Inbox Fright

Is it weird to SEO-optimize my diary?

There are 982 more of you here than there were the last time I published. That feels like too large a number, and it's giving me inbox fright.

90 days of subscriber growth and the Sims library I’ve built as a distraction

It likely won’t surprise you to hear that my explosion of subscribers over the last 11 days is a direct result of a) being in the same orbit as smart people online and b) writing something that people enjoyed reading. That is, of course, how this whole thing works. That’s the strategy behind this grand plan of mine—it’s why I decided to write on Substack instead of staying siloed away behind the walls of Pretty Decent’s marketing newsletter. I'm also pretty sure it’s what’s driving all of this performance anxiety.

Writing something people want to read feels like designing something people want to buy. I can do it, but it interacts oddly with the chaotic, artsy, demand avoidant side of my brain.

On the one hand, I want to write about whatever interests me because that’s how I make sense of the world. On the other hand, numbers.

Essentially, I’ve been walking around for the last week wrestling a quintessential (and very entrepreneurial) question: What on Earth does anybody want from me?

Jenny Slate, Stage Fright (2019)

I teach marketing to artists for a living, and so naturally we talk a lot about the relationship between content and art. Years ago, Delia Pelli-Walbert described it as the difference between making for others and making for ourselves. That always stuck with me. I also think a lot about

Thomas J Bevan

’s distinction of content as the thing that “wants something” from us:

“Content is a transaction presented as utilitarian exchange, art is an emanation of the spirit presented as a gift.” (Source)

What does it mean to be a content creator, and what does it mean to be an artist? What do I lose when I design my self-expression?

This tension I'm experiencing feels like a symptom of these unresolved questions.

BTS of my latest project $5 Game. This is content.

Design assumes utility. Whether for myself or for others, the objects and systems I design serve a specific purpose. They are made to assist or delight or intrigue.

A Substack editorial calendar serves a purpose. A thirst trap selfie on Instagram does, too. Both assume the desires and/or needs of a specific audience.

Does knowing that change the fact that writing a blog is a source of meaning and self-expression for so many people?

Is it "inauthentic" to acknowledge that sometimes, in an effort to feel more connected, we say and do things that we know are likely to elicit a response?

Is it weird to SEO-optimize my diary? Should I feel bad about knowing how to do that in the first place?

What I'm trying to say is that I want this place to feel like LiveJournal, but I'm afraid it's going to end up like Etsy. What I am really trying to say is that I'm full of shit: Even on LiveJournal I was desperate to be liked.

Anyway(s), hello. I'm nervous now but I'm glad you're here.

My name is Lexi. I'm a writer. I live in D.C. with Pearl, Penelope and Iba. Four years ago I started the Pretty Decent Internet Café, a gathering place for artists. Yesterday I put out this $5 guide/zine about growing an audience online. If I had to choose a last meal, it'd be Chicken Bryan from Carrabbas with a side of cavatappi alfredo. I use my Remarkable or a Pilot G2 and 4x6 index cards to write. I watch Funny Face when I’m in a bad mood.

To help ease my Inbox Fright, can I ask a favor?

Will you comment and tell me a few things about you?

Here are some prompts for inspiration:

• What's your go-to cozy movie?

• What do you drink to “get going” in the morning?

• What's your favorite pen?

• What do you secretly want to do all day?

• Now that you know I market stuff for a living, is there anything I can do to help?

Thanks :)