by Jan Chaffin

A couple weeks ago, I wrote a very short story that sort of poured out after mulling over the theme(s) for months. At the time, I really thought it had merit. Honestly, blindered by vanity, I thought it was fabulous. So, I thought everyone should know about it, read it, praise me.

Lately, I’ve started joining peers on Substack and spend a fair amount of time reading great writers, artists and activists like Ruth ben-Ghiat, Patti Smith, Sherman Alexie, Jessica Craven, Heather Cox Richardson and Joyce Vance, to name a few.

This is new for me. I’ve avoided facebook and other social apps forever and I’ve never been much of a gamer beyond the early geek days of connecting dots on a black and white monitor in a graphics-less precursor to Dungeons and Dragons called Rogue. But lately, I have started liking posts, following writers, subscribing and participating in the platform’s social aspects.

So, like an epiphany, I thought, why can’t little ole me post my fabulous new story on Substack for all to see? My mind swirled with fantasies of my favorite contributors restacking and liking and commenting on my story.

I sent my friends links to the post, waiting for the avalanche of fandom… Nothing happened.

I reread my story and realized it had some major flaws. I still liked the conceit but knew it needed more work. I went from feeling vainglorious to sheepish; I suddenly wanted to hide. But of course, I didn’t remove the post. I still had skin in a game I didn’t realize I was playing.

I just finished Richard Power’s Playground. Like Overstory and Bewilderment, it is a network of big, beautiful ideas and it dawned on me I was becoming sucked into the game of posting and rising in the Substack ranks, of gaining more followers, more likes and more reposts. I didn’t want it to end. I cared more about staying in the game than I cared about what I posted.

Powers references this phenomenon in his novel and now I am referencing him in a post I am writing about posting about posts. Is this infinite regress, solipsism, narcissism, our new digital common space (vacuum), all of these, none, more?

Do we care less about the posts than their responses? Is the goal of commenting about comments just to stay in the game and isn’t playing its own redemption, regardless of the playground or the rules? If platforms like Substack are designed to encourage competition, to keep people on the site, does it matter? Comments?