You Do Not Meet The Minimum Word Count

On wanting to write longer essays (and rambling).

A Reddit post I made a couple days ago got automatically deleted by the subreddit for not meeting the minimum word count. The message from the automod said something like: “Due to spam, we require a few paragraphs to make a full post. The exact word count is intentionally vague.”

I know - Reddit isn’t that great of a platform, but it made me think about how often my musings are shorter, sometimes more direct, than most.

I want to write long substack essays, like the kind I see in my inbox and all over my homepage. The kind that boasts “nine minute read”, not the measly one and two minute reads that my posts consistently are. I know that writing is a hobby that needs to be worked at. That for many, it is a craft they are constantly perfecting. I don’t know why I am so resistant to practicing. Mostly, I don’t want to write something that sucks. But lately, I feel like everything I write kind of sucks.

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I have quite a few writers on Substack that I love. (Peep my recommendations for those). I try not to compare myself to different writers, because we all have our own life experiences we draw on, our own style, our own voice. But I crave to be someone’s favorite writer. I’ve been on the internet for about 15 years now, and during that time, I’ve had my share of (minor) virality. One Tiktok I posted once got 2.3 million views, and I have 14 thousand followers on that app. When I went viral, I thought I had made it - silly me, looking back. Of course, it’s not that simple. While I enjoyed thousands of views somewhat consistently for a while, that quickly fizzled out until I was in the “200 view jail”, as they call it. Still, I persist. Not because I think I’m especially wonderful or creative, but because I feel like one day I could be.

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Speaking of craving, I caved and got a pizza today. It was from Little Caesars, and I thought of my ex while I ate. I think I’m over the relationship now, but still, the most mundane things remind me of our time together. If my dad read this Substack, which luckily, he doesn’t, he would be so disappointed. I’m supposed to be dieting, losing weight, bettering myself. But I still love food. In fact, when I first started this journey
(just shy of a month ago), my stepfather said; “I’m not worried about you becoming anorexic - you love food too much.” Never mind that that’s… not how eating disorders work, everyone laughed. I suppose the sheer fact of it, that I love food, is not incorrect. But I’m a bit alarmed that that’s how I’m known to others. Having a shitty relationship with food consumes me, and I suppose I thought I was better at hiding it. Then again - maybe I am. A love-hate relationship with food is how I would describe it, but everyone around me seems to only see the love part.

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I really do want to get back into writing. I just need to let go of this idea of perfection. That goes for a lot of things in my life. One slice of pizza will not ruin my weight loss. One bad piece of writing, or a month of writer’s block, doesn’t mean I’ll never write anything profound. Etc etc. I think I need to repeat those mantras to myself.

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I see a lot of think pieces on this site. I’ve thought about writing one myself, but I just don’t know if I have anything smart enough to say about current events or phenomena. Especially not enough to make an entire essay out of. I used to have a lot to say about autism and disability, but after a couple of years of content creation, I think I’ve pretty much said it all. For now at least.

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It’s been four months since I finished grad school. In that time, I’ve done pretty much nothing - except break my arm. I think I’ll use this time to perfect my craft. To say fuck it to the thoughts that say I’m not cool or interesting or talented enough to write and just do it.

No minimum word count.