Why is Substack so scary?

Welcome to Sex and Sensibility.

Writing for Substack should not feel daunting.

I write for a living – I’m the copywriter for beautiful British brand Papier. I’ve studied English at universities in Australia and England. My words have been printed before, in places I never thought would bear my name. I’ve written a book (unpublished, for now) and it won a prize. So why did the thought of writing this first Substack fill me with fear?

Words I’ve put into the world so far have always been in collaboration with other people. At university, my essays were based on the creativity of other authors; ideas were shaped in seminars with my peers and bolstered by the arguments of academics. At work, I’m guided by colleagues who issue clear briefs and critiques. Even my fiction has been influenced by many conversations with kind friends, feedback from courses and competitions, and as of last year, my literary agent.

Substack feels scary because it’s telling stories solo.

I’m pretty good at doing things alone. I’ve been single for six years. I’ve moved overseas and moved house and travelled and grieved. Telling stories is such a core part of my identity – so why am I so terrified to do it on my own terms?

I dip in and out of this app, reading brilliant essays by friends and strangers. It made me feel both inadequate and inspired. There was this thing I wanted to do (write) and all these people who were already doing it (Substack writers).

I settled on staying silent – not because I didn’t think I had anything to say – but because I was afraid.

Then, I wrote this for work.

Via @Papier on Instagram

It gathered likes on Instagram. The Head of Creative for Tony’s Chocolonely shared it on LinkedIn. At that point, I noticed the typo. The double ‘with’ on line ten. For a moment, I felt a bit sick.

Then, I felt free.

It was a piece of writing that I had shared with countless people before it was published. It had been read and reread and proofread. But since I had first scribbled it in a notebook, nobody had changed a word. It was right just as it was, mistake and all.

On LinkedIn, I shared my poem, along with the following:

At Papier, we always say, “handwritten words have more heart.” But when I saw my prose poem go live on Instagram, all I could think was, “handwritten words have more mistakes.” How did I write this post, read it 87 times and still miss the repeated word?

My piece ended up being the ultimate lesson in beginnings. You may make mistakes, but it won’t lessen the worth of your creation. If AI had churned this out, there would likely be less errors. But I’d also bet there would be less heart. Starting something is about putting yourself out there, messiness and all.

I will always be a writer with heart. I will make mistakes. But I’ll also be brave enough to begin again. Beginning is the best bit, and even a small step forward – with an extra word or two – is better than standing still 💛

I needed to take my own advice.

I’ve had the name of this Substack in my head for years. Sex and Sensibility. It is a nod to my favourite of Jane Austen’s heroines – which will require its own essay, I think – and to Carrie Bradshaw. It also encapsulates the things I write and think about the most. Chasing love and passion, often in the absence of sense. The messiness of being a writer with a huge heart. Handwritten words that pour out in the heat of the moment.

And when I say sex, I mean it the way the Ancient Greeks did. The Greek God Eros represents more than the erotic. He is symbolic of desire, intensity, life force, fertility. Being lovesick, but also being driven mad by the pursuit of passion.

This will be my place to write about intense feelings and their intersection with the things I’m passionate about. Dating, astrology, travel, tarot, beauty, mental health, sexuality. The contradictions of being a sensitive person in an insensitive world. Films and books that make me cry. A Sydney sunrise swim that made me cry. A boy who broke my heart, and made me cry (at Christmas). Musings on why I cry so much.

I am writing for myself, but hopefully, I am writing for you too.

The people who are told they feel too much. Who are moved by things that seem mundane, or put themselves out there only to get let down. Those who want to live a big life but feel stuck, who dream of a love they can’t reach, who are confused and frightened but look to words to find a way forward. Those who are drawn to the inexplicable, the mysterious, the magical. Those who want more.

I hope that in sharing what I find intoxicating about the world, I may find readers who nod and say, “I see it that way too, and here’s something else I’ve been feeling.” Writing is also a way to rely on myself more. To trust my ideas and my intuition and see the worth of my own words.

To believe that the best time to tell a story is right now.

So I’m being brave. I’m starting even though it’s scary. Beginning is the best bit.

Thanks for reading Sex and Sensibility. I’ll write again soon.

Gabriela x