Y esterday I had to confront the Substack reality check.
It’s just over a year since I was last beset by crippling doubts. At that time, I was just coming up to the main arc in my story and felt the weight of historic responsibility to get the facts right. Now my novel is complete, but once again those doubts are besieging me.
This time, I blame Substack.
Launching Substack
F or months, Jack has been telling me I need to set up a Substack from which to promote my now self-published, The Banana Road. And for months I’ve been procrastinating, finding endless (legitimate) deadlines that had to be met first.
A week or so ago, with The Banana Road ready to go back on sale, my last travel writing deadline met, and my historic fiction being edited by Jack, I ran out of excuses and knuckled down to get to grips with (yet another) social media platform.
As always, my initial forays into a new (to me) aspect of this world left me baffled and depressed, feeling like an utter Boomer.
Once again, Jack rode to the rescue, dispersing some of the fog of incomprehension and pointing me in the right direction.
The Banana Road
G etting The Banana Road Substack into shape seemed, if not easy at least doable. I knew what I wanted to say and I had a clear idea what people would get from subscribing. After all, I had the polished book now on sale and endless material to work with. I can offer subscribers an insight into multiple aspects of living in The Canary Islands that both visitors and potential new residents will find helpful.
I also have my own story to share; extracts from the published memoir; outtakes never before seen, and sunshine-soaked images that every Monday morning will transport you from a cold, wet, windy Britain to the paradise shores of Tenerife without the cost of the airfare.
‘Of course, you’ll need a parent Substack for your other work,’ Jack mentioned.
Such an innocuous statement. Such a minefield.
An Aspiring Author’s Journey
I needed to launch a Substack that would enable me to showcase my work as a travel writer (the top image is me researching the cigar industry on La Palma in 2012) and chronicle my hope of transitioning to a published author. This new Substack is where I’ll share updates on my current work-in-progress as I journey through that transition.
This is also where I can share any further travel writing projects I’m involved with, like my recent Rough Guide contract. As one of their authors, I can offer discounts on Rough Guide travel books.
So far, so good.
I wrote, edited, and rewrote the About Me page; designed a logo, compiled a gallery of images, and published a Coming Soon post.
But then it was time to face the Substack reality check; why should people subscribe to my Substack?
Hello, self-doubt, my old friend
S uddenly the words I was writing sounded hollow and frankly, dull.
In time, I’ll be able to share extracts and teasers from my soon-to-be-published (optimism is paramount when you’re an aspiring author) novel. I can publish fascinating facts about that period in history and the events that have been overlooked or conveniently forgotten. But until it’s on the brink of publication, I cannot reveal anything about it.
What does that leave me with?
I can share my thoughts, my progress, my hopes, and my learning points. I can talk about the competitions I’m entering and the ones I’m choosing not to enter, but really, who cares what I’m doing? And why should they?
I researched what other authors on Substack were saying about themselves and their work.
Every About page I looked at began with the words ‘New York Times Bestseller’ or ‘Booker Shortlisted’ or ‘Author of Seventeen Published Novels’ or ‘Acclaimed Author of …’. It was easy to see exactly why someone would subscribe to their Substack; they have something we aspiring authors don’t yet have, credibility.
I stared at the screen and allowed all the doubts that constantly lurk in the wings to have free rein. I went from, why would anybody want to hear anything I’ve got to say? To what if this book’s only okay at best? What if I’ve effectively wasted a large chunk of the past two years? What do I do then?
Facing up to the Substack reality check
H aving wallowed in self-pity and self-doubt, I felt better. Sometimes facing the reality of your fears removes their threat.
It may well be that nobody wants to read my Substack, so be it. My historic fiction novel may not find an agent and a publisher, so what? I’ll just self-publish instead. And if nobody buys it, nobody buys it. I’ve written it, I’m glad I’ve written it, and once it’s out there I can move onto other things.
I feel I ought to have a tee shirt that says:
I faced the Substack reality check and now I’m over it.
