At the beginning of August, I resolved to catch up on some reading that I’ve wanted to get around to all year. Since I joined Substack, I’ve subscribed to over ninety newsletters. It didn’t happen all at once. I spent the first two months after creating my Substack account getting a feel for the place.1 I made the assumption that Substack’s algorithm would quickly mold itself to my early interactions on the platform, so I was intentional with my engagement.2 My assumption was true (and likely true now).
My feed soon was full of writers who were Black and/or queer and/or disabled and/or spiritual and/or religious. And not everyone was a writer in my feed. There were artists who made digital art, abstract art, zines, comics, book covers, clothing, and watercolor paintings. Folks young and old, from all walks of life who were professors, sex workers, parents, siblings, immigrants, faith leaders, historians, and teachers.
And the newsletters had different approaches to what they shared with their audience. There were essays that were explicitly intertextual, laden with hyperlinks and even carrying a reference section at the end. Others had personal photos of their lives and memes as their references. I’ve seen newsletters that were mostly displays of the person’s art or a collection of other people’s work shared for their audience’s enjoyment (credited, of course). There were newsletters centered around a particular artist’s performances or interviews, sometimes with little accompanying text besides the who and the what. And more rarely, a couple newsletters were used rather traditionally as advertisements for their business offerings.3
How could you blame me for seeing everything and everyone and wanting to take them with me to my inbox? My enthusiasm was admirable in theory, but I forgot to do some basic math.
It has been a valiant effort to get out of this hole, but I will have to change things up. There is a limit to how much I can feasibly read from Substack while also writing and also reading books, comics, etc. I’m going to strike a better balance between reading new and old posts so that I can still keep a pulse on the platform. I don’t regret subscribing to so many people. I want to follow their progress or greater body of work on the platform. However, it isn’t something I can do passively like subscribing to someone’s YouTube channel. Looking at my inbox has me thinking about how Queen’s Muse will land in someone else’s, amidst other posts and mundane emails.
My first Substack post was September 2nd of last year to an audience that started at zero. As I approach the first birthday of Queen’s Muse, I’m reflecting on how I can continue to grow as I have since gathered an audience that is significant to me. I’ll continue to evolve and experiment over the next twelve months with how I use and write in my newsletter. There are a couple changes that I already have planned so far:
I plan on posting primarily on Thursdays, with a few exceptions I’m sure.
When my posts on Substack turn a year old, I’ll be archiving them here and posting them on Buy Me a Coffee. On Buy Me a Coffee, I’ll add new commentary to the post with reflections on where I was a writer. While there will likely be a few formatting changes, the original text of each post will remain untouched.
I’m grateful for the past year as a writer. And I would like to thank you for reading what I have to share. In the midst of so much happening in your lives, it is a humbling privilege for you to spare time to read my work.
Here’s to another year of Queen’s Muse! Take it easy, and be safe.
Read More from Queen’s Muse
Sometimes we forget that Substack is a platform for publishing newsletters, not the false Twitter/YouTube/TikTok/Instagram homunculus it has become.
I also knew of Substack’s seedy corners of white supremacy, phobias, and isms. I wanted to steer clear of all of it.
Reading through these older posts, there was also a clear turn in November. In the wake of the 2024 Presidential Election, the pain of Trump becoming President-elect can still be felt. The Black women and femmes in my life and in Substack responded with the grief of having a loved one imprisoned. Reading these posts while the US military occupies my hometown, it’s clear that the grief is a much older one that has never gone away. We continue to fight every way we can, but there is a mourning in the fight’s necessity.