How I Accidentally Started a Substack (and will probably end up spilling other things about the media industry that I'm supposed to keep quiet about)

A not-quite-newsletter from a woman who got into journalism sideways, stayed too long, argued too much, managed to lead the place (once or twice) and somehow only got fired once. ...So far.

I didn’t mean to start a Substack. I just needed a place to post one thing.

What happened was this: I saw what happened to Rachel Gilmore. I felt for her. A friend and I were talking about it, and it hit me — maybe Rachel would like support from someone who’s been around the block. Someone who’s weathered the same storms.

A former boss once, generously, called me a “thought leader,” which I think means an opinionated woman with tenure who keeps arguing after the meeting’s over. A longtime friend (a lawyer) once called it my “fuck-you attitude.” Either way, I’ve been around long enough that the industry lets me get away with saying a few things out loud. Sometimes, people even want me to. My name occasionally shows up as a bullet point in a strategy deck.

So I wrote something. It was supposed to go on LinkedIn, but it ran past the character limit. Then I remembered I’d set up a Substack I never used. I only remembered because someone — David Russell — followed it last February, and I got an email notification. So, thank you, David: faithful follower of a blank page. If not for you, that post about Rachel would’ve become a 37-part, unreadable thread on Bluesky.

Rachel re-skeeted it (we’re just saying “skeeted” now, I guess), and I felt like I’d done the right thing.

Then hundreds of you showed up. Subscribed, even. I still can’t believe that.

Thank you. That blew my mind. It’s good to see someone hit like on a post. But a subscription? That’s a leap of faith. (I’m sure Dave is thankful for the company.) And one of you —Christian Wehrli — became my first paid subscriber.

But now this feels less like a parking lot and more like a room I’ve accidentally invited you all into. And.. what do I do now?

I guess I either back away slowly, or pretend this was the plan all along.

Well, it so happens I’m on a bit of a journey. (Yes, that word. Cringe. But hang on.)

If you’ve never met me before: I’ve spent decades zigzagging through journalism — Indigenous newsrooms, legacy media towers, press freedom fights, Harvard fellowships, newsroom chaos. I didn’t come in the front door. I was usually just standing nearby when the industry cracked open a little — and I was stubborn enough to squeeze through.

That’s not modesty. It’s not imposter syndrome either. There are brilliant BIPOC women — and women in general — who didn’t happen to be standing in that spot when a hand reached out. I was lucky.

Sometimes I got in because I was different. Sometimes I was dismissed for the same reason. I wasn’t white enough. I wasn’t brown enough. Sometimes I was the cool new half-breed thing; sometimes I was tokenized or underestimated. Still, I stayed. And I found people who helped me stay.

I ducked in and out of places that didn’t quite fit. I survived. I managed. And eventually I led. I managed journalists — which qualifies you for sainthood or prescription medication, depending on the week.

I’ve made mistakes. Some small. Some spectacular. Some still wake me up at night. Some still make me laugh until I cry.

For the first ten years, I was invisible outside the Indigenous corner of the industry. Then one person — Nick Taylor-Vaisey — really saw me. After that, it seemed like everyone could see me. For the next ten years, things took off in ways I never planned.

Lately I’ve been thinking about what it means to manage. Maybe How I Managed — with all its layered meaning — is a book I’ll write someday (Brandi Morin and I keep talking about it). For now, this Substack also wasn’t a plan. But maybe it’s what I need: a space to reflect, to confess, to spill beans when beans need spilling.

A place to unpack a career built both in spite of — and because of — the system.

A place to say the quiet parts out loud.

So like everything else, I came into Substack sideways.

But now that you’re all here, I think I’ll stick around — if you do.

Signed,
Karyn