What keeps me going

Wonder how much I earn per word? It might surprise you.

On December 8, 2021, I reached a milestone I’d been chasing all year: 500 paid subscribers to this newsletter. I’d been transparent with readers, sharing my progress toward 5,000 total readers and 500 paying supporters. Getting to 5,000 was relatively easy — Substack was then supersizing growth, and I hit that mark about halfway through 2021. But it wasn’t until December that I convinced 500 people that my writing was worth paying for.

That growth kept going — until it didn’t. In March 2023, I peaked at 693 paid subscribers. Today, I’m at 483. Fewer than the 500 I fought tooth and nail for almost four years ago.

Ironically, I think my writing has improved considerably since then. I put more thought and time into my essays. I read voraciously, seeking outside perspectives to share. I edit with care, first on my own, then with the help of a trusted editor I pay each month. I’ve launched special series, surveyed readers, experimented with formats, sent thank-you stickers, and offered discounts. Nothing has really moved the needle. Substack is now a much more crowded space, with creators who have far bigger followings, than it was in 2018 when I began My Sweet Dumb Brain.

In that time, I’ve published 429 posts here, averaging 1,100 words apiece. That’s hundreds of thousands of words — 35,339 this year alone, not even counting the handwritten ones that took perhaps even more time and care. Do the math, and it works out to about 27 cents a word. In August, after subtracting Substack and Stripe fees, charitable donations, paying my editor, and covering a guest essay, I earned $143.17 — less than what I paid my guest writer. August is typically my lowest revenue month, but still; for some of my best, most vulnerable writing, I made roughly three cents a word.

Of course, much of this is by choice. I publish on Substack because I already have a following here and the alternative platforms are daunting to figure out. I donate 5% of newsletter earnings to a different cause each year because it matters to me — this year, it’s World Central Kitchen. I pay an editor because I’m a journalist at heart and know how much we all benefit from a second pair of eyes. I pay guest writers because I know how hard it is to earn money from writing.

And I choose to treat my newsletter like a job, even when it pays next to nothing.

So why keep going? Reading this, you might suggest I stop. That I take on another freelance gig instead of spending time on a newsletter that barely covers its costs. That I write fewer words. Or, you might be thinking that three cents is better than nothing. Shouldn’t I just be grateful?

I’ve thought all those things, too. After all, very few newsletter writers have hundreds of paying readers. I am, undoubtedly, among the lucky ones.

Not gonna lie: It doesn’t feel great!

I almost didn’t write this post because numbers are so stark, so easy to compare. Sharing them opens me up to judgment and embarrassment. But I also know that newsletters — especially the economics of them — are often opaque. When I set that goal of 500 subscribers in 2021, Substack touted a 10% conversion rate from free readers to paid subscribers. That benchmark has since disappeared, probably because it wasn’t realistic. Today, just 3% of My Sweet Dumb Brain readers are paying subscribers.

Here’s some more painful math: If 10% of you subscribed, the difference would be life-changing. With those earnings plus freelance jobs, I could buy the used car our one-vehicle household badly needs, pay off credit card debt, and begin to rebuild our savings. Best of all, I’d be able to help support my mother-in-law, who lives solely on Social Security — a fact that often keeps me up at night.

I know I’m not alone in doing these kinds of someday calculations.

If I had to guess, most of you are making the same tough financial choices I am. Groceries cost more every trip. Housing feels unattainable. The job market is scary. You read appeals from newsletter writers like me and think, maybe later, when things don’t feel so impossibly tight.

And maybe, like me, you think about all the billionaires hoarding wealth while workers are paid pennies and you feel sick. It is all so hopelessly unfair.

And yet.

I started this newsletter in 2018 — seven years ago this week — simply because I missed writing. I wrote for fun, for the challenge, for myself. I wrote to process the pain of my husband’s death and to connect with others who found comfort or recognition in my words.

Those are still the reasons I write today. And it’s true that money has complicated the issue. Getting paid for my writing is both a privilege and a burden. Sometimes, I log onto my Substack dashboard, see the greyed-out metrics with their damning downward arrows — less revenue, fewer readers, fewer paid subscribers, and an open rate that’s just holding steady — and wonder if I should quit.

But then I’ll receive a comment like, “I am consistently so happy to read what you write and relieved to know I'm not the only one who feels the way I feel in this life,” and I’ll think — yes! People get it.

I’ll get an email that says: “I know words aren't adequate, but I hope you know that you are making a difference to others. You are helping others through. You are bravely sharing your story. You are being real. You are a gift and blessing.” (I’ve kept that email in a folder for four years now.)

I’ll write a post like this one where the words fly onto the page. I feel creative and energized. I feel like a writer. I remember what a dream that is — to have a reason to write.

And every so often, I’ll get a new paying subscriber. Someone who says, yes! I’d like a cute sticker, and I get to send that person a little note in the mail. I get to remember that there are real people reading these words. I’m reminded how lucky I am, what an immense privilege this all is.

Where my money comes from. I recommend that all freelancers create a pie chart like this.

Writing My Sweet Dumb Brain is just one of several jobs I juggle. Right now, I’m dividing my time between four other clients. My days are carefully time-blocked so I can meet deadlines and still remember to move my body. I rely on spreadsheets to track invoices and an elaborate Google Doc system to keep up with tasks. And at 5:00 on the dot — earlier on days I need to cover childcare gaps — I stop working and start parenting.

I hustle as hard as I do because I have to. I’m the primary earner in our family (though I could not survive without the help, financial and otherwise, of my wonderful partner). Preschool is wildly expensive. So are groceries and mortgage payments and paying for new landscaping to replace the large tree that once shaded our backyard.

Because of this hustle, we’re getting by. We can’t complain. With luck, we’ll have the landscaping costs and credit card debt paid in full by the end of this year. We have family nearby to help fill in the gaps that half-day preschool doesn’t cover. We set aside money for our kid’s education each month. For the most part, we live within our means. Our house isn’t big by some standards, but it’s ours and it’s full of charm. If I’m feeling especially Pollyannaish, I even appreciate the patchy drywall, the unnervingly damp bathroom, the drafty windows — because they give me something to strive toward.

These days, almost all my freelance work is focused on helping newsrooms and journalism funders make the case for financially supporting news and information. For too long, we’ve taken for granted that writing and reporting should be free. And now, in an era of endless paywalls, too many subscriptions, and ubiquitous AI-generated slop, it’s hard to make the case to support real, fact-based work. It might be a losing battle, but it’s one I’m proud to fight. I enjoy the work I do. It gives me purpose and fulfillment, things you can’t put a number on.

I also appreciate this work because it gives me perspective on my own writing. Just because I’m struggling to convert and keep paying readers doesn’t mean what I’m offering isn’t valuable. If anything, it’s a reminder that many of us are struggling — at least sometimes, at least lately. It means we’re not alone.

It’s been seven years since I started this newsletter, and it’s been a long while since I’ve offered a discount. In honor of My Sweet Dumb Brain’s anniversary — and this long-winded, painfully transparent post — I’m offering 20% off subscriptions, forever. That means, as long as I’m writing this newsletter, you’ll pay at that discounted rate.

And you know what? I hope to keep writing My Sweet Dumb Brain for a long time.

xoxo
KHG

p.s. Don’t want to commit to yet another subscription? I get that, too. If you’ve been a reader for any point during these past seven years and want to show your support in the form of a one-time tip, that makes a big difference, too! You can Venmo @Katie-Hawkins-Gaar or PayPal Me. Thank you. 💌