A SHORT NOTE ON GOING PAID

“What does your platform look like?”

The question came in an email from an obviously skeptical literary agent I had queried with an admittedly improbable idea.

I pondered on that for a moment, and—unable to come up with an answer involving followers and influence and social media presence and marketing strategy because I have none of those things—I figured that if I was going to go down in the flames of rejection, I might as well light the match with a quip.

“Hell, I don’t know,” I replied. “I guess it looks like prairie grass and caliche rock. Sunsets and wind and aching loneliness. And there’s usually a dog standing on it.”

Needless to say, I never heard back from that agent.

Clearly, I need to work on my self-promotion skills.

And clearly, it’s time to go take a long walk across my platform; time to marvel at so many tiny little momentary wonders; time to feel the stickiness of crushed sand-sage on my skin, my clothes, my boots; time to inhale the sharp pungency of its aroma and let the scent of the prairie permeate every pore.

But before I do, I wanted to mention that I have activated my Substack’s paid option for those who have so generously pledged their financial support for my writing, and I wanted to personally thank those of you who have done so.

You didn’t make that decision because I asked you too (or even provided the option) but because you independently found my page, you enjoyed what I’ve written, and based on that you decided to place a sense of worth and value upon that writing with a pledge.

And for a writer, that means the world. It truly does, and I am deeply honored by the gesture.

I’ve been a full-time professional writer (and sometimes editor) since my very first paying gig way back in the mid-90s.

I can’t say I ever made it big, or became wealthy, or even comfortable, but I’ve made a career of sorts out of doing the only thing I’ve ever been any good at, really the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do.

During this 30-year journey I’ve written for many different publications in many different (sometimes wildly different) genres. I’ve even won a few awards here and there along the way.

But I can honestly say the simple gesture of offering a gift of unsolicited money because something I wrote moved you is the highest honor I’ve ever received as a writer. And I mean that.

From the beginning I have resisted turning on the paid option not only because that’s not the reason I’m here, but because I didn’t (and still don’t) feel I could consistently offer value for that money with the type of subscription plan and content that I see so many other people offering.

I knew when I started my Substack account that it was never going to be wildly popular, or even mildly popular, or—if I’m honest— anything other than virtually unknown. Which was totally expected, and completely fine.

What I write and how I write it has always appealed to a relatively tiny and esoterically weird demographic: bird-hunting poets, flatlander fly-fishing wannabes, misanthropic prairie rats, lovers of old landscapes, old books, old guns, old dogs. Some of my greatest literary heroes—Steve Bodio, Charles Bowden, John Graves, Ellen Meloy, Harry Middleton, and dozens of others like them— never achieved much in the way of commercial success, but remained true to what they were.

I don’t mind obscurity. I’ve always believed that as a reader, you will find the authors you were meant to find, and as a writer the audience you need will find you.

I started this Substack for the same reason I started my first blog all those years ago, for the same reason that I still write things on this platform even as I continue to write other things for more traditional paying markets: Because I love to write.

I don’t write for popularity, I don’t write to a specific market or audience, I don’t write what sells. I write for the love of the written word, for the artistry and beauty and music of it. I write because I am—and always have been—compelled to write.

I’m a terrible—absolutely terrible—self-promoter. I don’t have a brand or brand strategy, I don’t have a marketing plan designed to increase subscribers, and I have no idea how to turn what I do into such a thing. Sometimes I wish I had that talent.

But I don’t. All I’ve ever done is write, and all I’ve ever had to offer as an incentive are words. That’s it. Just words.

So for those of you who have told me with your pledge that you value those words beyond the mere reading of them, I humbly thank you once again. Your gift—and the validation it represents—means more to me than you will ever know.