An update for paid subscribers which everyone is welcome to read

Some news, a lot of gratitude, thoughts on ebbing and flowing, and a low-grade crisis of confidence

Substack plays interesting tricks on the minds of ‘creators.’ For example: the 20-second torment I suffered just now while pondering the use of ‘creator’ to describe this schtick I do. Crossing over to “schtick” signals the self-conscious humility I want you to associate with my, um… ‘content,’ but as you can see, the tripwires are everywhere.

When I’m describing Substack to someone who’s unfamiliar, the first thing I say is “it’s not social media!” I believe this wholeheartedly, because 1) there are no ads, 2) there is effectively no censorship, and 3) it’s meant for readers, not insecure tweens.

Yes, and: the minute you call yourself a ‘creator’ by launching a Substack, your actions and motivations are perma-linked to the reactions you get, or don’t get, from all the other humans out there (yes, I mean all of them); because you are human too, and that’s just how we are. The growth mindset when it comes to approval is, if not insatiable, hard to suppress.

If you come to Substack without a pre-existing audience and soon find you have 100 regular readers, you feel really good about that. You keep writing, because you haven’t yet said everything you came to say. Later there are 500 readers, some of whom take the trouble to click the heart icon or even leave a thoughtful comment. Amazing! When you approach a thousand, Substack asks you very politely if you don’t think it’s time to invite paid subscriptions so they, Substack, can start to recoup the investment they’ve been making in you. They get 10% of subscription revenue, which seems fair enough: they’ve made the platform easily accessible to people like me who aren’t tech natives, even in the case of audio and (presumably) video content. I appreciate what Substack offers as both a producer and a consumer.

They also argue, subtly, that writers who don’t enable paid subscriptions are devaluing the work of other writers by promoting the idea that all this intellectual labor is of no value. Framed that way, ‘going paid’ feels like the responsible, even moral choice. Plus, it’s a little money for you! What’s the possible downside?

It’s mostly upside, and I have enormous gratitude and affection for you, the elite few who have upgraded your subscriptions to TransMuted. I’m even a little indignant on your behalf. Here’s why:

1. As an amateur with no media following, I would have felt more comfortable inviting paid subscriptions at an annual price of, say, $15; but Substack sets the floor at $40.

When I was pondering ‘going paid,’ I was spending $40 per year for my Blocked And Reported subscription. “BARPOD,” as it’s known, is a podcast hosted by two charismatic journalists, Katie Herzog and Jesse Singal. They publish four to six episodes every month that are consistently strong and well produced. It’s not fake humility to say this: in the marketplace of ‘content,’ theirs is worth more than mine because it’s better. It should be better; it’s their job. I’m fine with all that, but I never felt right asking you to pay me the same amount I pay them.

Furthermore, I believed then what I believe now, which is that if there’d been a $15 per year option or a $1.50 per month option, I could have done more for Substack’s bottom line (and mine) because I’m not the only consumer capable of such basic market math. Maybe hundreds of readers would have opted in at a price that more honestly reflected my position —not to say ‘worth,’ which is thankfully subjective and needn’t be over scrutinized for this purpose. Market position affects price and explains why there’s generic cola.

2. Despite those frustrating disincentives you went ahead and bought my generic cola at the Pepsi price, which honestly makes me want to send you a homemade pie every month. This post has become too sugary but I mean it, about the pie.

Having two or more subscription tiers is a logical strategy for growth, but it was designed for the maximal flourishing of the Jesses and Katies. If your Substack has 100,000 readers and three percent buy subscriptions, you can and definitely should reward those ardent 3,000 fans with subscriber-only episodes, articles, or whatever you do that they like. Reliably, that will leave the other 97,000 re-evaluating their free subscriptions every time you (metaphorically) bake a pie and offer forks only to your special friends. Now the special-friend multiplier begins doing the work for you, and pretty soon you’re buying a second home! True story: ask Katie, a woman who totally deserves a second home and now has one, thanks to Substack.

To be clear, at no point in this relationship have I ever been eyeing a second home.

Because I lean sarcastic, I struggle to convey sincerity even when I’m fully sincere, but I’ll try: I started writing TransMuted because I needed to say some things that I couldn’t say anywhere else. You not only read it, ‘liked’ and commented on it, you even (over)paid me in response. I am eternally grateful to you for that endorsement and support. I want you to have delicious pie and a fork. Lately though, the ingredients are harder to come by. I will come back to that after a brief but related detour:

The writing project I need to spend time on right now is the speech I’m scheduled to give at the Genspect conference September 27th in Albuquerque. I’ve casually spoken to a couple of other speakers who’ve basically told me they’re ready to go, which alas is not how I would have answered the question.

Stella O’Malley, Genspect’s founder, has offered me 25 minutes at the conference podium to address “Why We Need to Talk About Trans… Even in Polite Company.” I couldn’t be more excited about the opportunity or more gratified by the honor of being included; but it comes as I’m struggling to define what I bring to the conversation now that it’s matured. Of the two speakers I mentioned above who are ‘ready to go,’ one is a legal expert, the other a clinical expert. I’m a mom with a bachelor’s degree and some ‘lived experience,’ and I don’t feel ready to go.

My main goal for the speech is to explain how communicating honestly about what my family has been through is the best choice I’ve made. It’s helped me, and I believe it’s helped every member of my family, especially my daughter. This is true even though I haven’t publicly revealed much at all in terms of the details. We can give ourselves permission to talk about what we’ve experienced, what we’ve witnessed, what we want to spare others from suffering; and we can do this while respecting the privacy of our loved ones. There is profound relief and healing in saying out loud the things everyone knows are true, and those benefits are enhanced by readers and listeners who respond with material support, moral support, and especially both.

I’ve said nothing about what I owe you in return, but that’s what I really wanted to address today. When I fail to publish either a written post or a podcast every week, I’m not holding up my end of the deal, and I fixate on it. Two developments have made failure harder to avoid, one being the need to spend time on my presentation.

The other gets back to my earlier comment about the ingredients being harder to come by, because the conversation has matured. Here’s an example:

After listening to the New York Times podcast ‘The Protocol’ and discussing it on my podcast with Glenna Goldis last month (one of my favorite episodes), like everyone else I next read the NYT Magazine article by Nicholas Confessore, which was followed a day later by an episode of The Daily podcast (another NYT joint with a vast audience) that left my jaw lying on the floor.

Much has been written about The Protocol, the Confessore piece, and also an editorial by Andrew Sullivan, all published in June by some property of the Times, to much fanfare. But I’ve seen no mention of the Daily episode I found so objectively shocking, so I started to work on an essay that would contrast The Protocol and The Daily with Confessore: a journalism sandwich where the meat in the center (Confessore) was inexplicably served between two slices of empty-calorie Wonder product, narrated in both cases by Azeen Ghorayshi. It’s not just that different Times vehicles have different ‘vibes;’ it’s as if numerous facts reported by Nicholas Confessore were somehow unavailable to Azeen Ghorayashi and The Daily staff.

This was an essay I thought I could write in a day or two, but it proved much harder. I emailed a Substack journalist to ask if he would discuss the Times’s apparent multiple-personality disorder regarding ‘trans’ stories on my podcast. He said ‘no comment’ because he’s written for the Times and also calls both Confessore and Ghorayshi friends. I felt naive for asking and frustrated because I lacked the journalist’s authority to make the argument I wanted to make myself. A few days later, Malcolm Clark published what I’d call the definitive analysis of the NYT’s ‘trans’ coverage on his Substack ‘The Secret Gender Files.’ I can’t recommend it strongly enough, but it’s paywalled, and also: it concludes without taking up the episode of The Daily which, again, I think needs calling out. Even if I could do it justice, which is dubious, it’s too late now. The information cycles are more frequent and the news more impactful. Which is a good thing, but it changes the nature of what I’ve been doing thus far. ‘Citizen journalism’ has a ceiling; it’s not always enough.

I’ve had moments of recognition like this before, like when legal decisions come down and I’m out of my depth, but I’ve always been able to get an expert on the podcast who can lay it out clearly. It’s why I love and value UnMuted.

At the conference I’ll be alone up there. I need to figure out what specific knowledge I have to offer, then compose a speech that will keep the audience awake: I’m going on at 4:30 (lol).

All of which is to say: I’m turning off paid subscriptions because I know I won’t be able to deliver the cola at least until I nail the speech down. I don’t know how long that will take.

While I’m away, I’ll republish a relevant post from the archive every week or two. There are also a couple of podcasts in the works, so I’ll be around; I just won’t have something new every Friday.

Thank you for reading this, and thank you for being my special friend. I hope we’ll meet up in Albuquerque!

Warmly,

Jenny