Why This Autistic Editor and Writer Doesn't Have More Readers

Hint: it's not Substack's algorithm or editorial choices

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During the pandemic I published a blog on my website that single-handedly drove about 80% of my traffic.

It was a meatball recipe from Roy Choi, transcribed from a cooking show I can't remember the name of now.

If you google "Roy Choi meatball recipe," my website is still the second result.

Here are some depressing stats on this post:

2022 All-time Views

Home Page: 1,058.

Mr. Meatball: 5,923.

When I made those meatballs in my home kitchen, they were so good that I just had to write the recipe down. I had never published a recipe before and haven't done so since. In all, more than 12,000 people have landed on my website just because I wrote one, single blog with a meatball recipe I couldn't find anywhere else on the Internet.

And you know what? From all those views, not one single person signed up to be on my newsletter. (I played around with some call-to-action buttons in the first year of that post's life, but no joy.) Not one person tried to find me on Instagram when I still had an account. All these eyeballs and nothing to show for it. Not even a thank you.

This blog was essentially posted by accident, on a whim, and it's still pretty embarrassing because I am a serious editor and writer, goddammit. I put so much of myself and my time into what I write, and it seems to fall flat over and over again.

Talking into the ether? That's my full-time job on Earth apparently. The next blog with the most views is a piece where I began exploring the "nature of voice" in writing. And it has 302 all-time views—and, again, no sign-ups, no thank you's.

What do all successful creative endeavors come down to?

Since 2007, I've been a writer and editor in publishing, marketing and a few miscellaneous editorial or management roles. And this phenomenon still drives me batty.

Why does the dumb, haphazard thing succeed when my thoughtful, deeply heartfelt pieces are left out to dry?

I was listening to Natalie Goldberg the other day, and she had something infuriating to say on the matter. She’s the author of Writing Down the Bones, a book that first explored the connection between writing and mindfulness meditation. To date, that one single book of hers has sold more than 1 million copies. It is her most wildly successful book, and you know what she attributes its success to?

First and foremost: People being ready.

And second: being an open, willing vessel for writing to work through her, even in never-ending "fruitless" seasons.

Can you even take that in? A book that’s sold that many copies and the author basically shrugs her shoulders and says, "I guess it was just the right time."

And you know what? She's right. I don't want her to be right, but after 15+ years as a writer and editor, there is an essential intangibility—an alchemy, even—to the moment when our writing collides with something people are ready to hear. There's a right person at a right time who shares it with this person and suddenly, your reader list is growing. And just like all those tireless months and years in the writing desert before, you are along for a ride over which you still have no real control.

But what can I do to make my writing better now?

While I do have some overly optimistic faith that readers are being gathered by angels and are on their way to my Substack, I'm also deeply practical and have an earnest desire to offer some old-fashioned, blunt Autistic analysis on the plight of Substack writers.

I read a lot of comment threads on Substack and a consistent complaint reads something like this: "The Substack algorithm isn't nice to small readers! They won't feature my writing because I'm so small. They only like 'successful' newsletters."

To that I say: Maybe so, but that's not likely. And you know how I know this?

Because I've been on plenty of editorial teams where we make the call around what goes on the home page, above the fold ... you know, what gets center stage. And even in Substack, the place for new media, some journalism "newsworthiness" values still endure. Substack's editorial team is trying to do something a bit edgy by holding itself accountable to readers and writers equally—but at the end of the day, it's to their benefit (and yours and mine) that they have a really strong story sniffer.

So let's say that you are busting your bazooka. You are writing, you're publishing on a consistent basis, you have a content calendar, you are networking, you are posting to the socials. And you still don't have the readers you'd hope to have. My next question would be:

Are you writing something that's worth hitting the "subscribe" button for?

For a little while I worked as an editor with Ann Handley and MarketingProfs. Ann is considered the first Chief Content Officer ever, and she knows her stuff inside and out. And she's been shouting to the rooftops for many years now about how asking for a person's email address is like asking them to give you the keys to their house.

Is your Substack "here are my house keys" good?

In my free time, I will often click on the comments where readers are complaining that their lack of readership is Substack's fault. I'll take a look and see if they really are, perhaps, the unsung Picasso of Substack.

And here's a mix of what I usually find:

• They've just started writing two weeks ago. There's nowhere near enough writing samples to entice any reader to give them a chance.

• They're writing about topics that nobody would give up "long-form reading time" to listen to.

• Their writing has no hint of a distinguishable personality, life experiences or divergent viewpoints.

• They are trying to be too original and sacrificing readability.

So what do you do when all your best efforts are falling flat? Well, if you were sitting across from me, I would take your hands in mine, and I would ask:

Are you really telling the truth of your life here?

Is your writing quality suffering because you are stretching yourself too thin, trying to bang on every door to get people to listen?

Have you taken a risk in what you publish?

Why I probably don't have tons of readers

The other day, a marketing friend of mine sent me some bios she'd written for their company website. The CEO's was lovely and just needed some polishing. But my friend's bio was on the struggle bus.

I told her, "You cannot surgery on yourself perform."

So I whipped up five to six sentences, sent them back over to her, to which she replied, "You are the wind beneath my wings."

Despite such resplendent feedback and undeniable proof that I should have thousands of people reading my words, I don't. And I want to wrap up this post by talking about why, if I could perform surgery on myself, I don't have a ton of readers.

1. I've not been consistent. I'm not saying that to judge or shame myself. It's just a fact. When life gets hard, my impulse is to hide—either physically or behind other people's stories as their editor. As a late-diagnosed Autistic woman with a dissociative disorder (DID), life has been really f*cking hard for a really long time.

2. Having DID introduces a specific kind of inner uncertainty that no cutesy little content calendar can overcome. It's like having 20 editors-in-chief in your mind trying to vie for center billing, but you don't know where or who they are or what they want. They're just there to make a mess of things.

3. I have never had a good relationship with my instincts, which is terrifically unhelpful when you're trying to tackle the thoughts in your mind down onto the page. My instincts shift at the drop of a hat, which is why I threw my hands up two years ago and put all my focus into tending to my tortured inner life.

4. When my writing happens to be consistently published, it also doesn't stay in a theme. And themes are the clearest way for readers to decide if they're in or out. Now, I realize Substack is a place where "no theme" is becoming a niche. But, as an Autistic woman, I don't think that works for me, primarily because small talk and banter make my brain shut down, no matter what situation I'm in. I need a focus, a resting place from which to relate and then I'll have a chance of survival out in the wild. I don't think it's different for my writing life online.

5. I do think there's a rhythm for connecting genuinely with people online that I sometimes miss. Sometimes I come across as too eager, or I chime in 10 days late on a post I really loved. I do think there's something about timing in this online world of writing that perhaps I'm overlooking. (Which is why I'm talking to an editorial consultant who, perhaps, has some neurotypical and creative lenses to share that can help me understand how to help people approach my writing.)

6. I was using my online writing as a substitute for being heard by the people who matter most in my life. I sort of assumed that I was fine without my best friend and my husband reading what I write, but I was wrong. I need them to be with me in this. In the trenches, witnessing this world of online writing where it can sometimes feel like a completely different Amanda spends time. Once I got really clear that I needed two of the primary figures in my life to just read and acknowledge my work and cheer me on when I get one new paid subscriber (I saw you today, Beverly!), I was then able to endure the feeling of being ignored by everyone else online as a writer.

I wish I had a graceful way to wrap this up or tell you that this one trick will make all your writing dreams come true. But I do wonder if it helps knowing you're not alone.

Who helps keep you company when very few people acknowledge what you write?

Would it help to have someone read one of your pieces and share some feedback?

If so, leave a link to something you’ve written recently. I can't promise roses and fairies, but I will be as genuine and honest and thorough as I'm able.

Now, tell me, what are you writing today?