Why you should embrace writing in obscurity
After writing a viral article, I found myself longing for my less successful days. Here’s why.
Many people seem to be in a hurry to make it with their writing. They want followers, fame, and fortune — those coveted f-words. I can’t say I haven’t wanted my fair share, too.
But after writing a viral Medium article, I found myself wishing I’d write less successful stories for a while. The hassle and dazzle of claps and comments were taking up too much of my attention; I wanted to practice my craft in silence again.
Now that my wish has been granted — my most recent article has been read by 28 people — I, of course, feel nostalgic for the golden days and, worst of all, like I’m letting down my email subscribers. But I haven’t changed my mind about the upside of writing in the margins.
If you’re reading this, you either count your readers on the toes of two feet — or just want to make yourself feel better. Either way, I’m here to give you three reasons why you should enjoy the obscurity while it lasts:
- You get to play and experiment.
- You get to write what you want — not what others expect you to.
- You’ll find out whether you actually enjoy writing.
1. You get to play and experiment
In his memoir Stay True (p. 27), Hua Hsu describes his high school zine like this:
“I would write breathless odes to foreign films I’d never seen, passionate and overlong dissections of whatever 7-inch indie rock singles I found at Streetlight in San Jose. There was X-Files fan fiction, screeds against our rote homework assignments.”
What the quote tells me is that he wrote a lot — and in a lot of different ways. While I never made a zine, I can relate.
I’ve written a food blog, reviewed restaurants around Helsinki, scripted YouTube videos — and then there’s Medium, of course. Here, I’ve written about mindfulness, mental health, personal growth, traveling, productivity, behavioral design, UX research, self-control, and writing itself.
I’ve played and experimented. That’s what you get to do when no one cares about what or how you write.
This freedom is especially important when you’re starting out. If you always stick to snappy paragraphs and cap every post at 1,000 words to please the skimming, attention-compromised mobile reader, you may or may not grow a following. But you’ll definitely miss out on the thrill of experimenting.
You might not write that messy, personal story about polyamory because you’re afraid to alienate readers.
You might not test a style inspired by your favorite artist’s song lyrics because you’re obsessed with clarity.
You might not share your love letter to Prague because it won’t fit your brand.
If no one is reading, why care?
Feeling a little embarrassed or nervous to hit Publish (in case someone does read it) is a good sign — it means you’re pushing your limits. And it’ll never be easier to push your limits than when you’re still a nobody.
2. You get to write what you want — not what others expect you to
You’re probably aware of the new album effect. A band releases a new album with a big stylistic shift from their last, and the longtime fans feel betrayed. Why can’t you just keep producing more of the stuff we loved?
This effect also applies to writing.
After I wrote a series on self-control — including The secret life of people with high self-control (it’s easier than you think) — I tripled my Medium followers. I went from 2,457 in December 2023 to 7,971 in July 2024 (an over 200% increase).
With all this fanfare came invitations: a podcast appearance (a very small and unknown one, but still), a speaking slot at Medium Day. It was all very exciting — until I realized I had no plans to continue writing about self-control till the end of time. Not only was my series ending, but I also generally struggle to stick to any one interest for long.
I could feel the pressure building: Thousands of people had followed me, basically because of one article. A few dozen had even consented to being spammed via email!
Most people hit Follow with the idea “I like this story on self-control — what else you got?” and not “I like this story on self-control — what else you got. . . on cartography?”
They were expecting another similar album. And what did I deliver?
A bunch of unrelated singles: an article on the best restaurants I visited in 2024, a story about fulfilling my travel dreams, and a piece on the importance of editing.
I delivered feelings of betrayal and disappointment.
A few followers and email subscribers have escaped — rightfully so. And my new stories have mainly been read by my best friend, the writing friend I asked for feedback, and an old colleague who apparently enjoys my style. (My mom isn’t on the list because she’s rather wary of my writing and would probably prefer that I stop altogether.)
If no one reads your writing, you don’t have to deal with this kind of humiliation. You get to write what you want — not what people expect you to.
Enjoy it while it lasts.
3. You’ll find out whether you actually enjoy writing
I made a YouTube video every week for a year. But I didn’t enjoy it.
I hated fiddling with the camera: Moving it around for different shots was one of the most stressful parts of the process (let’s not even get into trying to produce good-quality audio). Staring at PremierPro for hours every week felt draining. And all of this on a tight schedule.
Unsurprisingly, feeding the algorithm in the hope of gaining followers eventually got to me.
So I quit — with kicks and screams and tears. I followed all the recommendations, so why didn’t I make it?
When I’d recovered, I asked myself if there was anything I did enjoy about the process. I found one: scripting the more idea-driven videos. If I could just do that part.
But I could. It’s called writing. (Hello, Medium.)
You might be able to keep going for a year, or even two, without genuinely enjoying the work. But sooner or later, natural selection will run its course. And that’s the third upside of writing in obscurity: You’ll find out if you’re only doing it for the f-words or if you actually enjoy it.
The Canadian heavy metal band Anvil is a perfect example of what it can look like to keep doing what you love despite never achieving mainstream success. In 1982, they released a promising album, inspiring bands like Metallica — only to then disappear into obscurity.
But that didn’t make them quit. The 2018 documentary Anvil! The Story of Anvil shows that, over three decades later, they’re still playing in local bars, releasing new albums, and touring.
It’s clear that the band never gave up on their dreams of fame, but it’s the love of metal that has made them so resilient. As Steve “Lips” Kudlow, the band’s guitarist and lead vocalist, says after a tough tour:
“Everything on the tour went drastically wrong. But at least there was a tour for it to go wrong on.”
But what if I’ll always be writing in the margins?
That’s very likely.
After my fourth rejection this year for a writing-related opportunity, I messaged a friend who’d helped me with the application: “This is survivorship bias in the works.”
Most people never make it.
But should that make you quit? I don’t know. That’s up to you.
But if you ask me, I have a simple answer:
- Keep writing until you’ve run out of things to experiment with.
- Keep writing until you’ve told all those embarrassing stories that are aching to be told.
- Keep writing until it’s no longer fun.
And when that happens — move onto something else to dabble in in obscurity.* At least it’ll feel new and exciting again.
Notes
*Of course, if you’re determined to make it no matter what, don’t take tips from me. I’m too stubborn — and too indifferent to making more money. The latter may be my Europeanness. . . or the fact that I have a day job I enjoy.
