We here at SmallStack proclaim that small is beautiful. In fact, it’s baked right into our name! Yet how many of us in this wonderful community want to serve up our creations to a cookie-sized readership?
This week, find out why our guest poster came to Substack with the intention to remain small and how she does it. Hint: by masterfully combining the ingredients of her recipe, she delivers scrumptious columns to devoted readers.
Please welcome, dear readers, baker and columnist
!The Stay Small Recipe
How to bake a community of readers
By Rachel Shenk — La Bonne Vie
I had not seen the woman approach the outdoor table where I sat with my siblings until she stood there, hopeful.
“Are you Rachel?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied as I took in the white covering with strings on her head and the plain dress, which told me she was Amish.
“I love your column! It is so calming. It reminds me to slow down and take the time away from my tasks. Thank you!” she said.
Taken by surprise, I managed a “Thank you for reading” as I shook her hand. Throughout the next week, I returned to that moment. To have a personal contact with a reader is a big thing. It gives me a window into who might be reading my words and reminds me that what I write has meaning beyond myself. To know my audience, and to remember their stories as I tell my own, changes me as a writer. And that’s one of the reasons I’ve focused on staying small here on Substack.
There’s an unwritten rule in my Midwestern American town. It tells me if I start any business endeavor that seems even mildly successful, the only way forward is to get bigger. “Grow the Business.” When put into practice, this usually involves hiring folks to do the work you first started doing, turning yourself into a manager or boss, involving yourself in an institutional network, taking on added debt and risk.
In my life work, I was one of those Midwestern startups. I love baking and, after being fired from my job as an archivist, I took my passion and turned it into a business. Rachel’s Bread grew from my small kitchen to become a brick-and-mortar artisan bakery beside our local farmers’ market. With a joyful staff of ten, I made pastries as well as bread and pizzas in the wood-fired oven. Over the years, people would say, “You need to franchise this”; “You need more locations”; “Can I become an investor?”; “You need to find some wholesale accounts!”
Meanwhile, I just plodded along baking bread for the local community. I loved having my hands in the dough, chatting and hearing my customers’ stories, and, most importantly, knowing all the small things that made the bakery successful. I never wanted to get bigger because I knew that with increased size there would also be compromise: in relationships, in quality, in human connection, in authenticity.
My intention was never to be bigger. I was mainly hoping to have work that made me happy and gave me enough income to live sustainably. I wanted to grow the community in our town rather than grow the bakery. I often spoke of the bakery as a church, a place that brings diverse people together around a common love.
I no longer have the bakery. I retired from it after 25 years. But the bakery community is still strong.
As a new writer on Substack, I sensed that same “Get Bigger” rule. When I first joined, I seemed to be swamped with Notes about growth and how to develop high visibility and subscriber numbers. The thing is, that’s not why I started writing and that’s not why I started a Substack. I actually began La Bonne Vie as a column for a regional newspaper hoping I could connect with a small group of local readers.
In joining Substack, I hoped to broaden my audience and make a little money with my writing. But my main goal here remains the same as at the bakery: To stay small by building community and human connection rather than focusing on numbers or dollars. To bring people together in a kind of church of writing.
Here's my bakery’s Stay Small recipe that I now use on Substack, with a few notes below.
2 cups Quality
2 cups Generosity
1 cup Sustainability
3 cups Community
2 Tablespoons zest of Vision
2 slivers of Authenticity
1 Tablespoon juice of Selfishness
3 pinches of Magic💫
Mix these together as needed. Add a few grinds of Hard Parts. Bake into a cohesive whole and share profusely.
Quality
At the bakery, I refused to compromise on the ingredients. I never looked for the cheapest chocolate chips or flour. I made small batches by hand to ensure the best flavor.
In writing, I think through each column. I fashion each one with care. I take the time I need to write. I don’t turn my writing into a product. I don’t use AI.
Generosity
At the bakery, I often gave an extra free cookie or croissant to a customer. I hosted a free annual feast for customers. In a world where almost nothing is given away without something in return, I offered what I could freely.
In my writing, I have chosen not to paywall my posts. Those who choose to pay for my writing are doing so by choice. I’ve sent each of my paying subscribers a small handmade block print or self-published book as a thank you. I write with a generous spirit.
Sustainability
At the bakery, I tried to make my work sustainable rather than profit oriented. I took time off regularly as a way to control the stress of hard work and as a means to renew my creativity. I didn’t let the business control me.
In my writing, I take time off if I need to. I don’t let the deadlines or the readers control me or my writing. I resist the pressures of an online presence.
Community
At the bakery, I tried to create a safe place where everyone felt included, where people were heard, where people could meet. I knew most of my customers by name or sight. I never had to advertise; the business grew slowly by word of mouth.
In my writing, I encourage community. I write as just one human to another, not as an expert. I write about the small things around us that matter. I keep my readers’ stories, many whom I know, in the forefront as I write. I respond to comments on my posts. I am growing slowly as readers find me.
Vision
At the bakery, I tried to always keep a balanced view of both the forest and the trees. To keep the baking at the forefront and yet tie it into the larger community, sustenance for the body and the soul.
In my writing, I focus on the small things that can make a difference in the larger world. I try to connect our daily gestures to a broader understanding of life.
Authenticity
At the bakery, I didn’t take on a role. I was always myself. In situations where people would try to make me be someone else, I refused. I stayed true to my core.
In my writing, I don’t play games. I choose honesty and hope over insincerity and cynicism.
Selfishness
Okay. Maybe you weren’t expecting this one. I love baking bread and having a bakery was what I wanted to do. I often told customers that I felt selfish doing what I loved rather than thinking of it as working for someone else. But that self-love is how love is then passed on to others. Loving what I did allowed me to care about others.
In my writing, I acknowledge that I am fortunate to have readers who read my columns and even comment about them! I tell them that they are essential to my work. I look for connections that make me a better writer. I focus on topics that I am familiar with and have lived. And hope my readers can find a bit of themselves in my column as well.
Magic
In both my baking and my writing, I’ve encountered what I call magic. That intangible moment that creates a connection with the customer or reader. I only have these tips to encourage the magic:
Pay attention. Continuously.
Look for it. Continuously.
Work with love. Continuously.
The Hard Part
At the bakery, I felt the pressures of expectations from those who did not understand why I remained small. I had to hold my ground against assumptions and gossip. I had to learn to let go of worries about making ends meet. I had to educate folks about the benefits of being small.
In my writing, I can be blinded by the “Big Stacks” who advertise their large, seemingly easy-to-get subscribers. I try to avoid those offering “best tips” and focus on my own writing. I have to accept that I’m a small fish in a huge sea. I have to remain true to my vision despite alluring calls from Notes. I need to remind myself that what I write has value even if no one responds.
It’s been seven years since I left the bakery and yet I still receive thank yous, I still hear stories, I still feel the love from former customers. And it’s because they learned through my work that one baker with small dreams can have an enormous impact in ways they might never have thought of.
I intend to continue writing La Bonne Vie in the same way. Just one columnist with small dreams focused on the small things that, I hope, will connect with at least one reader out there. And I hope this post will encourage you to do the same.
It’s the small things that make me happy.
Rachel Shenk, born and raised in Belgium with detours to Spain and Scotland, was an artisan baker in a small Midwestern U.S. town. Her weekly column, La Bonne Vie, shares stories and thoughts about the good life from her experiences. She’s currently a cheesemonger at her local farmers’ market, where she continues to sell bread and pastries. She’s a traveler, a reader, a block printer. And always up for cooking a delicious meal and sharing it with friends.
The entire SmallStack Team wants to thank you, Rachel, for sharing your perspective on intentionally staying small. And we will follow your delicious advice to continuously “work with love…to encourage the magic” of connection across our community.
The SmallStack Team
Readers: Did you come to Substack with an intention or not? Also, what’s your take on the Stay Small recipe and its ingredients? Other thoughts or brainstorms? Tell us about it!
Ooh, another Belgian, hi!
This is a stark reminder for me to rein things in a bit. A bit like having too many goods on offer in a bakery that you aren’t able to fulfil. Note to self, slow down. 😀