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In the companion to this post, I and several other Substack writers mused about the feelings associated with subscribing and unsubscribing. Below you’ll find their full responses.
There’s also a short survey about your subscription practices that I’d love to have your input on:
Mark DeLong writes:
I do wonder when someone unsubscribes, but I get over it in a couple of minutes. I am more interested in the measure of engagement (I hate the word because of its meaning in social media), so I watch the “open rate” a bit more carefully than subscriber numbers.
Here’s the thing that I do more obsessing about and that I think is a bit more of an issue for me and perhaps many others: I think about how an obsession with subscribers might influence what I choose to write about. Who, exactly, am I writing for? For my ‘stack, the topics are quite broad and difficult to pin down to a specific line or narrow interest. That’s by my design, and I am guessing that my subscribers are content to let slip the posts that don’t connect, and they don’t think about unsubscribing right off, at least. I’m hoping I’m writing for myself in some manner, while also inviting others to think with me.
This fall, my primary audience has been students taking my seminar on “our complex relationships with technology,” and topics have emerged in the ‘stack because they related to topics in the class. That’s set a certain predictability of topic, I suppose.
But I’m going to change focus come the end of December, when my ‘stack posts will orbit another writing project – my languishing book project. I’ll try to shoehorn topics into posts that I’m working on for my book.
I suspect that some subscribers might find the shift less engaging. Some might bail. But I tell myself that shouldn’t matter, so long as whatever I write is worth reading and helps me move forward on my agenda. I have my ulterior motives – like, come winter, say, getting closer to having a book finished. William Faulkner said, “The ‘Ode on a Grecian Urn’ is worth any number of old ladies.” (I know, I know, it’s become a chestnut…) For the upcoming winter/spring, I’m thinking I might be bold enough to think that my book project is worth any number of ‘stack subscribers.
But, then again, I might not be bold enough to go that far.
Mark Dykeman writes:
I remember reading a blog post years ago where the author wrote that she was happy when she saw someone unsubscribe from her blog after she published a new post. She felt that the unsubscribe showed she was writing what she should be writing if it motivated someone to unsubscribe. This thinking was probably balanced by the fact that 99%+ of her subscribers chose not to unsubscribe after reading, which provided a tacit acceptance of the material if nothing else.
I try to maintain a similar mindset when I see someone unsubscribe from How About This because I can rationalize, at least for another two hours, that I haven't alienated everyone else. It does sting - briefly - to see someone unsubscribe, especially when growth is a goal. I can balance that feeling with the knowledge that I also make decisions about how and where I'm going to spend my reading time. I've unsubscribed from someone's newsletter or blog on a number of occasions over the years, probably more often than I'd like to admit. I've probably also caused some hard feelings by doing this, which I can completely understand. And the worst part is that the decision to move on often has nothing to do with a writer's intrinsic talent or worth: it's just an admission that what I'm reading is not a sufficiently good fit for my interests and the time that I have available for reading. I imagine most unsubscribers think the same thing when they make their decision (at least the ones that I would still care to speak to again!) As long as flaming sacks of dog turd don't appear in my driveway and I'm not otherwise harassed I'm OK with this.
Maybe the occasional unsubscribe is not such a bad thing. It's a signal that you can't please everyone. It's a humbling reminder that an audience is earned by every essay, article and story and it's pretty easy for them to move on if they choose. If you're going to write and publish your words to the world, it's impossible to avoid rejection over the course of your endeavours. Best to experience it and gain some tolerance.
For now I'm going to keep that notification on and wince internally when I see that E-mail subscription disabled subject line appear in Gmail. And perhaps, eventually, I won't care when I see that notification and I'll carry on with whatever I'm doing.
May take awhile though.
Amran Gowani writes:
When I first started on Substack every unsubscribe felt like getting dumped by my middle school sweetheart. Each “email disabled” was an emphatic rejection of me. Two things cured me of this notion. First, I flipped the script. If content doesn’t resonate with me, I don’t stick with it. Expecting others to do differently is irrational – and narcissistic. Second, I turned off those diabolical “email disabled” notifications. Now I’m blissfully unaware when people move on to greener pastures. My focus stays on creating the sharpest stories possible and hooking that next reader.
In terms of my own reading, I’m a tough subscribe and a reluctant unsubscribe. Before signing up for a newsletter I extensively explore a writer’s archive to ensure their posts will keep me engaged. Once I’m in, I hope to be in for the long haul. That said, I unsubscribe when reading becomes a chore. If I don’t get a little dopamine hit when I see a new story in my inbox, it’s time to move on. In fact, prompted by this post, I recently jettisoned a handful of newsletters which no longer excited me.
Kris Mole writes:
I'm never bothered by an unsubscribe. I would probably be a little confused if I got an unsubscribe from somebody I regularly interacted with in the comments, I'd be wondering what I'd done to upset them or turn them off. But that hasn't happened (yet), so anytime I get an unsubscribe I'm just like "Guess I'm not their cup of tea," or "maybe I bored them with the last post or two," then I delete the notification email and forget about it.
I had an unsubscribe a couple of days ago after I posted a travel story that I knew myself wasn't the most exciting piece I've put out. I didn't recognise the email address of the person, so was just like "I guess they don't dig travel stories," and didn't give it a second thought.
I can’t remember who I’m quoting when I say, “Write the book that you would want to read,” which I interpret as don’t write for anyone else but yourself.
I've got a feel for who likes what I put out, the people who engage, or at least open every email and have been there for a long time, even if silent in the shadows, so they're the people I care about. People who rarely open emails, I prefer them to unsubscribe as it helps boost the percentage of subscribers who open the content. No point having 50 subscribers if only ten of them are reading your stuff. Get rid! You never know, that kind of conversion rate might come in handy one day when trying to woo an agent, for example.
I don't unsubscribe often, I've got a small collection of writers that I'm subbed to and I (at least try to) read most of the stuff hey put out. When I have unsubscribed, it's mostly been because someone hadn't posted for months and I was just tidying up my subs, or a couple of times I didn’t remember subbing to something, possibly was stoned when hit the subscribe button, and don’t connect with the stuff they’re putting into my inbox (But now I’ve read some of the comments in your research for this post, I will try to be more careful about who I subscribe to, to spare people’s feelings a bit more.)
Bryan Padrick writes:
I've never had an issue with unsubscribing, though I don't do it often. I tend to only subscribe to things I think I'll appreciate and therefore I usually stick with them. I'm a great believer that writing of any sort is a journey - and you have to trust the author knows what they're doing and where they're going (or at least they appear to). Saying that, if I discover what I've subscribed to differs greatly from its initial promise - perhaps it skews too far from my sensibilities/beliefs or turns out to be just a medium for self-promotion, etc. - I'll cut it loose. In a way, it's like reading a book - I'll give it a good go, but life's too short to stick with something going where I don't want to be.
Similarly - while I'd rather someone not unsubscribe from my newsletter - I feel I have to apply the same philosophy to their choice. And while it's never nice to see the subscription number drop even by one, that's the reality. I think there's a danger in worrying too much about why someone leaves - that implies I'm doing something wrong and that might lead to an (even subsconscious) attempt to correct what they didn't like ... but that ignores the fact that many, many more aren't unsubscribing. When you write, you have to take that Kierkegaardian leap of faith that you're doing the right thing and stick with it - hopefully there will be enough people out there who like it to see you through. After years of teaching and the accompanying likes/dislikes of my lessons (thankfully, more of the former than the latter) I think I've become more or less inured to opinions. If they like it, great - if they don't ... well, I did my best.
That said, teaching has also taught me to never suggest something unless you want it to be acted upon - formal education is largely an exercise in nudging, after all. So ... I just don't mention the u-word. Don't want to plant an idea!
Brian Reindel writes:
If the subject or tone of the newsletter changes then I will unsubscribe. For example, if someone used to write fiction, but now they're writing about food. The other example is what I call an "edge case" post. The writer decides that because an event of consequence (usually political) has happened in the public sphere that it warrants comment. If it does not already fit the tone of their newsletter, then I will often (not always) unsubscribe. The only other reason I unsubscribe is when posts become a deluge of how they will post more but haven't had time, and that new posts are "coming soon". Taking a break, sickness or tragedy is definitely understandable. However, it's always better to post new content late (always a welcome surprise), instead of posting about how you intend to post content. If as a writer, the frequency has become overwhelming, then it's my feeling that scaling back and being consistent is always the better option.
As far as when someone unsubscribes from Future Thief, there is that immediate sinking feeling, but it dissipates quickly. If it was from someone I’ve interacted with, or who has been subscribed for some time, then it hits closer to home. For those, I have decided that I will politely ask for feedback. Not so I can change my focus, but it helps me to better understand my audience and what they’re looking for in a fiction newsletter. At some point I’m going to have to accept that if I reach a much larger audience, the percentage of unsubscribes will increase as well. That’s just how it works.
Bryn Robinson writes:
My initial reaction is to take it personally, but it’s a fleeting thought (especially as I get older and ostensibly wiser). I certainly don’t think poorly of others if I decide to curate my subscriptions - like many have said, maybe I don’t find it aligning with what I want to read in my spare time. They might write splendidly, but I’m not as interested in the content as I once was.
Echoing others’ reactions and your own insight, it’s a good example of cognitive distortion: we think others’ unsubscribing behaviour is a reflection of who we are personally. Why we do that, I’m not sure. Perhaps it’s more apparent having it online and at a button click (versus, say, choosing to not read someone’s newspaper article)?
Graham Strong writes:
I rarely unsubscribe from anything. If I do, it’s usually because their messaging radically goes against my sensibilities. For example, one (non-Substack) newsletter I received referred to something his dying mother said to him the last time he saw her as a way to sell whatever it was he was selling that day. I unsubscribed immediately.
I feel irrationally hurt when someone unsubscribes to me. I know it’s part of “the game” if you will. And, as you point out, if someone isn’t getting joy from what I’m writing, they should feel free to Marie Kondo me the hell out of their lives. But here’s the thing: I don’t feel personally offended when they unsubscribe. It’s more like I let them down somehow – I feel like I failed them, not the other way around. That’s frustrating. Who doesn’t want to be all things to all people?
Rationally of course I know that you can’t be all things to all people. So if I do feel hurt in any way, I think back to all the emails and comments I’ve gotten from people saying that my words have helped them. Works wonders for the writer’s soul, and makes saying goodbye to the ones I didn’t reach much, much easier.
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Explorations in the pleasures and perils of getting out over your skis, told through nonfiction essays, photographs, and occasional fiction.