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I've only been using Substack for a few weeks now. I've been using it as a means of getting out my science fiction series of books that I've been writing in my spare time. But one of the things that's soul crushing is the fact that it feels like you have no visibility over there in the slightest.

And then you got these notes. Boy, let me tell you about these notes! These notes are annoying as all get out!

But if you're reading this, you probably know all about how annoying they are. Well, let me tell you something.

I don't mind the social media aspect to them. Not at all.

See, the problem with them is you have to keep using them as a means of "networking." But I'm an introvert that sits around in the dark, writing tall tales all the time! I don't have the patience for "networking!" I have a story to tend to! I can't be tending to other people's ego!

A lot of people say that I am emotionally unavailable. My response to them is, "Yeah. So was every other artist who was worth their weight in gold!" I even gave a name for these types! I call these individuals Obsessive Visionaries.

People like Steve Jobs! People like Hayao Miyazaki, the guy who founded Studio Ghibli! I'll even throw in Stanley Kubrick. These visionaries were far worse than I've ever been! They ignored their own families and made the people who worked under them cry because they were so hell-bent on their craft!

I'm not saying to turn into those guys. It's not healthy to be that obsessive about what you do! But what I am saying is that I totally understand that type of mentality and I believe a space is needed for those types to do whatever it is that they need to do. And it's not like their obsessions haven't churned up things that are beautiful or innovative. They most certainly have!

Yeah, but unless you already have a social network that allows you to be that much of an asshole, then there's not much you can do. You're just yelling into the void of nothingness that is the Substack notes. Or the X platform. So you got to go to other places to get your audience.

But X has it's own share of problems. They have an article section on their platform if case you aren't aware. But nobody is going to use that, let's be fair. And the few times I did click on an X article, it turned out to be for completely scammy reasons. There are some things about it that are decent, like the community notes and all that. But the platform is geared towards discourse.

And even though I do like the discourse, I realize also that it's a complete waste of time, trying to argue with people. We're at a point in time right now where people are going to stay in their little bubbles of influence come hell or high water! So now the majority of interactions on the platform usually resort to petty name-calling and the like.

The weird thing is I don't hate that aspect of it. But you always have sit back and go, "But how does this serve me? How does this serve my mission?" All I want is to get my story out. That's it.

Going back to Substack, the one thing that really annoys me is the gatekeeping. I like that you can support writers on that platform financially, but the mechanism that's used in doing so is far too intrusive! And most people don't even use it anyway! They won't even think twice when subscribing! They'll go straight to to the free model, because everyone does that!

I've done it! It's just not a great way of going about things! If anything, it's a bit of a turn off.

You see what I'd rather do is have a link to Buy Me A Coffee. Or just post a bitcoin address.

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http://buymeacoffee.com/robotkinz

BTC: 3AjaZVtEXLyXyyduxxFHwx1mTbesFh8yGU

ETH: 0xdD18CF0b2bC233DE588AA29E349e4037Da9217B86

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There. That's all you need! Not this naggy subscription model that no one ever uses!

I do have it set up over there as well in the super rare off chance that somebody will actually be a paid subscriber! But I'm not holding my breath.

Even worse though is the gatekeeping that happens in the comments section! You can't even comment on an article if you're not a PAID SUBSCRIBER?

Excuse me! Is this "connecting with your audience?"

No! It's not!

I swear to you, that really is the worst thing about Substack. Yes, you have your never-ending trove of self-help gurus and people who say things just to get an emotional reaction out of people. Those things are just about as egregious. But gatekeeping your comments rubs me wrong in a way that's hard to describe. There is nothing more I hate than creators that just want never-ending praise for their own work. If you keep that up, you start to become delusional about who you really are.

You end up becoming your own Barton Fink.

I'd rather stay grounded. I'd rather stay as true to myself and to my own voice as possible.

And I DON'T need any algorithm steering this ship! I don't need it dictating what I write or how little I write. True creatives have no need for this nonsense.

Now. With all this being said, I may keep my Substack running, despite all this. And there's a few reasons for this.

For one, your Substack home page is still a great thing to keep around. On my Substack, I have certain sections I've laid out. I've been treating it as it's very own web page more than anything. This whole notes business feels like something that got crudely stapled on to the whole thing at the last second! It's not conductive to my writing. If anything, it's an absolute nuisance that I have to resort to using them all the time! I enjoy long form writing! That's why I look at this platform and go, "Yeah! I can totally write a thousand words! No problem! Heck, I can do it in my sleep!"

I think going forward, I'll use both this platform in conjunction with my Substack page. How that will be implemented, I'm not sure as of yet. But I love the simplicity of Tuhat! And also, I'm early enough that there isn't a cavalcade of authors, all vying for attention on here! Smaller platforms are certainly the way to go and I can see that as clear as day!

I think I'll keep uploading my stories here. I'll do it over there as well, but this really is the better way to go. Maybe I'll just post a link to this Tuhat posts in my Substack. Who knows?

Anyway! I've reached my 1000 words and then some. I'll leave all the relevant links down below and thank you very much for reading. I look forward to continuing to use Tuhat.

https://robotkinz.substack.com/about

https://x.com/ZRobotkin

Ch. 1 - What Is & What Should Never Be || First Flashback, Pages 1-5

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From out the depths of a quiet, serene and peaceful land, a church bell rang from the small town of Farmington.

Farmington was not a cowboy town like most other towns of the new west, although this area was in the middle of constant cattle migration. This small settlement was a pioneer town. The lively wooded forests that patched this land contained blueberries, always ripe for the picking during spring and summer. The natives no longer posed an issue in this area, at least in the eyes of the townsman.

Living here had it's drawbacks. Winters were cold. Summers were scalding. Most unsettling of all, despite the springtime showers, was the dry, cracked air of this land. Regardless of such struggles, the townspeople were happy and prepared for any cloudy or otherwise dreadful day.

It was an hour before noon as people began to file out of the town's church house. Among these lavishly dressed people, one young girl, about ten or eleven years old, popped out of the crowd and started off into the woods.

"Mary-Anne!" called out one of the women. She had flowing dark blond hair similar to the young girl.

"Be sure to head back for lunch, Mary-Anne!"

"I will, mother!"

The young girl joyfully skipped past the schoolhouse and onto a dusty dirt road, wearing her favorite blue dress and white bonnet.

It was a beautiful spring day. The lively forest trees that surrounded the girl blossomed with life. Birds were chirping. The last of the winter chill was gone, replaced by a modest warmth from the sun.

Mary-Anne carried a few other books with her along with her Bible, including some works of Nathaniel Hawthorne, a story of the great King Arthur, and a lengthy novel that was recently shipped in from the eastern states. Her father didn't approve of Mary reading this book. However, Uncle Tom's Cabin explained why her parents decided to travel far away from such wild injustices that were rumored to inflame the eastern states, towards a new and proper society.

A new and proper society didn’t seem to be possible anymore – least not in this territory.

Even this land was becoming infected with the barbaric customs that was supposed to belong only to the Confederacy. Some travelers from the east called it the Kansas-Nebraska Act, of which claimed the great territory of Kansas as a slave state – as opposed to the year before last, back when it was Nebraska where these men were to live.

Despite rumors of a great war brewing between the states in the east, life in Farmington remained quiet and pleasant, even though other places felt as if they would succumb to such tension. Many people outside of town sang their songs and held their banners. One side had a very well known song, called The Marching Song of Whittier. The lines of the song were ingrained into Mary’s head.

'We come across the prairie as of old, the pilgrims crossed the sea, to make the West, as they the East, the homestead of the free!'

It was clear to Mary-Anne. Abolitionists, such as Mary's own father, knew what the right path was. People like the controversial man parading about Kansas going by the name of John Brown – they supposedly knew the right hand of God. The enslaved were to be freed, to walk upon God's land without no other man's order but his own. It was all well and good. Mary just wished that attaining freedoms didn't involve so much violence and bloodshed. So went the usual matters of men.

Truths were a strange thing – but so were lies.

People truly were a mad, harebrained bunch in Mary-Anne's eyes. She wondered how some men could be so oblivious to their own natures. She wondered why some men would viciously protect their misdeeds and injustices. The minds of these men were beyond sound truths.

One night she posed this question to her father, of which her father propped her up upon his knee and said simply, ‘because all men are free to be wrong and unjust. It is only a man's choice to either be the right hand of God or to be not.’

The future of this 'homestead of the free' was bleak – however all spurring conflicts of this world had to be put aside for the day of the Sabbath.

The dirt road Mary was on led to an abandoned cottage. She wasn't going there now. She was heading off to her favorite reading place, which was under an old oak tree with a giant, raised root. This was where she sat as she read, underneath large branches that loomed over her. These low branches swayed silently in the wind, with it's leaves singing softly.

Mary found her place under the oak tree and plopped down on the raised branch. She opened up her Bible, starting on the Book of Matthew, and read on.

The air about the land leveled to a quiet and peaceful atmosphere during her studies. By the time Mary began Chapter Fifteen, the world around her was silent. Mary paid no notice to the absence of sound.

Off in the forest, the sound of a twig snapped, breaking the stillness of the air.

With her muscles feeling atrophied, Mary decided to take a stretch. She stood up and proceeded to walk to the end of the beaten path, where the old sod house was.

Mary recalled the story about this particular area. The town elders said that these woods served a divine purpose to the Indians that once roamed here. The Indians avoided it at all costs. They believed no mortal man was worthy enough to find the secrets this land contained – whatever those secrets may had been.

It was possible that this was not true. The older folk loved to tell all sorts of entertaining and wild stories. Mary-Anne thought of herself as clever enough to distinguish the difference between truths and tall tales.

After western pioneers displaced the Indians, nothing was discovered. It was well assured by now that this was a land like any other, a land of forest, grass, weeds and stones.

The sod house was left abandoned a year ago. It's walls and roof remained standing. The door broke off and was now laying on the ground in front. All that was inside were heaps of hay. Mary’s friends frequented this place. Her best friend, Melody Catratt, was one of those who spent time around this area, picking the blueberry bushes nearby.

As Mary expected though, there was no one inside. It didn't matter. She would be more then glad to wait for a while, or at least until lunchtime.

Mary sat down outside with her back facing the outer wall. She commenced her studies once again.

After several minutes, Mary looked up and sighed. There was something distracting her. It was something about the mood of the place. It was an odd feeling – but Mary didn't feel threatened by the wave of anticipation that swept over her. It was hard to explain.

The air remained silent. There was not a tweet of a bird nearby. The air was stagnant.

After a few minutes, Mary forced her attention back to her bible. She forced the strange thoughts out of her head.

Snap!

The loud sound of a branch snapping reverberated from within the wheat meadow next to her, breaking the dead silence of the atmosphere.

It sounded huge, similar to the sound of the banging antlers of opposing deer. Or more like the branch of a tree.

A sudden chill swept down her back as the feeling came upon Mary once again.

At this point, she could no longer pay attention to her studies. She had to step into the wheat field, if only for a moment.

Mary entered the field, arms outstretched, feeling the swaying stems of wheat as she passed. The wind was slightly picking up once again, blowing gently from the north, as if edging her forward into the field. The dirt ground below her feet was soft. Her shoes sank into the wet soil.

The feeling of anticipation receded and was soon replaced by a serene calmness that swept over Mary-Anne. She was moved into such a heavenly spiritual state, as if she was made to be lighter than a feather, as if she was exalted by the quiet, motionless scenery presented before her.

It felt as if Mary-Anne was being invited by the land into a glorious, golden realm, as if by the hand of God, she was being sent off into a vastly overlooked or discarded kingdom of sorts.

It was an odd thing to sense.

In fact, it was ridiculous. There wasn't anything here. Every traveler that had passed through this area found the same.

Forest and grass. Weeds and stones. That's all there ever was out here, and nothing more.

Still, it was peaceful. The feeling of elevation wasn't in any way lost regardless of the fact.

Mary paused and sighed as she took one last glance around. She wanted to stay all day amongst this golden yellow exhibition – but her mother was expecting her for lunch, so Mary-Anne began to turn around to head back towards the road.

Crack!

The ground under her feet shifted downwards. A loud cracking sound, similar to breaking stone, sounded from below.

Mary froze, her eyes wide with terror.

What was that, she thought.

That didn't sound good.

She attempted to move forward. Mary wanted to set foot back on solid ground.

Her efforts proved useless. The ground gave way.

Mary was sent falling down into a deep, black pit, screaming all the way down.

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Substack Page & Links: https://robotkinz.substack.com/

We'll see how this platform cooks.