How Not To Make Money on Substack

And Why That's Not Always a Bad Thing

Photo by Alexander Grey on Unsplash

I frequently read complaints from writers about Substack. Many argue that much of what they read is poorly written and poorly thought out, or that most of it is about hate politics, or that writers are so narcissistic they never share the posts of other writers, or (and this is the big one) big-name authors on Substack just write it in, posting mediocre work or videos of themselves walking their dog in Central Park while munching on a wicked good croissant.

Alas, there is much truth to the above complaints, but after examining each of these complaints, I’ve come to the conclusion that none of them matters.

So let’s begin:

The writing is poorly written or poorly thought out. The easy, yet unsatisfactory, way to counter this complaint is to point out its the faulty premise. Value judgments as the above overlook that the evaluation of a work is often subjective. A novel one reader thinks is lousy, another might think is the next The Great Gatsby. The problem with that view, of course, is that it is a bit of a copout. We all know, on some level, the difference between reading a great story with beautiful yet accessible prose and whose characters and themes resonate with us long after the book is put aside, in contrast to a thriller with workmanlike prose that we read for pure entertainment, not interested in committing much intellectual or emotional energy to it.

Admittedly, the above has a whiff of literary snobbism to it, overlooking that readers have different tastes, and that even those who consider themselves “sophisticated” readers crave a variety of reading experiences at different times. For example, I like to read pulp thrillers when I go on vacation because I want to be entertained, so I have little patience for reading the next “ground-breaking” novel by the “next big thing” who is so fixated on “gorgeous language” that he can’t get a character out of a room.

To be more specific, let’s look at three “fish” stories/movies—Moby Dick and Jaws (the books and movies) and the Sharknado franchise.

We would all agree, I hope, that Moby Dick is a masterpiece. It transforms the whale/fish story into a physical and spiritual battle with a sinister and/or divine force of nature, while incorporating history and too many other genres to mention in this short essay. Stephen Spielberg’s Jaws, with the screenplay and novel written by Peter Benchley, basically relies on the same themes and actions of Moby Dick. Chief Brody is Melville’s Ishmael while Quint is the obsessed Ahab, the latter who is more than willing to go down with the shark. And this same conflict is played out, always for laughs, in the Sharknado movies, which unlike Moby Dick and Jaws, has flat characters and action scenes that, because of their exaggerated absurdity, can only be called “slapstick.” It’s actually this slapstick quality of Sharknado that makes the franchise fun to watch.

What’s apparent, then, is that the levels of complexity in Moby Dick get watered down as we move to the Jaws and Sharknado franchises. And yet I have enjoyed all these books and movies at different times in my life. When in a contemplative mood, I’ll visit the whaling museum in New Bedford, then spend a week rereading Moby Dick, ending by watching the movie version of it with Gregory Peck and Richard Basehart. The novel will always be challenging, but it’s worth the work. Every time I return to it, I come away feeling somehow transformed. But when I’m laid up for a week and want to be entertained or laugh while sitting in my La-Z-Boy and eating popcorn, I’ll binge the Jaws and Sharknado franchises.

Much of the above observations could be said about the varying quality of pieces written on Substack, even the ones that truly trouble me, like the ones with poetry that is nothing more than Hallmark cliches broken haphazardly into verse. But what’s important to remember is that, in terms of this discussion, the onus is solely on the reader. Yes, there’s no excuse for sloppy, ponderous writing, but you have a choice whether to read it or not. And, yes, those “mediocre” sites will have more subscribers than yours because the work asks for very little from readers. But, again, no one is making you read those sites, and I have to admit that I’ve discovered many exceptional unknown writers on Substack who have very few subscribers, writers who astonish me with their insights and poetry and/or prose. They are writers who take their time to craft good essays, or stories, or poems. They respect their readers, so I go to them when I want to be enlightened.

The other complaints are easier to deal with:

In the Age of Trump, many sites are nothing more than political anti-Trump or anti- AOC/Bernie/Nancy Pelosi rants that often are as vulgar as Trump himself.

The answer: Again, don’t read them. If you like political sites, read The Bulwark.

Writers are so narcissistic that they never recommend or share your posts even though you share theirs.

The answer: Stop expecting quid pro quo. Stop recommending or sharing posts that you yourself have no time to read, and that you only recommend because you want to expand your own readership. And if you want love, stop by your mom’s house and ask for a backrub. Don’t be a writer.

Big-name authors on Substack post their mediocre work—all those bad poems, stories, or essays they’ve had stuffed in a drawer for ten years. Or they post videos of themselves walking their dogs as they munch on a wicked good croissant in Central Park.

This complaint even I, with my humble reputation (and my work has won a number of awards and fellowships), am often sickened by, mostly because of the disrespect these authors show toward their readers and the sense of entitlement their behavior suggests. They know the readers of their actual books will become paid subscribers to their Substacks, just so they can “talk” to the great writer in the comment section, thus somehow entering the rarified air of the Famous. But even this complaint overlooks all the well-known writers (Etgar Keret or Sherman Alexie, or the many fine writers of The Bulwark, to name a few), who always seem to publish quality stuff.

I guess what I’m saying is none of the above should matter to you, and, to be honest, it’s a bit creepy to complain about these real or imaginary injustices. I always told my students that if you’re going to be a plumber, you’re going to end up with bad knees. Likewise, if you choose to be a writer, your work, at different times, will be underappreciated. I have friends whose first novels were reviewed in the New York Times Book Review, and when those novels bombed, no one wanted to publish them again.

So what’s the solution?

Use Substack the way YOU want to and forget the rest.

I began my Substack with the hope of writing weekly hybrid essays that I could then collect into a book. That regimen gave me discipline, and now, two years later, I have a finished manuscript that will be published in 2026, which collects the “best” of those hybrid essays—all from the point of view of an aging humanist who feels as if he’s living in a country now unrecognizable to him.

Does that now mean that I have 10,000 subscribers because I have a book of essays forthcoming? Not at all. I have about 535 free subscribers, and I don’t plan to ask for paid ones until September. From the very beginning, I knew I would have trouble gaining subscribers. I’ve always loathed self-promotion and find it impossible to kiss the asses of other writers in an attempt to increase readership. I am also technologically challenged, so have no idea how to go that route, and I’d rather be waterboarded than try to be an “influencer,” which, to me, is like being the tenth backup singer to the main backup singer of an Elton John tribute band.

Now I do have two friends who are colleagues/friends with, inarguably, the most popular “literary” fiction writer currently on Substack. I’ve thought to ask those friends to mention my site to that writer because we are both satirists, and I know he would enjoy my comic sensibility. I’ve also considered asking them to personally give that author my While the Undertaker Sleeps: Collected and New Prose Poems While the Undertaker Sleeps, but I just can’t do it. To me, that approach resembles a kind of creepy literary stalking, suggesting a pathetic neediness that’s not in my DNA.

So does that make me better or more noble than everyone else? Nope, it just makes me ME, and you could easily argue that my choices are stupid and self-defeating.

What I’m saying is that if my site suddenly goes viral because some big name sees it and champions my work, that outcome will happen by accident. You make choices when you enter the Substack world. Lean into those choices and don’t complain about the outcomes.

It took me more than two years to get over the 500 mark, and, for now, I’m happy that anywhere from 200-500 people read what I write every week. That’s probably more people than who have read a few of the twenty other books I’ve published, some with big houses, others with small indie presses.

Finally, try to remember that writing should be fun, and fun only happens if you’re writing what you want to write and ignoring all the extraneous noise. So just write, man, and search Substack for like-minded souls. There’s a cool community of writersv out there if you take the time to find them.

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You can find Peter Johnson’s books, along with interviews with him, appearances, and other information at peterjohnsonauthor.com

His most recent book of prose poems is While the Undertaker Sleeps: Collected and New Prose Poems

His most recent book of fiction is Shot: A Novel in Stories

Find out why he is giving away his new book of prose poem/fragments, even though he has a publisher for it, by downloading the PDF from the below link or going to OLD MAN’S homepage. His “Note to the Reader” and “Introduction” at the beginning of the PDF explains it all: Observations from the Edge of the Abyss