Do Not Monetize Substack With Subscriptions – Do This Instead

How small creators can make big bucks (without turning on subscriptions)

Subscriptions are a fantasy dressed up as a strategy.

The idea feels too simple:

Write a weekly post, charge $8/month, and boom—you’re a writer with recurring revenue.

But when you’re sitting there with 29 subscribers and barely any conversions… The dream turns into a grueling grind faster than you think.

This post breaks down why subscriptions burn you out, stall your growth, and keep most small creators broke. And most importantly, it'll show you what you should do instead to start generating meaningful revenue (even with a small audience.)

97% of your subscribers won't buy your subscription

That’s not pessimism. That’s math.

It's not because you're doing anything wrong. It's just how the numbers play out. Substack says that 5-10% of subscribers convert to paid. Maybe. But the reality is more around 3%.

That means for every 100 people on your list, 97 are just hanging out—lurking, reading, sometimes clicking. But never pulling out their credit card.

To make the subscription model work, you need thousands of free subscribers.

Good writing can't fix bad math.

The silent path to burnout (nobody talks about)

But the real trap is this:

You see all the bragging writers on your timeline: "Substack pays my rent! Substack replaced my full-time job!"

So you start fantasizing about what 1,000 paying subs at $8/month could mean. “That’s $8,000 a month! Not bad for writing.”

But what you miss is how long it takes to get to 100 paying subs.

You’ll write for months. Publish every week. Try different angles. Rework your headlines. Beg for shares. And after all that, maybe—just maybe—you’ll hit 10 paying subscribers. Which means you’re making $80 a month to write for hours each week.

It’s like building a restaurant for 1,000 sets and only 3 show up each day—but you still have to cook, clean, and keep the lights on.

This is the frustration I see nobody talking about here. And it's not because writing isn’t worth it. But because you built your hopes on a fantasy, not on facts.

You start blaming yourself. Thinking you’re not good enough. Not writing well enough. Not marketing hard enough. But you’re just playing a game that’s rigged from the start.

Is it worth burning yourself out to sell a $8/month subscription?

Your subscribers hate subscriptions

Subscriptions are a hard sell.

People love to buy. But they hate subscriptions.

How excited are you about your electricity bill?

Add to this that subscribers don’t stick around forever. Even the ones who paid.

That’s the part no one talks about. You spend months trying to convince someone to pay you $8/month. Then they cancel after 2 months. No reason. No goodbye. Just… gone.

That's called churn.

It's exactly like offering payment plans. People bounce off. Credit card expires or gets stolen. Then trying to resub is just too much of a stretch.

That's why I like to collect money upfront with a one-time purchase.

Churn feels like a kick in the genitalia. Especially when you’re just getting started. Every time someone unsubscribes, it feels personal. Like they slammed the door on your face. Like your writing wasn’t good enough.

But it’s not just feelings. It’s numbers. (Again.)

Let’s say you get 50 paid subscribers. That’s $400/month. Not amazing, but it’s something. Now factor in churn. Industry average? Around 5–10% monthly. So you’re losing 2–5 people every month, just by default.

Now you’re not growing. You’re paddling just to stay afloat.

Every time you gain a sub, you also have to replace the ones you just lost. It’s exhausting. And it makes you resent your readers.

Because you start writing from fear. Fear that this post won’t “convert.” That your headline isn’t “clickable” enough. That your style isn’t “tight” enough.

And once you write from that place, it shows.

It becomes a job. A treadmill. A constant push to meet invisible expectations—while your numbers barely move.

If you’re not prepared to play the retention game, don’t start the subscription game.

Expect churn and plan for it.

Don’t turn Substack into a digital prison

Subscriptions also sound like freedom. Predictable revenue, right?

But in practice? They’re handcuffs.

Here’s how the trap works: You do the math.
“If I get 100 people to pay $8 a month, that’s $800. That’s rent.”

You forget something critical: You won’t get those 100 people overnight. You’ll get 3 this week. Maybe 2 more next month. And in the meantime, you’ve got a promise to keep.

Weekly content. Monthly issues. Bonus posts. Behind-the-scenes access. Q&As.
You’ve just become a full-time writer for a part-time wage.

Now imagine this: You’re two months in. You’ve got 11 paid subs. That’s $88 a month.

And yet, you feel obligated to crank out value-packed essays every week. Why? Because those 11 people paid. So you owe them. (And they deserve it because they're your early believers.)

But the money doesn’t catch up fast enough. And your energy runs out before your audience runs up.

Most people don’t quit because they’re not good enough. They quit because they can’t keep up. The pace, the pressure, the performance—it’s all too much for a payoff that’s too small.

Subscriptions can easily become a content treadmill that drains your time, creativity, and confidence.

Want to stay sane? Stop selling content before you have an audience.

Build before you bill.

The right way to use Substack (as a small creator)

Substack is NOT a business model. But a microphone.

Too many new writers treat it like a cash machine. They flip the “paid” switch, slap on a $8 price tag, and hope the money flows in.

It won’t.

Because Substack’s greatest strength isn’t monetization—it’s distribution:

• The great community.

• The built-in discovery engine.

• The recommendation network.

• The clean interface that makes people actually want to read.

That’s what you should be leveraging.

Use it to attract people. To build trust. To grow a relationship with your readers before you ask for money.

Because unless you’re already well-known, nobody’s paying to hear your thoughts.
Harsh? Maybe. True? Absolutely.

You’re not Netflix. You’re not The New York Times. You’re someone with 132 subscribers trying to figure out how to turn words into dollars.

So here’s the smarter play:
Keep it free. Publish consistently. Create content that spreads. Give people a reason to come back. Let your newsletter become the top of your funnel—not the product.

And then? Sell something else.

Courses. Workshops. Coaching. Consulting.

Something that doesn’t require you to show up every single week just to keep the lights on. And something that you could charge top dollars for.

PS: Your marketing ethics are garbage

Some folks on Substack have been criticizing me, saying I'm an unethical b*stard and that they're sticking to their "ethics."

It feels like selling your stuff is bypassing Substack.

Stupid.

Substack could show ads.
Or let creators sell one-time products.
Their business model is on them. Not on me.

But I’m not going to recommend something that burns people out.

Make them quit. And abandon their dreams.

Subscriptions only work if you have a big audience.

Most people here don’t have one. They’re a person with limited time, reach, and energy.

I’m grateful for Substack being such a great platform.

But Substack doesn’t owe you anything. And you don’t owe it anything either.

Your plan sucks. Fix it.

You don’t need more discipline or more "algorithm hacks". You need a better business model.

Subscriptions won’t save you. They’ll drain you, distract you, and leave you angry at the wrong people.

Grow an audience on Substack, monetize with top-dollar products, or stay broke and bitter.