.

I want to honor the subjects that drive the guest’s life while also bringing something different to it, something less anticipated.

I used to ask just, “For you, is cooking a political act?” but I change it up based on whether the guest has told me they like to cook or not. If they don’t, I ask about writing or bartending or whatever it is they put all their soul into. I’ve begun to add the question “How do you define abundance?” because the concept of “abundance” keeps working its way into my own writing—how we define it, yes, as well as how to cultivate it and how to reframe it in a world that tries to tell us abundance looks one way, means one thing.

My podcast is, in this way, an extension of my writing, a way to engage with its themes with folks who’ve done different kinds of work in food and culture, who can bring new perspectives to themes I work with consistently. We all eat and engage with food differently, and I want to honor that diversity through generous, curious conversation.

Sincerely,

Alicia

This is the fourth in a recurring series of longform writer advice, following Embedded’s Kate Lindsay’s advice on creating trust with your readers, Lance’s Anna Codrea-Rado’s advice on learning to celebrate just how far you’ve come, and Mason Currey’s advice on creative growth.

Could you use some advice or inspiration from a fellow writer about creativity, motivation, and the writing life? Submit your question for consideration for a future advice column by leaving it in the comments below.

The best thing about being a podcaster is the joy of a really good conversation. It feels like that moment at a cocktail party when you find yourself in a corner by the cheese table, chatting with the most interesting person there. And then it gets even better: you get to share that conversation with your listeners, who come along for the ride and experience it with you. 

But then you click publish, and suddenly the experience of podcasting becomes very one way. Sure, you get some download numbers; maybe you get some Twitter noise around an episode; maybe you get an Apple review. But for the most part, it feels like you push this rich conversation out… into a strange, empty ether.

That’s what makes podcasting on Substack so different. Suddenly, the podcast can keep the conversation going. With most other podcast platforms, the best you can hope for is to keep a listener’s attention for a fleeting moment. But here, you know who your listeners are. These listeners aren’t just download numbers: you speak to them in a direct relationship, through their email. You bring them into your world, where they read around a bit, maybe comment, maybe even put their email address down right away. 

In this new relationship, your listeners know you more intimately, too. You talk to them not just through the podcast but through writing; through more video, and audio, and images; through show notes that might be more album notes or essays than blurbs. In this podcasting universe, podcasters are more than podcasters, and listeners become more than listeners: they become a community.  They can listen, and read, comment, and discuss—with you and with each other, online, in email, and in the app—and respond right back. 

Writers on Substack have done so much more than just create newsletters. They went independent and became media outlets in their own rights. They created new communities. They changed the entire business model of writing, making it unnecessary to pander to algorithms or advertising. 

That’s what’s coming now for podcasting. The same way we made it simple to start a paid newsletter, we’re making it just as easy to produce a paid, subscription-based podcast on Substack. You can push every new episode to your readers and subscribers, on the Substack app and other podcast players, as easily as publishing a post in your newsletter. Owning your own audience also means something very different here than anywhere else: we make it easier for you to get and keep new listeners, and you’re never locked in with constraints around keeping those emails or payment systems. 

Just like Substack gave writers the freedom to be writers again, the Substack model of podcasting will bring the format to its pinnacle. Before, podcasting was a monologue into the void. Now, it’s a rich conversation listeners are invited into, a deeper connection with your own community. The world of ideas doesn’t need to be boiled down to one format—or one direction. 

So take a peek behind the Hollywood curtain with The Ankler; explore science and culture with The Origins; pick apart the news with The Fifth Column; level up your finance game with Fatal Conceits; listen in on the most interesting people in the world with Chris Ryan; unpack diet culture with Burnt Toast; go deep on foreign policy with American Prestige; or understand Internet nonsense with Blocked & Reported. These podcasts—and so many more—are part of the new wave changing the form, and expanding what’s possible on Substack.  

Visit our support center to learn how to start a new podcast or migrate a podcast from another hosting platform to Substack.

Our answers to common podcasting questions are located here.