Most writers don’t quit because they run out of ideas.
They quit because they don’t know why they’re writing in the first place.
I had a strategy call recently with someone who’d built 100 subscribers, then stopped. They weren’t burned out on writing. They loved it. But they had no idea what they were building toward. There was no reason to keep showing up beyond “I should probably post something today.”
So they stopped.
Together, we built a plan to start again. Here’s how.
Before you publish a single post, answer this question:
What does “monetize my writing” actually mean to me?
And get specific.
Most people say things like “I want to make money from my Substack” without thinking through what it means. Paid subscriptions? Workshops? Coaching? Selling a course? Each of these requires a completely different strategy.
I see three primary categories of people on Substack:
First: You’re just writing. Publishing for the love of it. No monetization plan yet or maybe ever. That’s cool, but know that’s what you’re doing.
Second: You’re making money with your writing or want to. This usually means paid subscriptions, sponsorships, and affiliate marketing, among others. The content itself generates the revenue.
Third: You’re using writing to build a business that makes money off-platform. Workshops, courses, one-on-one coaching. Your Substack builds trust and audience, but you monetize elsewhere. I call this a Substack-powered business.
There are no right or wrong ways to use Substack—all of these are valid. But you need to pick one because what you’re building toward dictates the strategy you design.
Let’s say you want to make an extra $2,000 a month.
If you’re selling $100 workshops, you need 20 sales per month. If your list converts at 1%, you’ll need somewhere around 2,000 subscribers to hit that number.
If you’re doing coaching at $500/month, you need 4 clients per month. Totally different math. A smaller audience works fine.
The point isn’t to be perfect here. It’s to establish realistic expectations.
I wrote on Substack for 10 months before I even started growing. I didn’t make $2,000/month in my first year. Do I think it’s possible for someone else? Yes. Do I think it requires intentionality, some hard work, and maybe a little luck? Also yes.
Having a target keeps us from attaching our self-worth to hitting an arbitrary timeline.
If you work full-time and have a family and you’re intentionally choosing gentle growth over hustle, you need to be honest about the tradeoffs.
Not hustling means slower growth. That’s not wrong. But it’s a reality.
The industry will try to make you feel like you’re doing it wrong if you’re not posting three times a day and going live on seven platforms. Ignore that. But also don’t expect the same results as someone who’s treating Substack like a full-time job.
You’re not trying to be Gary Vaynerchuk. You’re trying to build something sustainable that doesn’t start to consume your life.
You chose this pace for a reason. Just make sure you’re cool with what it means.
Take a second to think about what’s most likely to derail you.
If you’ve tried this stuff before, what made you stop? Impostor syndrome? Burnout? Lack of clarity on what you were building? Couldn’t keep up? Wasn’t working?
If this is your first time, what roadblocks do you anticipate? Not enough time? Fear of putting yourself out there? Getting stuck on what to write? Unsure what to sell?
For most people, it’s one of two things:
They don’t know what they’re selling, or,
They don’t have a system they can realistically sustain.
Knowing your barriers before they show up helps you design around them.
You need something to build toward.
Think of it like bumper lanes instead of a fixed plan.
The client I mentioned? They wanted to create workshops around life transitions. But “life transitions” is too broad. So we got specific.
What if we created a workshop for women in their 40s, processing the grief of losing a parent? Or one for moms who’ve recently become empty nesters and feel a loss of purpose? Or one for those caring for aging, unwell parents?
Suddenly, you’re not just writing about or selling “transitions.” You’re speaking to someone in a very specific situation who sees themselves in your content.
This doesn’t mean every post has to be about that one thing. But having a direction gives you direction and your content purpose.
And here’s the thing: knowing what you’re selling changes how you create content. It gives you a sense of confidence. It gives each piece a natural throughline, even if you’re not actively “selling.”
When you know you’re building workshops around specific situations like we just mapped out, your content starts to write itself.
You write about how those transitions show up. You share your own story of navigating them. You talk about people you’ve worked with (anonymously). You offer your insights and frameworks.
Your content builds the audience for what you’ll eventually sell.
Not every piece needs to be niched down. But it should fall into the same general bucket. Your posts can be more focused, your notes can be more personal and experimental. Think of notes as the discovery engine and posts as the deeper work for people who’ve already subscribed.
A lot of people get stuck here. I sure did—do.
They think niching means talking about the exact same thing every single day until they want to scream and smash their keyboard with a hammer.
That’s not what I’m suggesting.
Niche content is relevant to fewer people, but much more relevant to those people. That’s powerful. But you’re also a complex human with layers. You can talk about motherhood and yoga and co-parenting and K-pop if that’s who you are.
Those things actually become unique differentiators that people connect to.
If you’re writing about life transitions and you love yoga, you can write about yoga as a grounding practice during hard seasons. That’s totally relevant.
If you start teaching yoga routines with no connection to your core offer, the risk is that it’s competing with your other content and may impact monetization. Like before, you choose the compromise.
The key is that most of your content connects back to what you’re known for. But there is nothing wrong with a rant about your love for K-pop. Especially in the early stages when we’re experimenting.
Niche down enough that people know what you’re about, but not so much that you resent what you’re creating. Keep your content fun.
At this point, we know what we’re building, what we’re selling, and what we’re writing about. Now, we start building the routine that facilitates its creation.
You need a time to create.
Not “whenever I feel inspired.” An actual block of time.
This doesn’t have to be daily. It just has to be consistent and protected.
For the client I mentioned, it was Sunday mornings at 10 am. This was a predictable time, when they felt good and were confident in sticking to.
Find the time that’s least likely to get interrupted. Not evenings when you might need to run errands. Not mornings when you’re barely functional or rushing the kids off to school. A real pocket of time that you can count on.
30-60 minutes can be a starting point.
Predictable weekly time block.
In your calendar.
Feel inspired? Have more time? Write for longer? Bonus.
The initial focus is on building momentum.
Make it something you look forward to.
Light a candle. Brew your favorite tea. Go to your fav coffee shop. Listen to a special playlist gets you in the zone. Signal to your brain: this is creative time.
The ritual helps because it makes the work easier to start. Your brain learns the pattern. You sit down, light the incense, and the words start flowing.
Here’s the thing about writing: some days you’ve got it, some days you don’t.
I shift between seasons of batch creation and daily in-the-moment creation. Both have their place, and I think it’s important to experiment and follow the natural ebbs and flows of your life and energy.
When building your habit, a cornerstone block of time sets the foundation for consistency. But if/when inspiration hits, take advantage. If the goal was one note, and you write three notes? Post one. Bank two.
Now you have a buffer for when life happens. And life will happen.
Don’t force yourself to post everything the second you write it. Build a cushion. Stay a little bit ahead so you’re never scrambling on Wednesday night because you forgot to draft your Thursday post.
I hate stress. So I build systems that reduce it. Batching is one of them.
Don’t overthink headlines on day 1.
Don’t obsess over formatting or worry about going viral.
Right now, you’re focused on one thing: building a rhythm you can stick with.
One post a week, plus a few notes? That’s plenty.
Get the system down first. Build momentum. Find your voice. Then you can start optimizing and layering on complexity.
Trying to perfect everything before you’ve even built consistency is how people burn out before they start.
Remember, the perfect headline doesn’t help if we quit after 3 months.
Once you’ve got your rhythm, you can layer in other things.
But you don’t have to. There’s something special about finding a rhythm that works, growing slowly, and staying committed to that. his is oddly more difficult than chasing the next growth hack.
Collaborations are my go-to recommendation for growth. The reason is simple: they place you in front of someone else’s audience.
Here are my go-tos:
Commenting on other people’s posts.
Going live with someone.
Collaborating with writers in adjacent/complementary niches.
But don’t stress about this yet. Comments can happen in 10-minute pockets—I call this ‘Commenting in the margins.’ But collaborations can wait until you have the capacity to build them into your routine.
When you’re building something sustainable, it’s not a race.
Most writers don’t quit because they run out of ideas… They quit because they don’t know why they’re writing in the first place. Or somewhere along the line, they forgot.
Most people don’t talk about this… And it’s the thing that will either keep you going or quietly let you drift away and become disconnected from your work.
So before you worry about the perfect headline or the ideal posting schedule, get clear on the basics:
Define what you’re actually working towards.
Be honest about what is sustainable for your life.
Anticipate and plan for the inevitable roadblocks ahead.
Start simple and layer on growth strategies if, and when, you’re ready.
That’s it. That’s the whole thing in four bullets.
It doesn’t have to be complicated. But most people skip straight to growth hacks without ever asking themselves why they’re posting in the first place.
Now go build something you’ll actually stick with.
Hope this helps.
Landon
P.S. Ready to make Substack work for you?
If you’re convinced Substack is worth it but tired of the hustle-culture guru advice that didn’t work, I’ve documented exactly how I built 9 revenue streams from my Substack—without burning out.
The Unhustled Substack Growth Workshop shows you my complete system: from building a 90-day content calendar, the anti-hustle growth engine, to building genuine authority with your writing that attracts opportunities instead of chasing them.
No overnight success promises. No viral growth hacks. Just the sustainable approach that let me quit traditional social media and still grow to 10,000+ subscribers.
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