One Equals One Thousand

6. Be Consistent (The Encouragement Manifesto)

We all started with ‘zero’ … we write for ourselves first, and we hope that our work strikes a chord with others. But those first pieces we write, the ones when we tentatively press [send], we share even though there may be few eyes on them. It doesn’t stop us from pouring all of ourselves into the words. They are the very best words we can summon, strung together as elegantly as we can manage. It is what we do, again and again.

We love how

Andrei Atanasov

reminds us that it is only by turning up, time and time again, with our very best work that we grow as writers. And it is our personal growth that counts, not the size of our audience. If your words touch one person, they are words well-used.

This new collaborative project The Gift of Words* is brimful of inspiring thoughts and ideas so this piece complements the growing collection perfectly.

* follow this link if you would like to add to this collection of encouraging words.

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Photo by Daniil Onischenko on Unsplash

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"Real generosity toward the future lies in giving all to the present."
― Albert Camus

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One Equals One Thousand

Subtitle: There Is No Difference

Last week, I posted a note about audience size that went semi-viral.

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For those who didn’t see it, here’s the story again:

Last Friday, I went with my wife to a small local theatre to see a comedy. Since we weren’t familiar with the place, we didn’t know what to expect, and the tickets had been uncommonly expensive. All this to say that we began the night already anxious. When we got there and saw that, of the nearly thirty seats that rose from the floor into the far darkness to the left of us, only ten or so were filled, I immediately thought, Oh, no. Have we been scammed?

The play began. The second the first actors stepped onstage, you could feel it: the magnetism, the charisma, the seeming effortlessness of a good actor. Because, dear reader, these were good actors, without a doubt. The play itself was delightful. With only four actors and one location, it managed to stir our bellies into staccatos of laughter. In truth, it was one of the best comedies I’ve ever attended. We left the play feeling satisfied, mirthful, and relaxed. But as I got home, a question started bugging me.

How did they do it? How could the actors play so well, despite seeing that there were only ten people watching? Didn’t they feel like the effort was disproportionate to the potential reward?

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It didn’t take me long to understand it, though.

I was reminded of all the useful advice I received and read when I started my Substack publication, one of those being: “Write as though you’re writing for 1000 people from the very start” .

In other words, Be Consistent.

No matter how many people are watching us, we need to do our best. We owe them our best because they showed up. Which means they want to receive what we’re giving. The actors understood this principle perfectly. They had likely ingrained it into their very being. They were consummate artists and professionals. Numbers did not matter to them. All that did was their performance.

Which brings me back to us writers.

If there are five people in our audience, or twenty, or one hundred, or one thousand, does it really matter? Are those twenty people any less valuable than the other 980? Clearly not. Which means we should be giving them, and anyone else who shows up, no matter how many or how few, nothing less than the greatest work we can produce in that moment. We owe it to them, but most of all, we owe it to ourselves. We’re artists, for Heaven’s sake!

This piece of advice has been crucial to growing my newsletter. To be fair, I came here already boasting a certain measure of confidence in my writing, as I’d been published in a few literary magazines, and had shared my writing to several trusted people in my life.

But I started out with 10 subscribers. Still, I gave them my all. And in time, my audience grew, largely through word of mouth.

My publication, Practice Space, is being recommended by 33 others, which is where nearly 20% of my subscribers come from.

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In closing, let me share a few memorable analogies of the above principle from people who replied to my note.

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From

Danielle Shelton Walczak

: “My husband and I have had the conversation about creating for a limited audience before. He, having done flight training, always uses this analogy: ‘The pilot uses all their skill and flies the plane just as well for 2 passengers as they do for hundreds’. I’ve never forgotten this.”

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From

Kadence

: “I used to teach fitness classes and some months I had classes packed out with people working out in doorways and hallways other months I had 2. Two. As awkward as my brain would try to make it, my soul would guide me into full-out energy for those 2 loyals. And you’re right. I moved half a country away and they still remain loyal followers even online.”

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From

Mike Mills

: “Steve Martin did an interview where he described doing his act in a bar for only his relatives. He still worked his heart out. How many actors are loved for the films that few people saw but they still gave their all? Or singers? I bet you can name a few.”

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From Jennie (Substack Unknown): “All those decades ago when I was in radio school, one of the gems that stuck was that while you may have an audience in the hundreds or thousands you are only speaking to one person in their lounge room or travelling with them in their car. And even though the technology has changed, the premise holds for any medium of creativity, doesn’t it?”

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From

Bill Adler

: “My girlfriend is a Twitch music streamer. During the height of the pandemic, her stream was filled with people, but now, not so much. Sometimes, as few as ten watch her show. But the joy she feels is the same for ten or hundreds of viewers.”

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My friends, being consistent really matters.

It’s probably the only thing about your work you can really control.

So every time you write, give us your best. Show us your most vulnerable, artistic, committed, contemplative, skilful, cerebral, funny, authentic self. Sooner or later, it will become a reflex.

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We love that

Andrei Atanasov

is ‘trying to figure things out’ in public. ‘Practice Space’ is where the thinking happens and the questions are pondered.

“I like to think of Practice Space as a dojo of the mind, in the sense that this is where I come to do my thinking.

Mostly, I publish essays, alongside the occasional short story. To essay, after all, is to attempt, as per the English Dictionary, so here you’ll find a collection of attempts to figure things out. To answer questions, such as “what is a fashion identity crisis?”, or “what’s so great about dying over and over again?”, or even “why do some people insist on buying pets, even though they suck at caring for them?”

We do hope you will join Andrei as he figures things out.