Authored By Alyssa

diary of a melancholy marketer #5

When I first downloaded Substack, I saw a lot of posts like this one:

This is not a phenomenon unique to Substack. I’ve seen people on TikTok say that they’ve blocked their whole personal network before they got the bravery to start posting content consistently. I’ve had people on Bookstagram talk about leaving their name off their profile, so they can post their reviews without fear of someone they know finding their account.

I imagine most of the reasoning behind this sentiment is that posting is embarrassing. Being an openly active internet person comes with a lingering fear of being perceived. Of wanting the freedom of anonymity. To create without judgment, explanation, or justification.

Even if you whisper your goals to yourself at night, they still exist

But here’s the thing, when you treat your art—words, drawings, photographs, cuisine, etc.—like a dirty little secret, you’re inviting others to do the same. When you don’t take pride in what you create, you give yourself an invisible safety net. Act like you don’t care about furthering and growing in your talents, and the sting will lessen if your goals aren’t actualized. Reminds me of something C.S. Lewis penned in a letter to his friend Arthur Greeves, back in 1930:

Writing is like building a nest. The bee builds its cell and the bird its nest, probably with no knowledge of what purpose they will serve: another sees to that. Nobody knows what the result of your writing, or mine…will be. But I think we may depend upon it that endless and devoted work on an object to which a man feels seirously impelled will tell somewhere or other: himself or others, in this world or others, will reap harvest proportional to the output.

In a previous article, I discussed how my children’s book was born fast and furiously. I wrote the initial draft in about two hours, and after staring at that document filled with prose, my sole goal was to have it exist. Everything else—publishing, promoting, and monetizing became secondary. I spent months editing the rhymes, hiring an illustrator, securing the copyright, and uploading it to online retail spaces. All to make it real. An actual book that sits on a shelf. A book that my sister read to her classroom of first graders. It just came bursting out of me, demanding to be heard, read, and seen.

Finally, once it was in my hand, I called my mom. And she called everyone.

She posted on Facebook, sent the link to purchase to every member of our extended family, told her hairdresser and dog sitter, anyone who would listen, that her daughter wrote and published a book. My mother-in-law and friends did the same thing. Initially, I was really embarrassed, but then, for a whole week, my book was a #1 debut for children’s nursery rhymes.

Let others shout about you from the rooftops

When you block your closest circle from perceiving you, you’re putting yourself at the mercy of internet strangers; the worst kind of strangers. Aside from placing the weight of your worth on individuals you’ll never meet, you’re continuing to act ashamed of your art. Because it’s not all about the creation of your art, but talking about it with others. To muse.

I’ve spent many get-togethers talking to family members about Julia’s Shelf Discovery. I’ve listened to a cousin share prose of a book idea she had after reading mine. I’ve had friends surprise me with a crochet doll of my main character, parents of friends writing reviews online, and acquaintances posting about my book on their stories. I’ve gone to book signings and received advice from authors I admire.

None of this would be possible if I left my work to the mercy of the algorithm and internet strangers.

Being a writer is not something you can hide

Now, diva, I’m not saying to let everyone in. I know sometimes the art you make may be too honest, big, vulnerable, or ugly to share with the masses, but I do believe in the power of amplification.

When I launched my newsletter and shared it with my loved ones, they exclaimed,

• “I always knew you’d do something like this; you always loved to read and write.”

• “This makes so much sense, you’ve been obsessed with Princess Belle since you were a child.”

One theme stuck out: nobody was shocked at the idea of me becoming a writer. The only judgment, cringeyness, and doubt that existed was within myself. I am a writer. I’ve always been a writer. And I’ll continue to be a writer.

Rarely do gifts allow themselves to be tucked away or hidden. You have one, I know you do. Start treating it like one, and others will follow.

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Think about it

As promised last week, here’s an article that stopped and made me muse:

The following questions give you, diva, the opportunity to muse throughout the day:

1. What secret gift do you possess?

2. Can you share it with one person in your life?

3. When?

4. Promise?