I am my favourite writer
If you had asked me to walk you through my Substack a week ago, I would’ve been lost.
I am my favourite writer
Anastasia Krogh
Oct 03, 2026
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If you had asked me to walk you through my Substack a week ago, I would’ve been lost. I mean sure, I could’ve named you a few of my favourite articles, a few of other’s favourite articles, but I would’ve had a hard time coming up with everything in between. Had you asked me how many essays I’ve published, I would’ve given an estimate well bellow to the over a hundred I’ve actually sent out into the world.
The realisation stemmed from an unsuccessful date where I off handedly mentioned I write. I immediately followed up with whatever I could to dumb it down, shrug it off and change the topic. Why?? Most times I hit send, close my laptop and jump to another task, so as to not think of where my words are actually being sent off to. I try not to imagine my work labelled “FRAGILE” being tossed and thrown around, bent upon arrival.
I believe that in times such as these, where public response is so quick, it is important for any artist to create a stark separation between the result and the opinion. But are we sometimes too quick in creating boundaries? Do we sometimes forget indulgence and admiration in fear of criticism?
Has my avoidance to let how others perceive me exist within my identity, led me to no longer perceive myself? To no longer form my own perception of my identity? For the past weeks, I have tested the theory, in challenging myself to read every single essay I’ve published on Substack. Over a hundred essays, over the span of a dozen hours.
I would encourage anyone who's been writing online for a long time to do the same. To indulge in themselves and their words. I myself documented it in my journal, with comments that go from “
grammar is wrong, proofreading nonexistent
” to “
some sentences are actually really nice
”. From “
a bit sappy, a bit cringe
” to “
why did I think this was cringe? I love my writing
”.
But the note I made that struck me the most was, “
Can you have a ‘wow I never thought of this’ while reading your own essay? Apparently yes.”
I have never gotten stuck in front of a blank page, not knowing what to write. I have always had something to write down, but have sometimes hesitated in fear of having written it before.
What if it is too familiar?
I would ask myself.
In having read a hundred of my own essays, I now know that familiarity is not antonym to creativity. But why was I so convinced otherwise? Why is it that I feel more compelling when sourcing from others than I do myself? Is it not the same practice?
For thousands of years we have looked onto those before us to lay the groundwork for our processes, our ideas, our beliefs, our identities, etc. Is it not just as important to look onto the versions of ourselves that existed before?
Why are artists meant to reinvent themselves by looking outwards rather than inwards?
No two people could write the same essay. Even when given a precise topic, the essays would always come out differently. The words would not be the same because they are not the same. Their experiences, memories, and circumstances are not the same, and therefore their understanding of the topic is not the same. Could the same not be said for one person?
Could the same person write the same essay with years worth of experiences, memories, and circumstances separates the first version and the second?
I have written about love and creativity and identity a hundred times, and will do so a hundred times again. I will write when being in and out of love, when being alone and being surrounded, when being home and being abroad. When being younger and being older, when feeling hopeful and feeling lost. When writing on my notes app and my diary and my computer and the corner of my grocery list. In being comfortable and being in dept. I will live a hundreds lives and write about them a hundred ways. That is my source of creativity.
Love,
Anastasia
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