The Pressure to Go Viral: Writing in the Age of Algorithms

We're not just writing stories anymore…we're writing content.

Do you remember a time before social media? Before going viral? Because I do. I remember when we didn't have to follow specific trends or algorithms just to get seen. But hey, it might be that I'm just a bit nostalgic today.

But lately, I've found myself thinking less about what I want to write, and more about what will perform. Will this hook get people to stop scrolling? Is this scene quotable? Could it go viral? And honestly, it's exhausting.

As writers, many of us used to obsess over craft, over building worlds and characters and arcs that moved people. But now? We're also trying to beat algorithms, grab attention, and ride trends. It feels like we're being pulled in two directions: one toward our stories, and one toward visibility.

In this piece, I want to explore how the pressure to go viral is quietly reshaping the way we write, not just what we write about, but how we approach our stories, how we measure success, and how we manage our energy. Because while platforms like TikTok and Instagram have opened incredible doors for writers, they've also introduced a new kind of creative tension: the need to be both artist and algorithm whisperer.

Let's talk about what that really means for our writing, our creativity, and ourselves.

This article explores how the pursuit of virality is reshaping how writers approach their work, what they prioritise, and how it affects both creativity and burnout.

🎯 What the Algorithm Wants

I've noticed that I'm constantly asking myself, Will this hook land fast enough? It's like I can't start a story anymore without wondering if the first sentence is strong enough to keep someone from scrolling. I used to open scenes with atmosphere or character voice, something slow and immersive, but now I feel guilty if it's not an emotional slap in the face. It's not just about writing well anymore, it's about writing quickly. Writing loudly. And that pressure? It seeps into every creative decision I make.

I remember working on a story a few months ago that started with a quiet moment, a character waking in a forgotten temple, piecing together who they are. It felt dreamy and slow and exactly what I wanted to write. But I kept thinking, Is this too soft for TikTok? I ended up scrapping the opening and jumping straight into a battle scene just to "grab" readers. And it worked, sort of. The rewrite was fine. But I still miss that quiet beginning.

I catch myself leaning harder into tropes, not just because I love them (and I do), but because I know they work. Enemies to lovers. One bed. Morally gray heartthrobs. These aren't just creative choices, they're strategic ones. There's a constant whisper in the back of my mind: Will this be a good quote for a sound overlay? Will this scene make someone post a reaction video? And sometimes I find myself dumbing things down, not because I want to, but because I'm afraid that nuance won't perform.

What's strange is how natural that pressure has started to feel. It's like I've internalised the algorithm. I'm writing with a marketing voice in my head, even in the middle of drafting. And I know I'm not alone. Almost every writer I know is dealing with the same quiet tension, balancing the art of storytelling with the demand for visibility.

The scariest part is how this expectation is changing the stories themselves. I don't just mean pacing or dialogue, I mean the bones of the story, the emotional arc. I've started writing for moments, those big, shareable, high-drama scenes, rather than for the full, unfolding rhythm of a book. And it makes me wonder: what are we losing in our rush to be noticed? What stories are we abandoning because they don't "perform" fast enough?

I don't have answers. But I do think we need to start asking these questions out loud.

🔄 The TikTok Effect on Storytelling

And I started to realise just how much my writing has shifted toward creating "big moments." Those scenes with the fiery banter, the dramatic betrayals, the gasping emotional reveals, they're the ones I find myself gravitating toward because they're the ones I see go viral. Sometimes, I even plan them before I know the whole plot. It's like I'm building a book around clips that could potentially trend.

I didn't always write this way. I still love slow burns, the kind that simmered quietly over chapters, gradually tightening the emotional tension until the payoff hit like a punch to the gut. But I've noticed how often I am inclined to abandon that pacing now. It's not that I don't love the slow build anymore. It's that I worry readers won't wait for it. I worry the algorithm won't reward it.

I've found myself opening new documents with visuals in mind, imagining the aesthetic edit someone might make, picturing the dreamy lighting, the voiceover quotes, the background music. Sometimes I even ask myself, Would this scene work with that viral "this love is dangerous" sound? It feels silly when I say it out loud, but it's true. The aesthetics of BookTok have started bleeding into the bones of how I imagine my scenes.

And sure, there's power in writing visually, emotionally, and theatrically. I'm not knocking that. But I do miss the freedom to write something quiet. Something weird. Something that unfolds slowly and asks a reader to stay with me through silence, ambiguity, and subtlety. I miss taking narrative risks without worrying if they'll translate in fifteen seconds or less.

It's not that I don't want readers. I do. But I'm starting to question whether I'm writing for readers, or for the algorithm's version of them. And that's a distinction I need to sit with more honestly.

💥 The Visibility Trap

I'll be honest, there have been days where I've equated the worth of my work with the number of likes it gets. A post does well, and suddenly I feel validated. It's like a dopamine hit that says, you're doing something right. But when something flops, no matter how proud I was of it, I spiral. I start questioning if the story is any good at all, or worse, if I am.

It's a strange, disorienting loop. One moment, I'm celebrating because a spicy line or an emotional snippet has gone semi-viral. The next, I'm trying to recreate that success instead of writing what truly excites me. I've spent entire afternoons obsessing over captions, hashtags, and clip timing instead of, you know, actually writing. And what hurts the most is seeing books I love, genuinely brilliant, thoughtful, and beautifully crafted books, get buried under trend-chasing content.

It's taken time (and plenty of burnout) to realise I have to separate my writer self from my marketing self. The algorithm is a tool, not a ruler. And my value as a writer? It can't be measured in views. It has to come from the work itself, from the quiet joy of telling a story that matters to me, regardless of how it performs online.

🧠 Reclaiming Your Voice

I've had to take a serious step back lately and ask myself some uncomfortable questions: Who am I really writing for? Am I trying to impress an audience… or an algorithm? Because sometimes, when I'm deep in a draft, I realise I'm not thinking about the story I want to tell… I'm thinking about what clip might trend. And that's not why I started writing in the first place.

I've started making more intentional space for the kind of writing that actually excites me, the weird ideas, the slow burns, the scenes that might not get a million views but make me proud. It's not always easy. The algorithm is loud. But I'm trying to play the long game. I want to build a body of work I can stand behind, even if it never goes viral. Work that lasts. Work that reflects my voice, not a trend cycle.

So I want you to sit back for a moment and ask yourself: Have you felt the pressure to "go viral" with your writing? How has it shaped your process, for better or worse? Let's talk about it.

And as always, if you have made it this far, thank you so much for reading! If you liked my article, please leave a comment or give me a follow.