The Great Newsletter Fail

I’m a good writer, me. I should be, I’ve been doing it for years. 

So, it wasn’t a massive leap for me to realise I should be running a newsletter. To fire out my informative and hilarious blog posts to thousands of unsuspecting but delighted readers. 

See, I know things about building an audience. I was like any other blogger in the early days. Write, post, hope. 

But then is struck me. Finding your niche is like being a mouse in a mansion — don’t go looking in every room. Just find the crumbs under the pantry shelf.

So, I focussed and wrote about writing. And wrote about photography. What a brilliant plan. 

Though my pen gave me cause for concern. 

I carry a pen and notebook everywhere. It’s how I capture ideas. 

I’d just drafted another piece of brilliance. Or so I thought. I was sitting back, enjoying my coffee, with the obligatory custard cream. 
“That piece is shit.”
“Sorry?”
“That rubbish you’ve just messed up the notebook with. Garbage, mate.”
“What’s wrong with it?”

My pen made a noise. Somewhere between a snort and a fart. 

“Easier to list what’s right with it.”
“Go on then.”
“Bugger all. Scrap it.”

I sipped more coffee. But it tasted bitter now. My brilliant post about how to generate new blog ideas, was shit, apparently. 

I reviewed it with all the enthusiasm of a vampire checking his reflection in a funhouse mirror - lots of effort, zero payoff, and the distinct feeling that something fundamental was missing from the whole bloody exercise.

And the whole time I was re-writing, I could hear my bloody pen tutting. 

“Nah.”
“Pfft! Shite. I wouldn’t put that.”
“Alright, I suppose. If you’re seven.” 

I gave up. And stopped writing. 

“Look mate, I’m going to create a newsletter. Which I’ve not done before. So give me a break.”

My pen muttered something. 

“Sorry?”
“I said: I wouldn’t read that on the back of a crisp packet. Let alone a newsletter.”

Right. Great.

I didn’t open a Substack. Well, I did. But I closed it again. 

Feeling inept. 

I thought about buying a new pen. To replace the hyper-critical bugger I’d been using. 

“Save your money. We pens know things.”
“Not if I replace you.”
“Wrong. we have an organisation known as Q.U.I.L.L. Quality Underwriting Intelligence for Literary Legitimacy. Your crap writing will be spotted by ANY pen.”

I decided to stick to photography. And hope my camera doesn’t unionise.