I’ve Been Writing Online for 10 Years Now. Somehow I've Scraped a Living the Entire Time

A picture of me about 10 years ago

Apologies, this newsletter is a little light on the usual tech-focused snark. Rest assured, that will be back shortly. This year marks the 10th year I’ve been writing online. I can’t actually remember the exact date, but it’s somewhere around now, so I’m feeling a little reflective.

Somehow, I’m still alive and kicking. Somehow, I’m still making enough money to get by. Somehow, what started as a random rant posted online in 2016 (yup, some things never changed), has become a hobby, and then a career. Life has a funny way of working out.

In celebration of my survival, I’ve here’s 10 lessons from that time.

1. Your best work normally goes unnoticed

I’ve published some good writing in my time (well I think it’s great, but I don’t want to blow my horn too much). Every time, as I’m reading the draft back, making the last edits and tweaks like a painter adding the final flicks and dabs that bring the painting to life, I can feel that little jolt of excitement, that feeling that you might have just written the word equivalent of striking an oil well.

And then you publish it, and it dies an immediate death, lost in the void of the algorithm. Crickets. Nada. You almost check to make sure you did hit publish. Oh, you did. Another crushing, humbling moment.

In other cases, I’ve thrown stuff together in a matter of minutes, not even stopping to check for spelling mistakes, and it’s done numbers. Like, serious numbers. One has nearly 500,000 views. It makes you wonder. The lesson you might take from this is that there’s no point in trying to write good. That’s the wrong lesson. What I’m saying is that you shouldn’t expect your best work — or the work you’ve put the most effort into — to be reciprocated with the same level of returns. There’s too many other factors at stake; platforms shady working, algorithms, changing directions, and a lot of noise.

2. Making money is really easy if you’re happy to sell your soul for it

There’s a reason there are a million courses on “how to make it on [platform]” or on becoming a better writer or whatever the latest fad is — it’s because there’s a whole world of schmucks who will pay for them. If you’re happy to join them, good for you I guess. You’ll certain make a few pennies out of it. You’ll also earn a one-way ticket to writers hell. Hope it was worth it. This actually extends beyond selling products and courses. Remember NewsBreak? I’ve never seen so many people claim to be journalists and write absolute garbage on that site just for a few bucks.

3. The writing world is full of grifters

I think the point before this sets the scene very well. Yes, some people do make great courses/products, or sell really great coaching, but the majority don’t. They see a trend — like AI, I mean how quickly did the first few “how to prompt like a pro” or “how to write with AI” courses appear? — and they spit something out as quickly as possible to be first past the post. Don’t pay too much attention to their accolades either; everyone claims to be an expert at everything now. Expertise is only earned with genuine skin in the game, built over years of work. Be careful who you give your hard earned bucks too.

4. You never truly “make it”, you just have purple patches

I’ve had months where I’ve earned ridiculous money from writing. I’ve had spells where I’ve had four or five gigs running at the same time, working with great people, and great writers, and getting paid great to do it. Hey mom, I made it! Then, just a few months later, things have derailed so bad I’m considering finding a new trade. I’ve been hired and fired a few times now. It sucks. My time here has been much the same, seemingly peaking in the summer of 2024 where I had a patch of writing hit after hit, and now I’ve riding the downturn ever since. Writing is swings and roundabouts. You need to learn to embrace that, and also to make sure you’re prepared for barren spells — which I promise you, are always lurking round the corner.

5. The only writing advice that isn’t bullshit is… be consistent

Ignore almost everything else, especially if it’s being sold to you. Forget format-of-the-weeks, “best” posting times, styles, trends, frequency, like for likes, gaming algorithms and whatever the next nonsense is. Just start, and then go at your own pace. The only thing you need to do is to keep at that pace, week after week.

6. Don’t get attached to platforms

Yes, a tad ironic given that, for most of my writing journey, I’ve been active on platforms. But after a couple of burns in my early years, I learned two things: don’t get attached, no matter how much a platform tells you they care about you an your success (coughs, Substack) and remember that your follower count means nothing unless you convert them into an email list. Take it from someone who built a nearly 65,000 following on Medium to now get posts read by about 12 people. Oh, on that note…

7. Start an email list from day one (I didn’t and now I cry about it all the time)

Even if you don’t have a plan for it, have some way for people to sign up to your list. It serves many purposes, but the main thing is it gives you is control and a backup plan.

8. Don’t do it alone

Writing can be real lonely. I’ve met writers who do nothing but sit in their bed and write, almost completely disconnected from the world (which makes their self-help peddling a little bit ironic). I’ve met some amazing people through the writing world, whether that’s within communities, channels, platforms or just cold outreach. One of my closest friends literally just phoned me out of the blue, after nothing more than a few comments on articles between us. 8 years later, we’re still working together and shooting the shit.

It takes bravery, but reach out to people. You won’t regret it.

9. Feedback is the secret sauce

Give it and get it as often as possible. Like most writers, I’ve read some of my early writing, and had to fight back the urge to vomit in a mix of embarrassment, shame and cringe. Why did I publish that? Bonus lesson: Thankfully I did. The hardest part is just getting started. Bonus lesson 2: You realise a few years in that no one gave a shit about your words when you started, and you should have maximised that moment to experiment and write without any weight or expectancy).

Then, there’s a notable turning point. I was invited out the blue to join a group of other writers trying to make it in the world, and one of the things they did was give friendly, yet very fierce, feedback. The kind that, when you read it, you know it’s right, even though you can’t stop crying about it). Yet, the pain was necessary. Rounds and rounds of feedback taught to stop being precious about my words and to drop my ego. Giving feedback has made me 10 times the writer, helping me to think critically and work with words that aren’t my own.

10. Your voice is all you have to separate yourself from the impending slop crisis

Okay fine, we’ll do a little bit of tech-adjacent ranting.

In an AI slop world, everyone can do everything with the typing of a few prompts. And soon, all that sludge will be indistinguishable in terms of quality and skill. Hard work or graft or the ability to write at frightening scale might have been enough to set you apart — it’s how many a writer has broken out before — but that’s now been optimised to death. The volume of AI-generated writing has already surpassed the entirety of human-produced writing. (!!!)

The only thing you’ve got now is your voice and your story. Use AI or don’t, but whatever you do, don’t lose the you, don’t let it force you into a form or a type, don’t let it tell you the way you write doesn’t make sense, or that you should cut the line you thought was funny.

This advice applies to everyone, but especially those still new and trying to find their way — lean into your quirks, your edginess, your snarkiness, whatever it is, and don’t shy away from it. Be you! That is how you stay authentic, stay human, and how you will find your people, build your audience, and maybe one day earn a few pennies from this endeavour.

I’d love to end this with a typical “here’s to the next ten years!” but honestly, who knows what is ahead.

Just know, whatever happens, I’ll be right there in the trenches with you.