Why most Substack newsletters suck (and how to not suck)

I wish someone taught me this writing technique years ago...

Jan 20, 2026

All great Substack newsletters share one thing in common—and there isn’t a single exception to this rule.

This rule is so essential that great writing can’t exist without it. Not just newsletters either. Stories, essays, YouTube scripts, even Hollywood films. If you remove this secret ingredient, the writing feels flat. Lifeless. Void of emotion. Like a piece of cold pizza that looks fine but has actually been sitting out for 4 days.

Since joining Substack almost a year ago, I’ve become obsessed with reading newsletters. I’ve read some incredible pieces that shifted what I thought was possible as a multi-passionate writer. But I’ve read far more terrible pieces that barely kept me engaged for 3 or 4 sentences.

And strangely, the great ones and the terrible ones have the same thing in common: the one missing ingredient.

I noticed this even more once I started coaching newsletter writers. Most of my clients have compelling stories, interesting ideas, and real credibility. And yet, almost all of them forget to write with this same ingredient in mind. It’s why their writing doesn’t get read, spread, or remembered.

And it’s why they as writers never evolve from good to great.

So what is this missing ingredient that 99% of writers overlook?

To explain that, we first have to get clear on what great writing actually is—at least by my definition...

(Btw, manga panels read from right to left.)

The Great Writing Arc

In my opinion, great writing does two things:

1) It captures attention: creates enough interest that people feel compelled to read beyond the first paragraph.

2) It retains attention: generates enough momentum that people can’t stop reading.

If a piece fails at either, it doesn’t matter how smart or technically beautiful the writing is. I don’t believe it’s great writing.

Which leads us to a new question, how do you write in a way that captures and retains attention?

I haven’t stopped thinking about this question since becoming a ghostwriter. My business depended on people actually reading until the end. Otherwise they wouldn’t follow my clients or buy their products and services.

(When survivals on the line, you can’t help but obsess over what actually works.)

So I spent the last four years testing different answers in real time.

What I first found were tactics you’ve probably heard before:

Tell stories
Make people feel something
Pose a problem
Write about pain
Educate and entertain

The funny thing is, these are actually all correct. Just not correct enough.

They’re unsatisfying because they are correct in terms of outcome, but useless when it comes to changing behavior.

In other words, they’re terrible instructions.

They don’t tell a writer—at any level—how to write a compelling story, make something feel specific, structure pain and relief, or educate without losing the reader. And even when they do, they often fail to teach retention from a tactical perspective.

They describe what works, but not why it works at the most fundamental level. Tactics without principles don’t help people learn faster. They just give people the illusion of progress. They fail to help beginners—or even intermediate writers—become great writers quickly.

But...

There is a principle underneath all of this. One that works at every level of skill, no matter how long you’ve been writing. One that gives you a clear next move every time.

It took me four years of studying writing to see it as clearly as I do today.

And that principle is the one thing all great writers use effortlessly. And the one thing all terrible writers can’t seem to master.

That principle is tension.

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The Tension Arc

All great writing maintains tension—at the beginning, through the middle, and all the way to the end. And the moment tension is relieved, one of two things must happen:

1) Either a new tension is introduced (like ASAP!)

2) Or the piece ends (preferably in a memorable way)

Tension is the invisible engine of writing. It’s the felt experience underneath the words. It’s the reason every tactic you’ve been taught actually works. All these tactics exist to help you create and manage tension.

Which is why you need to understand what tension actually is—and how to induce it on command...

The problem is that most writers I work with, think they need to get to the point fast. To not waste the reader’s time. That they need to educate, like, now!

Yes, these are all things you should consider. But not at the expense of tension.

Because tension isn’t getting to the point. It’s exercising restraint on your way there.

It’s a gap. The feeling that something important is missing:

A question without an answer
A problem without a solution
A pain without relief
A claim without proof
A tease without a climax (wink, wink)

The bigger and more relevant the gap, the more likely someone is to keep reading.

Most writers don’t fail because they lack great ideas. They fail because they don’t know how to frame their ideas in a way that creates tension. And even when they do create tension, they resolve it too quickly (my biggest problem for years).

They explain too soon.

They comfort the reader too early.

They answer the big questions the moment they’re raised.

This might be a little weird for me to say. But you need to think like an Onlyfans model when you’re writing. You need to edge your readers until they’re practically begging for it.

Because the second you’re done teasing, tension dies.

The Tactics Arc

From a tactical perspective, here’s how I think about creating great writing:

1) Opens one big, central question early.

2) Layer smaller questions throughout—questions that must be answered to get to the big one at the end.

3) Let tension sit across multiple domains: gaps in knowledge (mind), gaps in how they want to feel (emotions), and gaps between how they want to behave (actions).

4) Tie gaps to their identity to evoke strong emotional responses—don’t write about ideas; write about how those ideas affect their self image.

5) Delay answers longer than feels polite.

6) Offer relief through clear answers.

7) Stop writing.

No new tension. No extra explanation. You end on the release.

Writing is 80% why. 20% how.

-Dan Koe (paraphrased)

Too many writers basically skip straight to the how. That’s where tension dies. Take your time getting there. The tension lives in the why.

Because great writing, at least, from my perspective, is actually about holding back.

If you can learn to create and sustain tension—no matter the topic, format, idea, platform, or medium—more people will read what you write all the way to the end.

That’s the difference between writing that’s merely good… and writing that can’t be put down.

—Taylin

PS. I’ve opened up a new, higher-touch way to work with me to grow on Substack, improve your newsletters, and earn as a writer.

You’ll get direct 1-on-1 feedback from my cofounder and I, each week, on your newsletters, notes, and Substack growth strategy.

I’m only offering this to 2 more people right now. Send me a message if you’re interested :)