Why is Substack Eating Their Writers?

If you low-key scream when you see a paywall these days, I'm with you

Fall of the Rebel Angels, by Peter Bruegel, 1569

I'm about to do something that will simplify my life, and if you’re reading this, particularly on the Substack app, I hope yours, too.

First, the name: I'm stripping the extraneous branding away from my newsletter here. I'm "Tia Levings, Writer" everywhere else. Now, I'm going to be "Tia Levings, Writer" here, too.

This summer, I went through a pivot to call this place WTFundamentalist. I’ve previously called this endeavor Dear Fellow, Subversive Hope, Deconstructing Fundamentalism, and The Anti-Fundamentalist. It’s safe to say I’ve experimented here, plenty. I also just added a spot of sunshine in a parallel column called The Happy Half to explore what else is true when the timeline feels especially hellacious. My archives will hold the evidence of the effort. Some folks would call this trial a failure. It’s not. It’s smart to change our minds when we gather new information. We get to grow, bend, flex, and change our minds after fundamentalism, and we’re better and healthier for it.

I hoped these message refinements would lead to growth. They have not. More on why down below. If your Substack is stuck or leaking, it’s not all our fault. There was a bubble, and it popped. Or maybe someone popped it. Perhaps popping it was the plan all along, through a process called “enshittification.”

From Paul Krugman:

Everyone loves enshittification. Not the thing itself, of course. But Cory Doctorow’s neologism was an instant hit, neatly encapsulating the public’s growing disappointment, sometimes bordering on rage, with what was happening to internet platforms. His pithy summary of the process was also brilliant:

Here is how platforms die: first, they are good to their users; then they abuse their users to make things better for their business customers; finally, they abuse those business customers to claw back all the value for themselves. Then, they die.

Call It What It Is?

Some personal Substack context:

I wanted the name and keywords to match my categories: US Politics and Faith/Spirituality. I deconstruct Christian fundamentalism in our headlines, culture, entertainment, and trauma recovery process.

The categories fit and also restrict. At one point, I was rising in U.S. politics. Then, I posted about art and happiness, and my rank broke again. I translate evangelical dogwhistles and hidden influences in politics and government. I nurture curiosity, creativity, and living a reclaimed life after extreme religious trauma. I’m a both/and woman, the kind of person who wants her own category. A bento box. The big-box of crayons. Charcuterie for dinner. One small scoop of everything, please. And then, when I have all the choices I want, I’ll pare them down to a few favorite basics. The same five foods. The same four outfits. The same name, the same color scheme, and I love continuity and flow.

Maybe it’s process I love most. Discovery. Articulation. Clarity.

I do my both/and work here, on social media, in my bestselling memoir, A Well-Trained Wife, and in my upcoming new book, I Belong to Me. This newsletter is part of an ecosystem I’ve created called my “author platform,” and I hope it offers you insight, clarity, hope, and encouragement. I hope I bring growth, art, wonder, and an expansive mindset to the vulnerable territory known as life after religious trauma, and I don’t skip the scary parts.

What the ecosystem offers me is healing. I write to work things out in my mind, challenge old narratives, unpack hidden codes, play with language, discover meaning, question the universe, smash the fucking patriarchy, use my voice, and otherwise live out my dreams. There has always been an author inside me, a storyteller and lover of language and ideas. Writing is her breath, and I’d breathe for free, even without readers. Wouldn’t you? It’s liberating to recognize I’m not dreaming of becoming an author anymore. I am one. The success of my Substack does not determine whether I write or not. I always have. I always will.

With transparency, the ecosystem is also my career. The aforementioned bestselling memoir, which came out in August 2024; the second book, which comes out May 5, 2026; the third and fourth (one is fiction) underway; my thought pieces on social media; and here. I write every day, and usually, what I write generates my income. I view the stacks I subscribe to as an offering. A sort of counter-tithe to the humanities. I feel the same way when I support art anywhere, and I don’t mind budgeting for subscription services that give me more autonomy over my choices.

I made $39k on Substack last year, before taxes, as one of my streams of income. When you support my work here, you literally help me pay my bills. Book advances are chopped in thirds (sometimes fourths) over years. They take years to accrue, too. Rolling advances is a good place to be, but tax rates for single self-employed creatives who don’t spend on deductibles are abhorrent. I’m still figuring it all out. I’m grateful for this stream of income, but most importantly, I’m thankful that the expectation that writers should work for free is shifting. We provide value. Thank you for recognizing that. Thank you from my soul.

I also gave away nearly a thousand paid subscriptions as a preorder gift last year. The offer still stands for I Belong to Me (access the form to upload your receipt here.) I don’t want to say “preorders are everything” to an author, because they don’t replace libraries, book sales after release, reviews and ratings, and the joy of having our work read. But from a business standpoint, preorders are one of the most potent ways you can support an author. Those numbers matter to so many business decisions, many of them critical. I’m happy to offer a complete subscription here as a way to thank you. (There will be other gifts, too. Uploading your receipt is the only step necessary to receive them.)

I started my life completely over at 49, just two years ago, and Substack income allowed me to make my writing platform my job, holding me upright between advance payments that paid therapy bills, paid down debt, and helped me start over in a new state. My books are underdogs. They aren’t national book club selections or Oprah’s darlings. As a debut, and not a celebrity, I have to educate readers (and booksellers) on why they’d find value in my books and content. The hustle is real and never ends, and I like it that way because I believe in my work. I can’t imagine any level of success that would make me want to stop engaging with readers: we are in a conversation that gives this work purpose, and for that, I need you. I also really like and love you.

Tough Categories: Five Top Book Editors on Publishing Memoir and Essay Collections

Back to the name. As an artist and a writer, I know it’s fun to name things. I can’t even start writing a book without a working title. And, who doesn’t love a clever name? I mean! Emily’s Grocery List? In Polite Company? Culture Study? How to Glow in the Dark? Preacher Boys? Necessary Salt? I love a great name! Even Letters from an American is clever, although we say, “Did you read Heather today?” She’s gaining first-name-only icon status.

If You're Just Starting On Substack, Don't Make The Same Dumb Mistake I Did

As a marketer, I know brand identity is vital. Personally, I enjoy marketing, which includes brainstorming and ideation, creating graphics, crafting compelling copy, and analyzing results. Marketing gets a bad rap from authors sometimes, but it’s literally just the vehicle you use to connect with readers. You’re helping them find what they’re looking for, in this case, your work, because it’s of value to them. Marketing was my day job for a long time, and now it’s just one of the hats I wear. Trying out new ideas embodies the sandbox mentality and spirit of play that I carry in my heart. I love the play of it all, even when it’s serious business.

But I’m a person, not a product. I’m “just Tia,” as I often say. Human, foible, empathic, curious, present. I’m a person with a story that readers relate to and benefit from understanding. I learned a long time ago that life is easier when I am who I am, everywhere I go. I’m far from perfect. I deeply try to be authentic. So there’s no way to make me a logo. I am who I am, and my work is an expression of me. If my writing name is becoming a brand, I don’t want to forget there’s a person inside of it all.

Plus, free marketing tip here: it’s hella easier to rattle off “I’m Tia Levings, Writer across all platforms” in interviews. Highly recommend the continuity of that if you’re an author.

How to encapsulate all that? Naming and renaming aren’t bad things. But it turns out the quest to name an identity other than myself played into a distraction. Substack is not a sandbox for writers and readers. Or, at least, not only that. It’s a business, and from what I read this week, a struggling one. Back to that popped bubble.

Call it what it is.

This examination had an impetus. Writers here are hemorrhaging subscribers and followers. I got caught up in a “throw it all on the wall and see what sticks” tornado ripping through Substack, because I assume the problem starts with me and what I’m doing wrong or what I’m missing. I rebranded because I tracked analytics with alarm.

It turns out the downtrends have little to do with me. Making more work for myself wasn’t going to change that. Substack is experiencing growing pains, and some of them are self-inflicted, and none of that is my business or what I use this platform for.

The powers that be fuck around with the algorithm to see what fits best for their business model. Writers are mostly in the dark on this, even the big ones who try to teach us what to do here. We can commiserate and share our observations, but we have very little control here, and almost as little support. It’s frustrating and expensive, in more ways than one.

Why Your Substack Subscriber Numbers Have Fallen Off a Cliff

Corporate’s gonna corporate. Enshittification happens everywhere. I’m not here to build an amazing Substack for the heck of building an amazing Substack (and no shame to those who are.) I’m here to connect with readers who are interested in taking our lives, families, country, and future back from high-control religion. I’m here to grow and explore what that means and what it looks like, and the emotional journey along the way. I’m not that interested in categories, boxes, branding, growth hacks, and names, other than how they help you find what you’re looking for.

Which I think, for a lot of us, is a life less complicated. I think if I bump into one more paywall, I’m going to scream. And I say that as someone who has depended on them.

I read broadly here, and recommend you do as well. Bump your algorithm. Be difficult to figure out. Bust ruts and pigeon holes. Avoid bots. Be a good literary citizen. Comment, engage, reply. If money is tight, like/share/follow/post to support creators. When drama comes, look up and check for strings. Sometimes life gets complicated because someone wants it to be.

So, second, the paywall. It’s (mostly) coming down.

My clean sweep simplification:

• This column will just come from me, Tia

• The content will be the same

• The posts will no longer be paywalled

• Neither the comments nor the chat will be paywalled

• The featured content will be (expansion plans include collabs, interviews, and an audio something or other, but I’m going to KISSweetheart too)

• You can get a free upgrade for a year with a preorder receipt on new books

• I might have to add some keywords here and there. Hope with me that this sticks.

I recognize I’m bucking some standard Substack advice. But I have better things to do than swirl my belly with what to call my thoughts. Here’s another reference post on why we all may need to simplify. Although NGL—I did consider calling this “How to Make Life Less Hard.”