Volume 4, No. 18: The Future of Books & Bakes

big & exciting changes!

Greetings, book and treat people. It feels surreal to be writing this newsletter about the particulars of my little life in the midst of genocide and as Israel invades Rafah. I’ve been thinking a lot about this poem. Maybe you’ll join me in calling your elected officials—no, I don’t think it will do anything, either—but I also don’t think it will do any harm. So I make the damn calls.

I’ve come to a scary but exciting decision about this newsletter, and even though it feels absurd to tell you all about it right now, I can’t keep putting it off. There is never going to be a perfect time. I hope you’ll take the time to read through to the end (it’s not that long, I promise!) but all the important points are in the TLDR section up front. Please feel free to drop any questions you have in the comments, or, as always, reply to this email.

Thank you all for being here!

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TLDR: This newsletter is work—work that I love!—but work. I can’t keep doing it unless I’m fairly paid for it. It’s not financially or emotionally sustainable. So I’m taking a big, scary, exciting leap, and asking you to pay for work that you value. You can subscribe here. I hope that, if you’re able, you’ll contribute $5 a month or $50 a year to keep this newsletter going.

If I can’t meet my financial goal, I’ll stop writing Books & Bakes this summer, after 3.5 amazing years. If that happens, I’ll be sad—I love writing the newsletter and want to keep doing it!—but I won’t have failed. This is me reaching for the life I want. If this newsletter isn’t the path to that life, it’s okay. I’ll be free to find something that is. I’ll be forever grateful to each and every one of you, even if you just read one issue, for being part of this journey, for helping me be brave enough to get here.

A note on Substack: Back in January I told you I’d be leaving Substack by the end of the year. That’s still the plan! I’ve done a whole lot of research and I’m planning to switch over to Ghost. But for a slew of reasons that I won’t bore you with, it doesn’t make sense to switch until I know whether or not I’ll still be writing this newsletter in August. Ghost has fantastic migration support (I made sure), so if/when the switch occurs, your subscriptions will continue uninterrupted. If you haven’t paid for this newsletter because you don’t want to give your money to Substack, I understand and respect that! You can pledge your support instead. (It takes 30 seconds.)

Okay, friends, thanks for being such wonderful and generous readers. Here’s the long version, because it’s me, and of course I have a lot to say.

Work I Love is Still Work

I love writing this newsletter. Of all the work I do, it’s my favorite. Writing to you each week brings me so much joy. It’s fulfilling and fun and exciting. But—and this part is really important—it’s work. As much as I adore it, it isn’t a calling or a vocation. It isn’t what I choose to do with my free time. I don’t write it on the weekends because it’s not a hobby (though I am passionate about it). I fit it into my workweek alongside the rest of my freelance work. I’m able to do this thanks to the incredible folks who support me with their dollars. I am eternally grateful to those of you who do this—you have kept this newsletter alive for the past 3 years.

But here’s the truth: I can’t do it anymore. I can’t keep doing this work for less than $10/hour. (I’m a data nerd, I did the calculations). For months I’ve been trying to find my way out of this conundrum. I’ve asked myself a lot of questions about why I do this work and what it means to me. The answer, of course, is that I’m writing because I love books and I love the world, because I’m angry and full of wonder, because I want to share all of that with you.

But when I sat down and asked myself, “Would you spend a whole Sunday writing this newsletter?” the answer was no. When I asked myself, “Would you keep writing this newsletter if you received no money for it?” the answer was no. When I asked myself, “Do you want to keep doing this work for almost free?” the answer was no.

I love the newsletter and I want to keep writing it. In fact, I want to write more of it. I want to write more of the in-depth essays I haven’t been able to write because I can’t justify the time they take. I want to share all the book reviews I haven’t had the time to edit. I want to do more research, share more links and resources. I want to make more big, beautiful roundups (which take hours and hours, by the way). In addition to the regular newsletter, I want to start sending out a weekly curated list of queer new releases—queer books I’m excited about that I rarely see on buzzy mainstream lists. I am bursting with ideas!

But I can’t do any of that because I can’t afford to. I can barley afford to get the newsletter out every week.

Redefining Failure

I’ve known all of this for months now, but I’ve been terrified to share any of it with you because I’ve been so afraid of failure. I know that for many of you, paying $5/month or $50/year for this newsletter would not be a financial hardship. I know that asking people to pay for work they value is not unreasonable. I also know that for some of you, $50/year would be a financial hardship, or simply impossible. And I know that most of us (myself included!) are still not used to paying writers directly for their work. We buy books and subscribe to online publications and when we do that, we’re paying writers—but it doesn’t feel that way. We’re also paying writers when we check out books from the library or read an essay for free online—but it doesn’t feel that way, because someone else is footing the bill.

This is all to say that for months, I’ve been afraid of the wrong thing. In order to continue writing this newsletter, I need to be fairly paid for it. It’s entirely possible that I won’t achieve this goal. It’s entirely possible that not enough of you will subscribe. I promise I’m not saying this to guilt you into paying. We all have different budgets and priorities. There are hundreds of worthy things demanding our money and attention. I’m saying this to remind myself what failure actually looks like. Asking for what I need to keep doing this work isn’t failure—even if I don’t receive it. As much as I cherish writing this newsletter every week, continuing to do so in a way that isn’t sustainable for me is the real failure.

So instead of lingering in this in-between state indefinitely, too scared to advocate for myself, too scared to risk making a change because it might not turn out how I want it to turn out, I’m taking a leap into the unknown. I’m asking for what I want and need. I want to keep writing this newsletter. I want to write more of it. I want to be fairly paid for it. If that’s not possible, if we can’t make that happen, then I’ll know it’s time to move on. I don’t want Books & Bakes to end, but I also know that endings aren’t failures.

I’m still terrified, but I’m also excited. For the first time since I started writing this newsletter in the spring of 2021, I have absolute clarity. I’m going to turn Books & Bakes into something that works for me, or I’m going to let it go.

I’m Dreaming of Abundance

I’m approaching this change from a place of abundance and joy instead of a place of scarcity. I’m not trying to turn this newsletter into a full-time job. I’m trying to turn it into a part-time job I can luxuriate in. I’m trying to turn the time I already spend on it into time I can afford to spend on it. So instead of asking, What’s the bare minimum I need to keep doing this? I’m asking, What do I need to be able to give all of myself to this work? What would allow me to keep doing this work for years to come?

I came up with a financial goal based on how much time I’d like to spend with the newsletter each week. It’s not a lofty goal. It might even be achievable. When combined with the income from my bookkeeping job, it would allow me to pay my bills and save a little money. If one third of you subscribe at $5/month, I’ll meet it. If less than a quarter of you subscribe at $10/month, I’ll meet it.

Because I’m dreaming of abundance, I’m also dreaming of a future in which I’m paid fairly for my work and it remains a publicly available resource. That’s the dream scenario. I know not everyone can afford $5/month. I don’t actually like paywalls. But the only way to keep this newsletter paywall-free is if everyone who can afford to pay for it does.

So instead of immediately making Books & Bakes for paying subscribers only, I’m going to see if I can meet my goal by simply asking for your support. If you read this newsletter, and you want to keep reading it, and you can afford it, will you subscribe?

The Nuts & Bolts

How is all of this going to work?

• For the next five weeks, between now and June 11th, nothing will change! I’ll keep sending weekly newsletters to all subscribers.

• If I meet my goal by June 11th, the newsletter will remain paywall-free and move over to Ghost. I will do a lot of EXCITED SHOUTING! I’ll start sending out weekly new queer release roundups in addition to essays, book reviews, themed lists, and more.

• If I haven’t met my goal by June 11th, all new content will be paywalled. I’ll continue sending out weekly newsletters to paying subscribers.

• If I meet my goal by July 31st, then the newsletter will continue as a paid-only publication and move over to Ghost. I will still do a lot of excited shouting! I’ll start sending out weekly new queer release roundups in addition to essays, book reviews, themed lists, and more. I may revisit the idea of donations-only model at some point in the future.

• If I haven’t met my goal by July 31st, then I will thank you all for reading Books & Bakes for the last 3.5 years, with deep and genuine gratitude, and move on to whatever new adventures await me.

Thank You For Real, A Million Times

All of this feels so vulnerable. I know it’s the right decision. I know it’s what I need to do. But it’s not the sort of thing people generally talk about, especially writers. Thank you for being here with me, for reading through this process, for supporting me in all the ways you do.

You can subscribe here. You can pledge your support here if you’d rather not give Substack a cut of your money. If you have friends, neighbors colleagues, roommates, or distant cousins who might enjoy this newsletter, you can gift it to them!

And, as always, a little bit of beauty to send you on your way: I was out for several hours on Sunday, and when I got home, my pup put her paw on my leg and stared at me with her big beautiful eyes. Also, I saw a pine siskin at my feeder for the first time!

Catch you next week, bookish friends, when I’ll be writing about books again, I promise.