Please Unsubscribe
otherwise, let's be in relationship
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In recent months, whenever I publish an article, I lose some subscribers, and then I slowly regain the same number.
The Adventures of Blake has flatlined.
Other writers are noticing this too: itās becoming difficult to retain newsletter readers.
And this makes senseābecause now there are A BAJILLION EMAIL NEWSLETTERS. No one has time for all these newsletters!
Podcasts followed a similar arc. In 2005, there were ~4000 podcasts. Now there are ~4 million. At some point, you start thinking, āWow, TOO MANY PODCASTS.ā And then your reign of terror begins: Too many ads? Out! Guest I donāt like? Out! Too long / short / frequent / infrequent? Out, out, out, out!
I know, because this is me. I am a ruthless unsubscriber. I take āinbox zeroā seriously. My Gmail is spic-and-span. If cleanliness is godliness, then Iām on a path to digital sainthoodāor at least, basic mental health.
When a newsletter rubs me the wrong way, I unsubscribeāand I hope you do too. Life is too short for overflowing inboxes. If this newsletter doesnāt light you up regularly, please unsubscribe!
When writers talk about the āproblemā of flattening readership, I wonder: Is it a problem? From the perspective of perpetual growth, it certainly is. But is this really just another form of status competition? Another way of screaming āI matterā to the universe? And perhaps, at the end of the day, about the fear of death? (At some point, everyoneās subscriber count drops to zero.)
Meanwhile, how can we measure what matters?
One approach: asking readers to āresubscribeā as a form of radically honest housecleaning. A decade ago, I had 5000+ email newsletter subscribers, many of whom joined to gain digital access to one of my books. Then I asked everyone to click a button (within a two-month window) if they wanted to stay on the list. Fewer than 20% clicked the button.
Was this a success or a failure? Absolutely a success! Because from that moment on I was cluttering fewer inboxes, paying less for newsletter hosting, and most importantly, not living the delusion that I have a Very Big & Important Email List.
That experiment helped me remember what really matters: the small number of people who really give a damn.
In 2008, WIRED Magazine founder Kevin Kelly proposed in a viral essay that "to make a living as a craftsperson, photographer, musician, designer, author, animator, app maker, entrepreneur, or inventor,ā you only need 1000 true fans:
A true fan is defined as a fan that will buy anything you produce. These diehard fans will drive 200 miles to see you sing; they will buy the hardback and paperback and audible versions of your book; they will purchase your next figurine sight unseen; they will pay for the ābest-ofā DVD version of your free youtube channel; they will come to your chefās table once a month. If you have roughly a thousand of true fans like this (also known as super fans), you can make a living ā if you are content to make a living but not a fortune.
I love this concept, and I also donāt like the word āfan,ā because it feels like a one-way street: You produce, I purchase.
Instead of having fans, or being someoneās fan, I prefer to be in relationship.
This means: the street goes both ways. Thereās a real chance of reciprocity.
I discovered Derek Sivers through his extremely short TED Talk and wonderful book Anything You Want. Then I learned that he responds to every email that readers send him. (Apparently this takes him a few hours a day, sometimes much longer.) When I first emailed Derek in 2012, he wrote back promptly, with kindness and generosity. This felt significant, because on top of connecting with his writing, now weād connected on a different level. This small act brought me into relationship with him, no matter if he does the same with thousands of others.
Of the many writers I admire, I consider myself a ātrue fanā almost exclusively to those with whom Iāve corresponded or met in person.1 Because the personal touch matters. We need to remember that we are dealing with humans.
Some people make wonderful connections through Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook. But the noise on these platforms is so severe, the advertising so obnoxious, and the algorithms so fickle, that I remain absolutely faithful to the boring, direct nature of email newsletters, even as they become too popular for their own good.2
How sweet it is to receive another personās intimate disclosures, clever analysis, careful curation, or wry observations dropped straight into my inbox, without the interference of advertisers or overlords.
I still believe in the promise of the early internet: You can just find interesting people and connect directly with them! We donāt have to market and monetize and influence each other. We donāt have to scale forever. We can use the internet to cultivate healthy connections, to people we wouldnāt otherwise know. Relationship is possible.
In the spirit of relationship, Iād like to offer you something.
Donāt worry, this newsletter isnāt going anywhere. And Iām not asking you to join a Patreon or subscription scheme. (I almost never sign up for such stuff myself.)
Rather, Iād like permission to send you something bigger than a newsletter, four times, throughout the year 2026.
Think of it as your quarterly dose of Blake-off-the-books: a story from my life on the road, a short video I create, or an essay thatās too spicy for public consumption. āHeartfelt, raw, and funā is the vibe. And Iāll need your postal address, too, because at least one thing that I send will be physical.
What do I ask in return?
Not moneyāalthough I will let you know how you might sponsor certain projects (with zero expectation).
I only ask that you meaningfully respond to one thing that I send you in 2026ābecause Iād love to hear from you, and because this is a two-way street. It can be an email, postcard, video, or something else entirely. Have fun with it!
Iām excited for this initiative because it feels like a interesting way to:
cut through the noise of ātoo many email newslettersā
provide creative motivation for me + fun stuff for you
go deeper into relationship with those who share my outlook
maybe (just maybe) scream āI matterā to the universe āļø
And who knows, maybe Iāll continue this beyond 2026: developing a new form of direct relating, tailored for the era of digital superabundance.
Thereās only one way to find out.
To join, submit this form by December 31st, 2025:
Iām currently a true fan of (in no particular order):
, Grace Llewellyn, Ken Danford, Tim Mathis, , , , , , , , , , and .The only social media I use regularly is Facebook on desktop, because I can block the ads.







This is dope. Thanks for posting.
I also love Derek Sivers. Also shout out to you for replying to my past emails promptly and kindly much like Derek Sivers.
You might like Jack Conte's talks "Death of the Follower & the Future of Creativity on the Web" and "I'm Building an Algorithm that doesn't Rot your Brain"
Lol at digital sainthood... I'm digitally promiscuous I guess š (as well as a sloppy archivist)).
I love sparking little flings when the mood strikes and the nodes I'm connected to are a gorgeous web of eclectic folks that I'm always learning something new from- yet I rarely feel any shame for not keeping up. I am pretty ruthless about deleting emails and I don't have active notifications for anything other than text messaging so I make a point to "do my rounds" or hold court somewhere any given day with whatever interest is alive that day/timeframe. But anyway, I still love every word of what you're sayin' āØ
The most important thing is that whatever we do in these realms brings connection, hope and joy, rather than gloom and distress... And there's many ways to get it right.
I'm allergic to conventional metrics of growth , and I love your invitations. I think I first found your newsletter while you were sharing chapters of the latest book. And that you responded! I'm not even into dirtbag life, but I adore a number who are (plus home/un/world schooling) and I live vicariously through y'all š¤øš¼š«