For the writers who lost their algorithm

You did what you were told to do. You built a platform, built community. You got pretty good at it, learned that your writing flowed from the same vulnerability and willingness to claim attention for yourself that genuine posting on the socials did. You got a book deal with your small platform, wrote a book or two, sold a decent number of them.

Then the algorithm deserted you. You weren't alone, it deserted almost all writers and creatives. After mastering the tools, tips, and tricks like a pro, the tools, tips, and tricks all stopped working. The publishing industry hasn't caught up yet to the new landscape. They still want you to have a platform, they still expect writers to market their own books, all except the top earners. But it's not that you're bad at it now, it's just that it's impossible.

Where do you go from here? How can you work, diligently, on your new book with so little hope of getting eyes on it? How can you look forward to publishing another book, when you sold exactly three of your previous books in April, despite all the hustle? What happens now?

Writers, readers, I do not know. But what I do know is that I believe in you. I believe in art and creativity and the human spirit. I believe that poetry and prose are stronger than algorithms and marketing strategies, the way that tree roots are stronger than concrete. I believe in slow growth, in beauty, in rising from the ashes. I believe in your own strong, brave spirit, that rises and falls, rises and falls like the tide, always returning, always reaching toward truth, and vulnerability, and hope.

I believe that we keep writing, even if there is no real way right now to reach people with our words. I believe that we keep shouting that the emperor has no clothes, even when the emperor's naked foot is on our neck. I believe that revelation and revolution are only accomplished with the help of the poet-prophets and the painters, the ones who refuse to let the harsh reality of rent and bills be the only reality. I believe that we support each other, that we share and share and share each other's work as well as our own.

And I believe that more will be revealed.

Till then, let's keep meeting, here and in libraries and coffee shops. Let's feel the real hopelessness and despair, and recede like the tide, then return, again, wave after wave, our whole lives. Let's wear down the stone structures just by showing up, day after day. With our movement. Our persistence. Our presence. Our wild and unrulable creativity. Our wild and unrulable solidarity. Our wild and unrulable hope.

With all my love, even at low tide,
Jessica