New Writers Shouldn’t Focus on Building an Audience (Yet)
Instead, do these 4 things first.
Ask yourself honestly: Are you subscribed to email lists from unpublished authors who only talk about writing?
The answer is most likely no. And if you do follow a few, it’s because you’re a writer yourself, not because you’re a reader.
Why is this? Because readers want finished work they can enjoy. They follow authors whose writing they’ve read and loved, not strangers who might someday publish something.
Think about it from your own perspective as a reader. You probably follow authors after experiencing their published work, not before. You want the book (or other significant writing) first, then the relationship.
This might sound harsh, but I find it liberating. No one cares, which means you don’t have to worry about audience-building or promoting your work right now.
You can just write.
1. Remember what you are
You are a writer.
Not a marketer who happens to write, not a book promoter who happens to write.
You are a writer. That’s what you do. Or at least that’s what you hope to do, which is why you’re trying to write in the first place!
I’ve seen too many talented people get paralyzed by marketing concerns. They literally stop writing because they think they need to “build a platform first.”
I’ve heard some variations of “I need to focus on building an audience before I can really write.” So here’s a piece of advice from someone who’s been there for years:
- No, you don’t. Not right now.
- You don’t have to build an audience right now.
- You don’t have to be on social media right now.
- You don’t have to join Facebook groups where you don’t genuinely want to be. Not ever.
Your job as an unpublished writer is to write and edit. That’s it. Everything else is just noise.
Also, I’m creating a free video course that teaches all you need to know to start your writing career and earn your first $100 writing
2. The best marketing for your book is your next book
I’ve been a book editor for one of the most successful writers on Medium: Darius Foroux. He started writing professionally in 2015, and as of date, he has about eight books out (one of them, which I also co-edited, is traditionally published by a Big Five publisher).
His success was built over a steady accumulation of published books. Each new book attracted new readers and reignited interest in his previous ones.
This is a strategy many prolific authors use.
When you consistently publish, you give readers multiple entry points into your work. Someone might discover your latest book first, love it, and then go back to explore your earlier titles.
The best part? It’s work that is focused on what you actually want to do: Writing. Not marketing.
3. Harsh truth: Publishers and editors won’t care about your modest platform
Let’s say you get to build an email list of a thousand real human subscribers. Maybe you’re so good at posting viral tweets or TikToks that you even get ten thousand subscribers in just a couple of months!
Now, I genuinely hope you can hit 10,000 subscribers in a few months. But in reality, I’ve rarely seen it happen. Unless the writer is already well-established in their field, not just starting out.
The chances of building an audience that size by talking solely about your unfinished manuscript are pretty slim.
Besides, do you think your 1K or even 10K email subscriber list is enough to land you a book deal with a top publisher or convince a magazine editor to feature your work and boost your authority?
In the end, they will want to see what you have already written first.
4. If you want to build an audience, focus on sharing a process
If you’re serious about growing your platform, here’s my counterintuitive advice: Don’t just talk about your writing process — talk about a process that provides value to others.
Think about:
- Skills you’ve mastered
- Topics you’re actively learning
- Unique insights or experiences you bring
- Subjects that genuinely interest you
Then, document the journey. People love following a process; whether it’s improving a skill, testing ideas, or solving a problem.
Make your content about that, and your audience will grow.
Distractions that feel like writing aren’t writing
Your writer brain will insist that audience building is important.
It will try to convince you that tweeting about another day of staring at a blank page, designing your author website, or planning your launch strategy is “writing work.”
It isn’t.
If you ever catch yourself thinking you can’t work on your actual writing until you’ve set up your platform, stop everything and get back to writing.
Of course, if you genuinely enjoy blogging or posting on social media about something you love, that’s different. Go for it!
Just remember that your audience will come from sharing your genuine interests and expertise.
The bottom line
You don’t have to audience-build at all right now.
If the marketing aspect is stressing you out or taking time from your writing, drop it completely. It can wait.
Your only job right now is to write something worth reading.
Build something first. Everything else is just distraction.
About the Creator
Md kamrul Islam
Myself is a passionate writer with a deep love for storytelling and human connection. With a background in humanities and a keen interest in child development and social relationships
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From the earliest memories I can recall, life presented me with two roads. One was smooth, inviting, and well-trodden—a path that promised comfort, approval, and ease. The other was rough, rocky, and uncertain—a path of struggle, obstacles, and lessons that demanded effort, patience, and resilience. I never chose the smooth road. I never took shortcuts. Not because I was fearless, but because something deep inside refused to let me live a life that wasn’t earned. The easy path whispered promises of fleeting satisfaction, fleeting success, and fleeting recognition. It was tempting. Many around me chose it, and I often wondered if I was foolish for ignoring it. But I learned early that true growth is rarely convenient. The easiest choice often leads to emptiness, to regret, to a quiet knowing that you could have been more than you allowed yourself to be. Hardship became my teacher long before success ever noticed me. The lessons it offered were harsh, uncompromising, and often lonely. There were days when choosing the hard path felt like choosing isolation. While others were celebrated for small accomplishments, supported by friends and family, I walked in silence, with doubt as my companion. Progress was invisible to the world. Failures were frequent and relentless. Many nights, I returned home tired, my heart heavy, my mind questioning why I even bothered. Yet even in that silence, I was being shaped. I was learning the value of persistence, of dedication, and of refusing to give up on myself. The hard path forced honesty. It refused to allow excuses. It stripped away illusions and pretenses. I was left face-to-face with my limits, my fears, and my own humanity. On this path, I discovered strengths I never knew I had: patience I had never cultivated, resilience I had doubted, and self-respect that grew every time I stood up instead of walking away. These were not lessons that could be taught in comfort. They were only learned in struggle, in challenge, and in the quiet persistence of refusing to quit when no one was watching. I remember one time vividly. I had a goal that seemed impossible—one that required me to sacrifice comfort, leisure, and social approval. The easy path was right there: a way to avoid the challenge, to be “okay,” to follow what others had done before me. Many advised me to take it. “It’s safer,” they said. “It’s simpler,” they said. But I could feel, deep inside, that taking the easy way would leave me empty. I chose the hard path. The journey was grueling. Every step felt like pushing against gravity. But with each challenge, I gained more than I ever would have on the easy road. I gained endurance, confidence, and an understanding that real achievement is never handed—it is earned. Strength, I realized, isn’t loud. It doesn’t announce itself. It grows quietly, in the moments no one sees—the early mornings, the long nights, the repeated failures, the times you push forward when giving up would be understandable. Resilience is not simply surviving; it is deliberately choosing to continue, to stand again, to pursue the path that tests you the most. It is knowing that walking away is easier but will never lead to the person you are capable of becoming. I have walked many hard roads in life. Each one was different, yet the lessons were the same: comfort cannot teach endurance, shortcuts cannot teach discipline, and fleeting success cannot teach respect. Every struggle, no matter how small, adds to your character. Every failure is a mirror that shows you who you really are. And every choice to face hardship instead of fleeing builds a foundation that lasts long after temporary victories fade. There were times when I felt truly alone. People around me often misunderstood my choices. Friends, family, colleagues—they all questioned why I refused the easy way, why I worked harder, why I pushed myself beyond what seemed necessary. They didn’t see the growth happening quietly inside me. They didn’t see the small victories, the lessons learned, the resilience being forged. But eventually, the results spoke for themselves—not in a loud announcement, but in the quiet confidence and self-respect that I had built from the inside out. Life, I have learned, rewards those who endure hardship. Not always immediately. Not always visibly. But it rewards those who persist, who face struggle head-on, and who refuse to settle for anything less than becoming their fullest selves. Success that comes without effort is temporary; strength and self-respect are eternal. Hardship tests us, but it also teaches us. It shows us the depth of our own courage, the strength of our will, and the power of refusing to surrender. The lessons of the hard path are subtle, often invisible, and always lasting. I learned that failing is not shameful; failing is a necessary step toward mastery. I learned that enduring pain, even when no one notices, builds a type of strength that comfort never can. I learned that the more difficult the path, the deeper the reward—not measured in wealth or fame, but in character, wisdom, and self-respect. Every choice to embrace struggle instead of avoiding it shaped me. Every sacrifice, every extra hour, every moment of doubt faced instead of ignored, added to the foundation of the person I am today. My life was not easy. It was messy, unpredictable, and often overwhelming. But it was authentic. It was mine. And through hardship, I became resilient. I became someone who can face challenges without fear because I have faced them before. I became someone who respects themselves because I have honored my own effort. I became someone capable of growth because I refused to choose comfort over character. I often reflect on the people around me who chose the easy path. Many of them achieved quick victories, immediate recognition, and temporary peace. But over time, I noticed something important: the victories were shallow, the peace fleeting, and the growth minimal. They lacked the depth of resilience, the quiet power of self-respect, and the profound satisfaction that comes from knowing you endured, you learned, and you became someone stronger. Choosing hardship is not glamorous. It is not celebrated in real-time. It is often lonely, exhausting, and demanding. But it is transformative. It shapes your mind, your heart, and your spirit in ways comfort never can. It teaches discipline, patience, humility, and courage. It makes failure meaningful, effort valuable, and success earned. 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