When the only sound is crickets
The first time I hit publish on a blog post, I wanted to delete it immediately.
I didn’t even have a website to publish it on. This was before Substack. I was too broke to buy a domain or pay for hosting, so I found a free blogging platform—Blogger? Blogspot? I honestly can’t remember—and I started writing there.
It’s funny what I didn’t know about writing, blogging, and audiences.
There was a part of me that genuinely believed I would write this blog and the masses would simply… find it. I would be launched into writing stardom overnight. Publishers would knock down my door. Before I could blink, I’d be sitting on morning shows talking about my meteoric rise.
In case you’re wondering, that is the furthest thing from what actually happened.
I created a Facebook page and told maybe four friends about it. I knew next to nothing about social media, so I posted nothing but links to my blog. Then I checked my stats daily, convinced I’d see some kind of explosion.
News flash: not many people were reading my words.
I stuck with it for a few months before I threw in the towel and decided I should probably do something meaningful with my life.
It wasn’t until three years later that I leaned back into the quiet nudges, embraced the author life, and committed to doing it right—this time with a little less fantasy and a little more strategy.
The Fantasy vs. The Reality
Here’s the thing: I don’t think I’m alone.
I think most authors start out with a slightly inflated, movie-version vision of what writing and publishing will look like. We picture the breakthrough moment. The viral post. The “discovered overnight” story.
What we don’t picture is crickets.
And when we pour ourselves onto the page only to be met with silence, it’s demoralizing. It’s disheartening. It’s enough to make you question whether you misheard the whole thing in the first place.
That silence doesn’t just bruise your ego.
It chips away at trust.
Trust in your voice.
Trust in your calling.
Trust in your ability to create something that actually matters.
If you’re feeling that today, hear me clearly:
You are not alone.
It is vulnerable enough to put your words into the world. It is even harder to keep showing up when you’re not sure anyone is listening.
What Actually Helps (When You Want to Quit)
There’s no magic switch that makes this part easier. But over the years, here’s what has helped me:
1. Join writing communities.
Isolation amplifies insecurity. Community quiets it.
Being around other writers—especially ones who are a few steps ahead—changes everything. Their encouragement, perspective, and willingness to share your work matter more than you realize.
2. Be consistent.
Consistency isn’t glamorous. It’s not viral. But it builds trust—both with your audience and with yourself.
Yes, the algorithm rewards consistency. But more importantly, your readers can’t be served if you disappear every time engagement dips.
Even a handful of likes means someone read your words and paused long enough to respond.
That counts.
3. Remember that consistency alone isn’t enough.
Showing up is step one. Engaging is step two.
Relationships are what grow audiences—not perfectly curated content. Comment back. Start conversations. Care about the humans on the other side of the screen.
4. Avoid complacency.
Complacency is quiet, comfortable, and deadly to growth.
The author landscape shifts constantly. Platforms evolve. Reader behavior changes. We owe it to ourselves—and to the people we serve—to stay curious, adaptable, and willing to improve.
None of this guarantees overnight success.
But it builds something better:
Sustainability.
If the Crickets Are Loud Right Now
Last year, my coaching colleague and friend Kim Mosiman and I launched a free group for authors called The Visible Author. Our heart is simple—we want writers to feel less alone in this process.
We offer daily writing prompts, weekly share threads, check-ins, and a Guided Writing Room the first three Tuesdays of every month. It’s free. It’s practical. And it’s full of authors who are learning how to keep showing up even when the crickets are loud.
We also just released information about our first Writing Retreat in April inside the group.
If you’re tired of writing into silence and wondering if you imagined the whole calling, come sit with us.
You don’t have to do this alone.
Reflection Questions
Before you close this tab and go back to refreshing your stats (no judgment), sit with these for a minute:
When you first started writing, what did you imagine it would look like?
How has silence affected your trust in yourself?
Are you measuring your success by visibility—or by faithfulness?
Where might you need community instead of more hustle?
What would it look like to build something sustainable instead of something sensational?
You don’t need thousands of readers to validate your voice.
You need clarity. Consistency. And the courage to stay.
And sometimes?
You just need to outlast the crickets.
I write in two spaces. A Seat at the Table is where I explore faith, healing, and making room for honesty after it’s been made complicated. Ink & Intention is for writers who want to show up with clarity, discernment, and integrity—especially online.
I’m also the author of Breathing Again and several guided journals, and I work with writers who want thoughtful, grounded support as they find their voice and shape what comes next.
If something here resonated, you’re welcome to explore more at your own pace. You can find everything in one place here.
