Part 2: Keeping company when community is too much
Redefining gathering and connecting online, through every Writing Season
Yesterday I shared about how I’ve been feeling unsettled in my writing life. I’ve been seeking answers about how to confidently navigate away from a Season of Tending and into a Season of Craft.
Before The Editing Spectrum became a beloved home for my writing and interview series, these shifts in my writing life happened under the radar. But with a readership of more than 2,000 people now, there’s a new dynamic at play.
As I reflect on my Season of Tending and the shift into a Season of Craft, there’s a lot to consider. Instead of a season of intentionally and strategically connecting with readers across Substack, the Season of Craft is feeding my desire to sink into the art of storytelling.
Within these reflections, there’s one substantial expectation still looming in my mind—and it involves the idea that I ought to cultivate a “community” within my newsletter.
As an autistic person, this element of the newsletter has perplexed me for a while now. In my mind, even within a large, growing online space, a “community” needs someone tending to it and gently steering it. While I understand in principle that a community should “self nurture” after a certain point, in practice, I don’t think that’s so cut and dry. The conversations that happen between readers in The Editing Spectrum are incredibly nourishing for me to read. But even in other newsletters, I can’t help but hope to also hear from the author directly. I love that feeling of connection with authors on Substack, and I’ve felt conflicted about not reliably offering the same in my own newsletter.
Practically speaking, “community” implies there is someone who checks in on the conversations; someone who likes comments so people feel seen; someone who replies to folks so there is a mutual, shared labor in the cultivation of a robust dialogue. And for the last year, that person has been me—joyfully, excitedly, enthusiastically. But if my Season of Tending is turning toward craft, does this mean I’ve just torpedoed a big part of the perceived value in my newsletter? A Season of Craft is a necessarily quieting time. And as I’m called inward, I know the energy I used to pour into my comments sections and discussion threads needs to be redirected, to be poured into myself.
As I surrender to this call to a Season of Craft, I’m accepting something about how I make my way through the world as an autistic writer:
In my writing work, I’m not naturally drawn to participate in community-centric spaces.
There could be many reasons for this: “Community” has become a loaded and simultaneously ambiguous term in our society. What is expected of me? What are the ramifications if I disappear or don’t engage? Will I be missing out if I don’t join in the “community benefits” of this space? With all this anxiety floating in my head, when someone offers “community” through an online platform, I instantly feel resistance. I spend enough time trudging through real-life social activities and invisible expectations.
(To add to the confusion, I’ll throw in the fact that 20 years ago I got caught up in a cultish church in college that used community as the reason no one should ever leave town when they graduate… and instead stay stuck in dead-end jobs just so they could attend the same church. There, “community” was a subtle but powerful, integral force for nurturing an unhealthy attachment to an organization that also happened to want 10% of everyone’s money, too.)
For better or worse, while I see the benefits in offering community, I feel deep skepticism of it.
But even if I put all these trappings aside, whenever I feel stuck in my writing, I don’t naturally turn to community—at least not in the traditional sense. I don’t reach out to discover what dozens of people think of a headline or paragraph. I turn to one or two people. Trusted advisors. People who know me. I turn to them for listening, for companionship and to feel myself being reflected back. In essence, I realize now that I turn to them for a kind of company.
Leaning into company over community
And it’s this gift of company I think can be cultivated in this upcoming Season of Craft. It’s what I’d like to see flourish in The Editing Spectrum—I’d like us to keep each other company. The gift of keeping one another company has the potential to accomplish a few things:
It prioritizes our individual autonomy and unique needs around finding resources in a busy world.
It acknowledges the essential “aloneness” we shift in and out of as writers.
It creates room for needs being sincerely met without rewarding hyper activity or socially isolating quiet commenters.
It lets you show up wherever and however you are, without pressure to participate. You can "like," comment, DM or lurk. Whatever feels authentic to you at the time.
To my mind, writing company assumes the best in each person who chimes in on an essay or writing prompt (even after, perhaps, a long reprieve). It thrives on rules of kindness and freedom to come and go, to be nourished in whatever ways you may need, rather than rigid “in or out” structures.
As the writer evolves, so does the newsletter
I debated quite a bit about whether or not to share some of my in-depth processes and thinking around community versus keeping one another company in The Editing Spectrum. Practical speaking, you probably won’t notice a huge shift in how you interact with the writing I’m publishing. There is not a huge outer shift happening in my newsletter, but rather one inside me. And that’s really what I want to be speaking to in my writing guidance right now: the inner processes you might encounter as a writer and one alternative way to relate to your changing needs when a newsletter is in the mix.
» How do you relate to the concept of “community” in a newsletter setting like Substack?
» Have you ever felt your writing needed to shift but felt worried about how it would affect your readers? If so, how did you navigate it and what did you learn?
Stay tuned for next week’s essay where I’ll share all the exciting new updates for readers.
I love this. Company instead of community. Perfect.
I love this, Amanda. First of all, it's not just you. I've just finished a six-week online writing workshop. I had deluded myself into thinking that I'd be able to keep up the pace of posting, but of course that didn't happen, with almost a three-week gap before my most recent post. So, clearly, I've been pushed, reluctantly at first, into a season of craft, and you know, I think I'm going to stay here for a while. I notice a few of our mutual friends are also quieter at the moment. It must be something in the air!
» How do you relate to the concept of “community” in a newsletter setting like Substack?
The folks who comment on my every post, who I can email, who don't care if I don't post for a few weeks.
» Have you ever felt your writing needed to shift but felt worried about how it would affect your readers? If so, how did you navigate it and what did you learn?
Yes! I was concerned about lowering my posting frequency during the workshop. In reality, the flow of new subscribers slows to a trickle, but, other than that, no one cares.
I also want to add more memoir and personal essay content, and I'm concerned that my watery followers, especially the local ones I know personally, won't like it. I thought about a separate publication, or at least section. Those turn out to be my most read posts! For now, I'm going with tags and keeping everyone in the same tent.