What if you wrote what you want (instead of what the market demands)?
There's a common paradigm that steers us to create soulless and pandering content...
As a newsletter writer, content creator, or marketer, you hear a certain type of rule repeated in different forms:
"The reader is primarily interested in themself. The reader doesn't care about you."
"To come up with content ideas, just tap into your readers' problems and desires."
"Your customer is the hero, not you or your company."
"Use the word "you" more often than "I" or "me.""
"Give value and cut the fluff."
"The writer should be invisible."
Basically, they're rules about suppressing your ego and focusing on the reader.
Very unselfish! They're good rules...
But in some ways, they can be detrimental to the quality of your content and to the enjoyment you get from creating content. More specifically, we'll explore two key issues in this essay: Soulless content and pandering to the audience.
It's not just these specific rules that are the cause but a more overarching paradigm of "it's not about you, it's only about your readers" that's constantly hammered into our heads.
I'll share a personal experience about that, but first, let me show you a diagram (how fun):
Neglecting that which you love
Ikigai is a Japanese concept that's defined by Wikipedia as such:
"Ikigai (生き甲斐, lit. 'a reason for being') is a Japanese concept referring to something that gives a person a sense of purpose, a reason for living."
In 2014, Marc Winn (who describes himself as a way-finder and a coffee shaman (as a fellow coffee nerd, I just had to highlight this!)) created this diagram as his interpretation of Ikigai:
You could argue that when you focus solely on the reader, your content falls at the intersection of "that which you are good at," "that which the world needs," and "that which you can be paid for."
"That which you love" is neglected.
So, what exactly is at that intersection? We'll get to that in a moment, but first... a story!
The difference between soulless and soulful content
The stage is a fantastic teacher.
When you perform in front of a live audience, you will get feedback in real-time. During your presentation, you can feel the room. After your presentation, you'll concretely see how grateful people are for your presentation.
So, several years ago, the stage taught me something about content:
I was giving a presentation at an event. It was about writing Facebook ads. I had had a fair amount of success as a media buyer, so I had a lot of insights to share. I taught several of those insights in this presentation with examples and actionable instructions. I thought it was a good presentation, at least in substance – I wasn't an experienced presenter at all back then. Despite my lack of confidence as a presenter, I was applauded. I was feeling good... for a moment.
But something surprising happened after that.
I was utterly overshadowed by the speaker who presented after me. He also talked about Facebook advertising, like me. But his presentation was in the form of a case study. And it wasn't one of those boring case studies. It was a riveting story. You could feel this guy was passionate about what he was talking about. He also didn't give the audience just cool tips. Instead, he went deep. He gave the audience a whole system to follow and implement. His advice had weight.
After all the presentations, it was clear which ones left an impact and had the potential to transform lives. His presentation was among those. Mine was not.
And this didn't happen just one time.
We held these events several times. With the same lineup. Different presentations each time.
Gradually, I got more confident as a speaker, but I was slow to learn other things… Namely, I didn't really understand what made his presentations so special compared to mine. So, each time, I was utterly overshadowed by him.
(To be clear, I feel no grudge against him. I consider him a friend and a mentor.)
In hindsight, it's more apparent to me why that happened. And to uncover the reason, let's return to the diagram I showed earlier.
There's actually a newer version of that diagram that shows what's at the intersections of these circles:
According to this diagram, when "that which you love" is neglected, you'll be feeling comfortable but empty.
A content writer in that space takes the safe route, using proven topics and formulas. They stick to what works, which leads them to create nothing ground-breaking.
Even when the intentions behind that content are good, it fills the writer's soul with emptiness.
It's like that part of a story where the protagonist does what they think is the right thing to do, even though they don't want to do it. It makes them feel empty at first and regretful later. For example, in the original Spider-Man trilogy, when Peter Parker chooses to conceal his feelings from Mary Jane to protect her.
How do you think that feeling of emptiness gets transferred to the reader?
Because the writer isn't really feeling anything, no feeling gets transferred through writing, either. That content might be informative but forgettable (because we best remember the emotions). The reader might be satisfied but not feel compelled to change their life in any way.
When I gave my presentations, I was arguably in this "Comfortable, but feeling of emptiness" space. All I did was list tips I thought were useful. And while they were based on my experiences, they were not really unique or something only I could've shared. These presentations were also formulaic. I was always quick to prepare them. I listened to the "market" more than my own gut when preparing them.
I remember after one of my presentations, an audience member came to me and, for fun, described me as a "construction worker" type of personality because my presentations were always practical, tech-focused, and well-organized. Though meant as a compliment, I felt it was far from my true character. It was clear to me I had given the wrong image to people. I hadn't given them a part of myself. My content was soulless.
Meanwhile, the other guy wasn't afraid to talk about what he wanted to discuss. He shared what only he could've shared. He was on a mission to change lives, driven by his passion. He was in the center of the above diagram.
Am I implying that when you write, you should always be mission-driven, evoke emotions, and inspire transformation in readers' lives? Well, not really (and this is a topic for another essay, perhaps). All I'm saying for now is:
When you neglect what you want to write, you will feel empty inside, and your content will feel soulless.
It might seem paradoxical:
Focusing entirely on your readers ends up in you creating soulless content.
Focusing more inwardly enables you to create something that is actually helpful to people.
Why is that? Or is that really even true?
Well, let's look at it from this point of view:
The pandering hack vs. the artist who writes what they want
Here's an excerpt from Steven Pressfield's The War of Art that actually inspired me to write this essay (emphasis mine):
"I learned this from Robert McKee. A hack, he says, is a writer who second-guesses his audience. When the hack sits down to work, he doesn't ask himself what's in his own heart. He asks what the market is looking for.
The hack condescends to his audience. He thinks he's superior to them. The truth is, he's scared to death of them or, more accurately, scared of being authentic in front of them, scared of writing what he really feels or believes, what he himself thinks is interesting. He's afraid it won't sell. So he tries to anticipate what the market (a telling word) wants, then gives it to them.
In other words, the hack writes hierarchically. He writes what he imagines will play well in the eyes of others. He does not ask himself, What do I myself want to write? What do I think is important? Instead, he asks, What's hot? What can I make a deal for?
The hack is like the politician who consults the polls before he takes a position. He's a demagogue. He panders.
It can pay off, being a hack. Given the depraved state of American culture, a slick dude can make millions being a hack. But even if you succeed, you lose, because you've sold out your Muse, and your Muse is you, the best part of yourself, where your finest and only true work comes from."
(Steven Pressfield, The War of Art)
So, in addition to a feeling of emptiness, neglecting your own wants leads to pandering.
Pandering is a common issue. Especially in the world of marketing but also in the world of blogging, social media, and newsletter writing.
I bump into this problem all the time in my work in the online course space. For example, here's something kind of paradoxical I've noticed:
Many of the creators I've worked with enjoy creating online courses but don't enjoy creating content in public. They see them as two very different things. To them, the first is about helping people, and the second is about pandering or being pushy.
It's no wonder why so many people feel icky about content marketing:
It's not just because most marketing they see is needy and coercion-based. (And they think they must emulate that if they want to be successful.)
But it's also because they're never taught to figure out what they want to talk about. It's always "give your audience what they want" or "tell your audience what they want to hear."
When you create content, it's easy to slip into this "pandering mode." You start to create something you think the readers want: Pithy content that doesn't waste their time – about topics they've asked for. Practical tips and advice right off the bat. No "fluff" like stories, theory, and philosophy.
But that might just be you trying to please your readers out of fear of boring them (or some other fear). And you refrain from saying what you really want to say, resulting in soulless content. And when your readers show no appreciation for your pleasing efforts, you start to resent them.
That makes you hate content creation.
The hack's counterpart is the artist. Someone who doesn't cave in to the market's demands when they create.
When I say "an artist," I mean it in its broader definition, like this:
"Artists make change happen. Artists are humans who do generous work that might not work. Artists aren't limited to paint or museums. You're an artist as soon as you announce you are. As a leader, a coach, a contributor, a designer, a musician, an impresario … it's art if you let it be. If you care enough." (Seth Godin, The Practice)
When you're on the path of growing an audience or building a business, it's easy to slip into a hack's shoes and just write what people want to hear. It's kind of a shortcut to success. But also a path of struggle and emptiness, in my experience.
Also:
Readers don't even know what they want (no offense to you, reader 😜)
This notion that you should just give people what they want is flawed.
There's a famous Steve Jobs quote:
"Some people say, "Give the customers what they want." But that's not my approach. Our job is to figure out what they're going to want before they do. I think Henry Ford once said, "If I'd asked customers what they wanted, they would have told me, 'A faster horse!'"
In the same vein, your readers don't know what they want.
A hack is someone who tells people what they want to hear. And that's not helpful. The hack just produces faster horses, so to speak. That just feeds the status quo, not positive progress.
The artist, on the other hand, creates something people didn't know they wanted.
"I don't want to be a starving artist!"
According to Pressfield, being a hack can pay off. It's true. For example, think of all the politicians who just tell people what they want to hear – some of them stay popular even when they show no signs of delivering on their promises.
The more interesting question is: Can it pay off being an artist?
Or am I thinking like a hack, asking something like that?
Am I, really?
Or are we conditioned to believe that being an artist and a successful entrepreneur cannot go hand in hand? The stereotype of a starving artist is common, but is it accurate? (It's at least partly a myth.)
To explore that, let's return to Pressfield (emphasis mine):
"I was starving as a screenwriter when the idea for The Legend of Bagger Vance came to me. It came as a book, not a movie. I met with my agent to give him the bad news. We both knew that first novels take forever and sell for nothing. Worse, a novel about golf, even if we could find a publisher, is a straight shot to the remainder bin.
But the Muse had me. I had to do it. To my amazement, the book succeeded critically and commercially better than anything I'd ever done, and others since have been lucky too. Why? My best guess is this: I trusted what I wanted, not what I thought would work. I did what I myself thought was interesting, and left its reception to the gods."
(Steven Pressfield, The War of Art)
So, trusting what he wanted was the path to success for Pressfield.
This showcases a difference between the thinking of a hack and an artist:
The hack chases after the money by doing what he thinks the market wants.
The artist does the opposite: She helps her audience by creating what she wants without needing it to work. Or, as Pressfield put it, leaves the reception of her work to the gods.
And the artist's way may be the better way to achieve what the hack wants:
Creating without need is liberating
Here's an idea from an obscure book that resonated with me (emphasis mine):
"It's amazing what a media platform can do, over time. In my experience, a media platform (newsletter, podcast, whatever) somehow attracts to you people and opportunities that would otherwise never come into your world.
[...]
For years before I started my media platform[...], I tried to directly pursue what I wanted.I didn't realize this was not a smart way to get anything... especially clients.
This approach attaches you to an outcome. I didn't know back then that directing my energy in that way creates terrible side effects: namely, a deep-seated feeling of NEED for everything I did not yet possess.
(NOTE: This is repelling to everything and everyone.)
Focusing on achieving a particular outcome is NOT goal setting, it's misery induction.
The media platform became my liberation. I can fully be present in the practice of the PROCESS that attracts things I want.
I can fully invest myself in the ONLY thing I control: what I do with myself at any one moment."
(Jason Leister, Incomparable Expert: 133 Lessons For Removing the Head Trash That Keeps You Small, Communicating Your True Value to the World and Becoming a One of a Kind Trusted Advisor to Your Clients and Customers) ⬅️ what a title!
Or, as Seth Godin put it in his book, The Practice (a term which, similarly to "the media platform" above, refers to the act of shipping creative work consistently) (emphasis mine):
"Learn to juggle. Draw an owl. Make things better. Without regard for whether it's going to work this time. The practice will take you where you seek to go better than any other path you can follow."
[...]
"This practice is available to us—not as a quick substitute, a recipe that's guaranteed to return results, but as a practice. It is a persistent, stepwise approach that we pursue for its own sake and not because we want anything guaranteed in return."
[...]
"Let's call it art. The human act of doing something that might not work, something generous, something that will make a difference. The emotional act of doing personal, self-directed work to make a change that we can be proud of."
(Seth Godin, The Practice)
This is a major reason why I started my Substack.
I wanted an outlet for my creativity with no pressure, expectations, or outcome-based goals. I want to see where this takes me without needing anything particular to happen.
While being a hack can pay off (as previously discussed), it's definitely not guaranteed. I've seen how trying to chase bigger audiences and create what the market wants often ends up in a flop. Those who struggle the most are often the ones who strive for success the hardest. (The life of a creative is full of paradoxes like this! 😆)
Alan Watts' The Backwards Law nicely sums up this phenomenon:
"The backwards law proposes that the more we pursue something, the more we achieve the opposite of what we truly want and the more disappointed we feel. Or simply put: the harder we try, the less likely we'll succeed. On the flip side: when we stop trying, we'll have what we want." (Einzelganger)
So, I thought it was time for me to stop focusing on external things, such as what the market wants, and recalibrate my focus on the process of writing.
I wanted to write what I wanted instead of what the market was asking for. Or perhaps more accurately, I wanted to discover what I wanted to write. This is still an ongoing process.
I don't mean to write just whatever. Instead, I aim to create, in Seth Godin's words, "something generous, something that will make a difference."
As The Peculiar Penman's Chief Scribbler (yes, that is my official title 🧐), it is my job not only to write but also to put my stuff in front of as many (likely) interested people as I can. But, I will let readers choose themselves if they find my content valuable or not. That’s the mindset.
Will this lead to this newsletter growing into a business? I don't know, and I try not to care too much. All I have is trust in the value of the skills and knowledge I've acquired over the years.
Also, I've spent enough years doing the opposite of what I've described in this section. Now, I've been fortunate enough to have the privilege and the foundation (for which I am grateful) to try something different.
Of course, there's a part of me that needs success to happen (the needy part). I'm not claiming to be totally unattached to outcomes. However, writing this newsletter is a process of liberation.
It is a liberating experience to write what you want to express without any constraints.
On the other hand...
This is not a black-and-white issue.
For example, you could argue against this essay by saying that the ego is the enemy – so that's why you need to focus on the readers and not on yourself. Or you could say that shifting focus from yourself to the audience relieves you of imposter syndrome and anxiety. These are all valid points.
That's why this essay has taken me weeks to write (and a part of me still wants to keep polishing and even rewriting it!) and turned out longer than expected, as I wanted to capture the nuances of the topic.
So, the rules I listed at the beginning... When I said, "they're good rules," I meant it. (At least, some of them are.) They just have a bit of a dark side... They can make writers overtly focused on external things and neglect what's bubbling inside them.
This essay is less about criticizing those aforementioned rules and more about encouraging you to do your own thing.
Writing what you want is not about...
To be clear, writing what you want doesn't mean…
…Being selfish. Instead, it means working at the intersection of what your audience needs and what you want to create for them.
…Not caring about other people. Instead, it means not letting other people steer your ship.
…Just writing for fun. Instead, it means doing valuable creative work without putting the market on a pedestal.
A new set of writing rules... for you to question
We started with writing rules, sooo~ let's end with writing rules... but different:
Write what you want to tell your audience, not what you think will sell.
Write something valuable without expecting anything in return.
Get feedback, but don't be ruled by it.
Serve your audience as you see fit; don't pander.
Don't write what they want to read. Write what they didn't know they wanted to read.
Question ALL the rules, lol.
Yet another marketer learns that creating art is funner,
Mitro
References AKA things worth reading when you want to delve deeper into this topic
Spider-Man (2002 film)
.
.
.
Ok, seriously this time:
Steven Pressfield, The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks and Win Your Inner Creative Battles (2011)
Seth Godin, The Practice (2020)
Jason Leister, Incomparable Expert: 133 Lessons For Removing the Head Trash That Keeps You Small, Communicating Your True Value to the World and Becoming a One of a Kind ... Advisor to Your Clients and Customers (2019)
Marc Winn, What is your Ikigai? (2014)
Einzelganger, The Backwards Law (2021)
Also:
This post discusses the neediness we creative people sometimes feel. The writer introduces an alternative: Non-needy artmaking.
Non-coercive marketing is a philosophy focusing on building trust and connecting emotionally with potential customers, instead of using manipulative tactics.
Also, this post contains a ton of great links to click! I don’t know if that sounds funny 😄 but you’ll see when you head to the post!
Busting the myth that “you won’t make a living as a writer.” Also discusses how to combine art and business as a writer.
Thank you for going after this topic again and sharing my take on it. It is a difficult issue because we don't want to pander, but we also need to meet the market and get traction. So it needs a bit of both thinking caps. I agree that Ikigai philosophy gets as close to this as possible. It's a lifelong pursuit.