A while ago, a lot of people were posting on Substack Notes pictures which represented the vibe they bring to Substack. I joined in with Robert Delaunay’s Rhythm, Joy of Living (1930), a detail of which I used as this article’s theme picture. In hindsight, I think I chose Delaunay’s painting probably more because of how Substack vibes for me, rather than for the vibe I bring to Substack. All those groups of concentric circles, separate yet conjoined through vivacious colour harmony represent, for me, the dynamism of creative exchange and expression I find on Substack, and to which I now contribute, even though I’m one of the tiny circles, or maybe a mere paintstroke.
In fact, I was going to write a more detailed article on Delaunay, since I am considering one of his paintings for the cover of Outside Heaven’s Sway when . . .
Crash!
Just over a month ago, I crashed. I was burnt out. I didn’t want to admit it. Since March 2024, I had been building a habit with my weekly posts on Substack, along with reading, sharing, and commenting on other Substack posts, engaging in Notes, and enjoying the Substack community. My newly acquired Substack habit rejuvenated my novel in progress, Outside Heaven’s Sway, and I recommenced regular writing after an earlier burnout - exhaustion after writing By Violence Unavenged, along with Covid, family troubles, and a house renovation.
I did not want to give myself a break because I was afraid that if I stalled the habit, I would never get back to regular posts, and would end up abandoning Outside Heaven’s Sway again. But I had reached a point where I could not string a sentence together without paralysing self-criticism; and my efforts to write posts were taking my energy away from the primary goal of writing my novel.
Then came the health saga. One of my sons needed a complete diet overhaul which involved eliminating nearly every food grown on the planet. This included tomatoes. Now tomatoes, especially the tinned variety, are the mainstay of my pantry. They’re cheap, convenient, versatile, and help bulk out a meal sufficient enough to feed my four boundary riders (my sons) and their mates. I had just purchased eight tins of tomatoes, along with numerous other to-be-banned ingredients when the naturopath sounded his diet recommendation.
It would mean no Mexican food for six weeks.
How would we survive?
Well, survive we did. Blood tests gave no indication of food abnormalities; family meals are back to normal; and I have used up the aforementioned eight tins of tomatoes. I’ve pressed life’s reset button and have returned to Substack.
A New Comfort Zone
A critical component of my Substack crisis was that I decided to take a break right when I had reached a peak. This was problematic for me because every time I taste success, failure seems to follow. Either I run away out of fear; I succumb to analysis paralysis and perfectionism; I fall foul of praise as much as criticism; I get prodded by the stick of envy; or I’m denied support right when I crave it, none of which is healthy, I know. But I did not want Resolution & Independence to fail. Considering the theme of my Substack, the irony was unbearable. More to the point, however, was that I had found a diverse tribe and was engaging in conversations, sharing reading and interests, and meeting people. This experience was very new for me. I had gotten out of my formerly perceived comfort zone - that of a lone operator - and was beginning to create a new comfort zone, one cushioned with friends and fellow thinkers, artists, writers, musicians, creative explorers and connoisseurs, young and old, successful and just starting out.
You see, I’m not really a people person. I might come across as lively, gregarious even; but I tend not to connect, or else I don’t sustain connections. I desire connection: my first novel, A Distant Prospect, is about friendship, for heaven’s sake. But I live with so much fear. I will write about that sometime. Like music, novel writing for me is a means to express what I cannot seem to say in daily parlance. In my books, I can voice my ‘deep down things’, to borrow a phase from Gerard Manley Hopkins.
This time, however, I’ve not run away. I’ve rejoined the tribe. I’m celebrating my connections; and the summary that follows no doubt echoes what many have discovered through Substack.
Celebrating Connection
was my first subscriber. We connected over one of my earliest Substack posts, Confessions, Confines, Cafes, and Kandinsky. Perry always comments thoughtfully and surprises me with the wealth and breadth of his knowledge. Aside from literature (and coffee culture), we share a love of nature. The Canadian guy with the cockatiel is a special member of my audience; and whenever I write, I now wonder, ‘What will Perry have to say?’. runs the slow reads group, Footnotes and Tangents. The many Substack slow reads communities are great places to hang out. I connected with Simon over War and Peace, which I happened to be reading when I joined Substack. In truth, I did not expect to find other people actively engaged in reading this extraordinary novel. I dip in and out of the War and Peace readalong and enjoy the many insights and reader experiences. These, in turn, inspired me to record my own reader/writer experience in Tolstoy Takeaway. Simon has also introduced me to Hilary Mantel, and now the Wolf Hall trilogy is on my To Read List. I hope to join next year’s Wolf Crawl as a paid subscriber to Footnotes and Tangents. It should be an interesting venture since I regard Thomas Cromwell as one of the most despicable persons in history.I have the impression that
is a guy for whom art and life are synonymous. I tried to avoid Tom, but he has quite a puckish personality. He turns up everywhere on Notes, and, merry wanderer that he is, I could not but appreciate his quirky insights, fascinating photography, and offbeat captions. Then I started reading his posts. And I subscribed to The Villager. Tom even lured me into agreeing to a free signed copy of Notebook. I would only have to pay for postage. This was very stupid on my part because I live on the other side of the world; and the postage was nearly the same price as the book. It was worth it. Usually, I’m the one sending signed copies of books to people; so it was really lovely being on the receiving end instead. There’s a lot to be said about a signature, what it reveals of its writer and its connection to their creation, let alone the personal gift of that creation to another. It’s one of many artistic microcosms - another concentric circle, so to speak. Anyway, Notebook is my current bedtime reading and is certainly a refreshing change from The Count of Monte Cristo, which I finished a week ago. Tom’s observations, his candour and humour soothe me for they remind me that it’s okay to be yourself. As I read, I know my youngest son is going to love this; and I’ll pass it to him when I’m finished. He’s just discovered notebooking, and, like me, he’s bound to find Notebook inspirational. I’m sure Tom never intended this when he published Notebook, but this beautifully produced little volume contains important lessons about writing and observation, not through what it says, (it is not a ‘how to’ book, thanks be to God) but through what it is.I also read
’ novella The Requisitions. I found out about The Requisitions through , whose praise on Notes piqued my interest; and when Samuél posted a request for volunteer readers to give feedback, I jumped in. As a writer of World War II fiction, it’s interesting to learn how others are approaching the subject. As for feedback, it can be gamechanging. Samuél and I connected via Zoom during the Olympics. It turned out that Samuél was then housesitting for Jojo and Barrie, who run Feasts and Fables. Anyway, we had a great discussion about jazz, lobotomies, fashion, fifth floor toilets, slang, and, of course, the war. Samuél has a knack for insightful and poignant observation, especially regarding the emotional worlds of his characters, which, for me, is the hardest aspect to write about. And I hope good things come of The Requisitions.I mentioned earlier I had been reading The Count of Monte Cristo. I did not enjoy this novel as much as I hoped (the movie was better), and was even prepared to abandon it.
, who happens to be a Monte Cristo fan, however, provided a timely article, via , that helped me persevere. I’m glad I did.I’ve had a similar positive experience with Tolkien. I am not a Lord of the Rings enthusiast.
, however, is. Tiffany writes eloquently about TLOTR, and her essay on Eowyn gave me a new appreciation. For anyone intersested, she has recently begun a Lord of the Rings Challenge.And I enjoyed remembering Jane Austen’s Emma, courtesy of
at Personal Canon Formation. I was carried away by Emma when I first read the novel at age twenty (which is just the right age to read Emma). Revisiting the novel from a more mature position was also enriching, this time for the insights into Austen’s narrative skill.Meanwhile,
inspire me with their refreshing takes on age-old literary devices. Their spirited essays on heroes, villains, wise women, and damsels encourage me to question my own characters and themes. And I often share their articles with my Dungeon Master second son, who also enjoys them.Sloshed on Substack
To be honest, part of my stress was caused by all these connections. I was like an over-stimulated child on too much sugar at a themepark. I was so sloshed on Substack that I needed a break. The family food crisis was simply the tipping point.
Yet, even during the break the connections continued. Resolution & Independence was recommended by
; and continued to include me in their list of links to real authors and their work. I also participated in ’s 1000 word challenge and overdosed on that, too. But the 1000 word challenge helped me sustain a writing rhythm during a difficult phase. Outside Heaven’s Sway is rolling ahead, and to my surprise has reached 35,000 words. It’s still like a chalk sketch for a Renaissance fresco, but it’s taking shape.Now that I’ve returned to Substack, I discover that
, another early subscriber who frequently presses that encouraging ‘Like’ button, has been publishing her stories, through which I learn that she’s a fellow Aussie.I hope we meet for coffee someday. And maybe, soon, I’ll head to Paris. Meanwhile, I’ll keep connecting, enlarging those concentric rings, adding more colour to that creative virtual social media world which connects me to a vibrant intellectual reality.
And I might even contribute the occasional dog pic.
The ripples in this place are amazing, connecting us all, finding ways to align with the folk we chime with. Love it. Welcome back … so glad you have found the capacity to get back into your community.
It's an ongoing struggle against burn-out sometimes! Funnily enough, I'm also now reading Count of Monte Cristo for the umpteenth time. Here's to continued connections and finishing our books. 35k words is nothing to sneeze at. Thank you for the mention, Annette. I'm glad you're back.