How Writing Saved Me: My Substack Story

From a kid in Buenos Aires writing poetry to a writer searching and finding a voice — and a home, on the ’Stack.

My Story on This Crazy Train Called Substack

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This is my story since I jumped on this crazy train that is the ’Stack. From the beginning until today.

But really, the story began back in Buenos Aires, Argentina, where I worked my skill at writing poetry to death. It was such an interesting time. So young, with my whole life ahead of me and nothing but stars in my eyes.

Writing poetry that early provoked something profound in me. Reading the likes of Carlos Castañeda, Pablo Neruda, and Rainer Maria Rilke only made my affection grow stronger. I was in love every day—didn’t matter if it was returned or not. Rejection was just as decisive as acceptance. Both were fuel for inspiration. Creativity for keeps.

I mentioned “interesting times,” didn’t I? Let me explain…

The years of the military junta were more than anyone expected, looking back now. The emotions from that time are hard to describe, and maybe impossible to truly understand unless you lived them. One moment, you were terrified, couldn’t breathe, heart racing in panic. Then it passed—maybe a false alarm. Maybe nothing. Other times, the worst thing that can happen to a person became real: the kidnapping and death of a good friend. Or a family member.

At thirteen, that’s a hard pill to swallow. But you try to make some sense of it, put your emotions in some kind of order. You had to, just to stay sane. The adults needed that, but so did I. All I knew was this: if I didn’t put it down on paper, I couldn’t write about anything else ever again. I would’ve been lost.

So, without going too far into the darkness, I’ll say this—those maniacal bursts of creativity came from the world around me. From the fear, the energy, the strange beauty of those days. And from the desperate need to document it all—the only way I knew how.

By writing.

Next (on part 2): I lived through it — thanks to my guardian angels, all the Gods of the Universe, and probably a lot of luck. And that survival became the start of another story.

One that begins many years later, in the wild, noisy playground of the Internet…

—∆—

All the gods of the universe and all the saints of the past must’ve conspired to keep me alive through those awful years—and I lived. Long enough to see another chapter of my own story, thankfully.

Fast forward to ’23…

Like most of you reading these words, I’m a product of the Internet age—by association, that means Facebook, MySpace, Twitter, and at least one WordPress blog. Then another, when we had a baby on Google’s little blog nursery. On those platforms, especially Facebook, I travelled back and forth in time, revisited lost friends, and had a great time overall. But I wasn’t really writing. Not in the way that mattered.

Then I discovered Substack. The idea of starting my own newsletter felt like opening a new door. Like most of you, I’d never had anything truly mine in the literal world, so it seemed like a fine experiment. Why not, right? It was (and still is) free, which many take for granted without realising what a gift it truly is.

Little did I know what it was about to become.

The first year was as exciting as it was painful. I asked, begged, bartered—trying to get any followers, never mind subscribers. I read everything I could find about “growing your audience” until I realised something simple: to make it here, you need two things—discipline and perseverance. Three, if you count good content (whatever that means).

In other words, you have to show up.

You have to be there.

Because before long, it’s your presence that matters. It’s your presence that your people start looking for. And believe me, you don’t want to keep them waiting.

After all the trips and falls, the stumbles and wrong turns, the road eventually clears. The boulders turn to pebbles. It’s no longer a minefield, and that’s a wonderful thing to experience. You finally get a break.

And like Buddha said—it’s the way that counts, not the destination.

The more we reflect on what we’ve learned along the way, the more we can use it to keep growing. And to help others. Paying it forward isn’t just a saying—it’s the law of natural living. Nothing is truer than that.

(Continue)

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