Why I Couldn't Procrastinate Building a Personal Brand Any Longer

A meditation on why you shouldn't wait to start building a platform until you feel "qualified"

Every day, I help other people put themselves on the internet.

As a book publicist, I spend my days pitching journalists, working with creators, helping authors think about how they’ll show up online, and watching firsthand just how intertwined publishing has become with personal brands.

A Day in the Life of a Penguin Random House Publicist

A major part of the industry hinges on influencers to sell books and spread word of mouth. Even authors can’t escape the creator pipeline, and I’m not talking about posting a blown-up photo of their book’s cover and maybe a book tour graphic. Readers crave more than promotional content; they want things like behind-the-scenes looks, personal pictures, hyper-specific breakdown videos, and controversial hot takes.

It’s a lot to ask for. Increasingly, we’re not just asking authors to sell their work; we’re asking them to sell themselves.

Yes, it’s uncomfortable, and often unfair—I’ll be the first to agree. But when having a personal brand makes such a noticeable impact on the market, I’ll never stop encouraging my authors to put themselves out there. In fact, I’ve written a whole post about the practicality of authors building a platform on Substack.

Do Publishers & Book Buyers Actually Care if Authors Are on Substack?

Not too long ago, I’d share this advice, close my laptop and do... none of it.

I had to ask myself: if I believed so deeply in the value of sharing your work online, why wasn’t I willing to do it myself?

Eventually, I ran out of excuses.

Let’s go back to the beginning. When I was working as a publicity assistant, one of my responsibilities was reaching out to book influencers. I’d compile lists of Instagrammers and Substack writers, learn their reading tastes, send them advance copies, and ask if they’d consider sharing our books with their audience.

On paper, it sounded like a pretty sweet deal. Read books, write about them, build a community of fellow readers, and receive a near-endless supply of free ARCs.

Somewhere in the middle of sending all those emails, I had a very selfish thought: Why can’t that be me?

It didn’t stop there.

Once, at a networking event, I met a fellow publicist my age who worked in the fashion industry. Her agency had recently signed a contract with an influencer to share one sponsored post in exchange for more money than either of us made in a year. There’s only so many times you can hear a story like that and not think to yourself, Maybe these people are on to something.

I’d love to tell you I started this newsletter purely for the love of writing. That’s only half true. The other half is much more practical (and, no, it wasn’t just so I could receive free book mail).

As a Gen Zer—and especially as one who works in media—it’s impossible not to notice how much opportunity comes from having a presence online. Everyone has a personal brand, whether you’re online or not: it’s your reputation, and it’s up to you whether you want to intentionally cultivate it or just let it form on its own through the years. And that latter choice can take a long time.

Let me be clear: I’m not worried that publishing is disappearing. No matter what the nay-sayers claim, I’m of the mind that books are here to stay for the long haul. I have no plans of leaving the industry or my job on purpose any time soon, either. I truly love what I do (and I’m not just saying that because some of my coworkers subscribe to this newsletter).

But careers change, interests change, and even dreams change. Maybe one day I’ll want to publish my own book. Maybe one day I’ll want to freelance.

Building something that’s mine gives future-me options.

And if I never started, I knew I’d always wonder what if?

Fortunately, writing has always been the medium that feels the most natural. Like many (though certainly not all) people in publishing, I studied English in college. I was an editor at my university newspaper. I minored in Professional Editing. I spent years writing essays and articles and learning how to build an argument that people actually wanted to read.

I missed that.

It’s not that I don’t write at work—I absolutely do—but it’s mostly emails, pitches, and press materials. Rarely do I get to follow an idea simply because I’m curious where it might lead.

So I joined Substack.

If you’ve been here since the beginning, you probably remember that this newsletter looked very different in its first few months. I tried a little bit of everything before I found my niche. At first, I had a hard time believing anyone would care what someone with only a few years of publishing experience had to say.

But something quickly became apparent: because I’m still early in my career, I haven’t forgotten what publishing looked like from the outside. It’s more obvious to me what’s fascinating and what’s confusing. I’m still asking the questions that industry veterans stopped asking years ago.

On Being Young in Publishing

So, now, I write about what I know, I write about what I notice, and I write about the questions I can’t answer yet—and then I ask people more knowledgeable than me to answer them.

If you’re on your own Substack journey and struggle to come up with content ideas, here’s my hot tip: instead of waiting for a lightning bolt of inspiration, pay attention to conversations you’re already having, headlines that catch your eye, and questions you find yourself Googling. You don’t have to be the smartest person in the room to have something worth saying; you just have to be the person who notices the thing everyone else walked past.

For me, over time, those observations became something that resonated with thousands (!) of people.

Since I was young, I kept a journal.

I’ve always been the sentimental type who documents little moments because I know one day I’ll want to remember them. The thing is, journals don’t write back (except for that creepy one in The Chamber of Secrets). This newsletter does.

To me, that’s one of the most overlooked powers of a personal brand.

I’ve met so many generous people in publishing through Substack. I’ve interviewed professionals I admired from afar. Readers have emailed me thoughtful questions. People have stopped me at conferences after seeing my name badge (I still can’t believe this one). I was invited by my ex-college professor to speak virtually with students about breaking into publishing.

I’m very aware that my audience is modest in the grand scheme of the internet, but publishing is a small industry. A few connections travel fast. It’s an odd feeling to go from being a face in the crowd to being a face people recognize.

I work with an incredible team, but we’re spread across two countries and a five-hour time difference. On any given day, I have fewer colleagues in the office with me than I have fingers on one hand (or, more accurately, half of one hand).

I’m an introvert, but even introverts need their social fix, and bookish introverts need people to get nerdy about books with (I don’t make the rules). This newsletter became that outlet. I’ve made genuine friends through Substack, and I hope to meet even more.

Beyond just socially, building a public voice has also made me better at the thing I do professionally. Not only does networking feel less intimidating when people already vaguely know you, but thinking critically about publishing every week has made me a stronger publicist and a much more observant one.

It makes me laugh to think that I’m a publicist by day and a quasi-journalist by night. You’d think those were two competing sides of the media spectrum, but I’m learning that they actually enrich one another instead. Our lives contain multitudes, and so can our careers.

One day, I’ll come back and read these essays from the beginning.

I’ll probably laugh at how dramatic I was about some AI scare or how confidently I predicted the future of publishing. But I’ll also remember exactly who I was at this stage of life: a young adult who liked reading, and writing about reading, and meeting other people who liked those things too. And having a time capsule of this moment might be even more valuable to me than getting a few free books every once in a while.

So if you’re waiting until you’re an expert before you start sharing your work and passions online, don’t. Consider this your permission: share what you know, share what you don’t know, and share what you want to know. Try things, pivot, and try again.

Who knows? Maybe, like me, you’ll find something you didn’t even know you were looking for in the first place.

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Unsolicited Manuscript is an independently run newsletter. All opinions are my own and do not reflect the views of my employer, company, or any other organization.

P.S. I’m newly on Instagram!