Your voice matters more than ever.
AI is flooding the internet with generic content. The creators who win are the ones who learn to collaborate without losing what makes them them.
That's what I write about. Subscribe if you're building something that sounds like you → https://t.co/eFoQOLr7Il
9/ I wrote the whole thing down: why the feed buries your best work, the four kinds of comment that actually earn the click, and the exact no-ask message I send every day.
https://t.co/rlliOs2M26
1/ Good writing doesn't get found. People find people.
The feed can't read. It never will. It just sniffs for motion (who replied, who restacked, who carried you into their house) and amplifies what's already moving.
You can be brilliant and invisible at once.
8/ Your writing was never the bottleneck. The silence around it was.
Ten real comments in other people's houses. One message that wants nothing back. Ten minutes a day.
Getting invited is learnable. There's a way to ask that doesn't read like every other cold pitch in the inbox.
It's one piece of the First-500 Playbook: the 30-day system I run with clients to take a Substack from cold to 500 subscribers.
Get it here:
https://t.co/da4d7UsoP8
I spent years convinced the muse was real and that I had to wait for her.
She never showed. Not once. Turns out she had a union and they'd been on strike for ages.
What actually showed up was a chair, a deadline, and the deeply unglamorous willingness to write the worst version first.
Roughly 1 in 5 YouTube shorts may already be AI-made. A third qualify as brain rot with a thumbnail.
The flood isn't coming. You're standing in it, checking your phone.
Out-producing it was never the play. Being the post that obviously had a person behind it is.
Your last post wasn't flagged by some mythical detector. It was skimmed by a reader and forgotten-- which is waaaayyyy worse.... at least a flag means somebody noticed it was there.
The new fear was never "will they think AI wrote this?".
It's "will anyone actually care how I create this?".