What does making something in public for years actually take?

I’ve been blogging since 2011. Movers Mindset started 2015. Open + Curious in 2024 with a different shape. Podtalk started in there too. Each project has its own arc, and it’s own specific thing that draws me to keep creating. After all this time, I can now see there’s a question I never paid attention to which lies underneath all of them: What does it take to keep making something in public, for years?

The pieces below are about the practice of showing up — what permission feels like, what resistance is, how cumulative invisible work pays off, and what “uphill” writing means. A couple are distilled from Podtalk conversations with people who arrived at hard truths and put them into words. This thread is sequenced for someone who’s making something in public and wondering how to keep at it without burning out, quitting, or going sideways into something they didn’t set out to do.

Permission to continue
7 for Sunday — March 2025

Open with the inheritance. Someone who modeled the practice for me dies, and I realized the permission they gave wasn’t theirs to give. I already had it. Jack London’s club it — go after what you want with force — turns out to be the most generous instruction possible, because it gives you permission to commit even when the outcome is uncertain.

Sit down
constantine.name — November 2024

The Pressfield line that does the most work for me: “It’s not the writing that’s hard. What’s hard is sitting down to write. What keeps us from sitting down is resistance.” Cling to that for everything you’re trying to keep making — it’s not the doing that’s hard. It’s the showing up that’s hard. Really hard.

The illogical thing
Podtalk Field Note — with Cassian Bellino

Cassian got laid off and immediately built everything nobody asked for — courses, communities, funnels. By any reasonable measure it was a mistake. But: “my emotions wouldn’t have settled had I tried the logical thing.” Sometimes what in hindsight is clearly the wrong path, is actually the only way to reach the destination, and the flailing is how some creators process toward clarity.

Bifocals
constantine.name — January 2026

My bifocal attention: solving today’s problem while simultaneously noticing the friction I can’t leave alone. I’ll stop in the middle of the task to write the script, the alias, the doc, the template — not because I’m procrastinating but because that is the real work. The payoff is cumulative and mostly invisible, which is what makes it hard to commit to.

100 issues of my “7 for Sunday” email
constantine.name — August 2024

At the 100-issue mark of 7 for Sunday — three years of weekly issues — what mattered wasn’t the number. It was that I’d kept going through stretches when simply knowing that readers existed was what got me through. The life preserver that saves you is necessarily thrown by another. External validation isn’t ideal, but sometimes it’s what keeps you in the boat.

Writing uphill
7 for Sunday — December 2024

Downhill writing is what you want to say; uphill writing is what you need to say — the thing you’re afraid of, the thing you think nobody wants to hear. The best writing is almost always uphill. The discomfort is usually the sign you’re onto something real.

When a Podcast Is Finished
Podtalk Field Note — with Alasdair Plambeck

Closing on the hardest part: knowing when to stop. Not failed, not abandoned — finished. Alasdair ended his podcast after four-and-a-half years because the work was complete. The skill isn’t just keeping going; it’s also recognizing when keeping going has quietly become a different act than what you set out to do.

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Hand-Write. Think Better.

A method for people who feel overwhelmed to start writing more on paper—which makes everything else easier

I’ve written a guide which shows how to use notebooks for clearer thinking: one notebook, simple practices, no elaborate systems. Written to help you stop re-thinking the same things and close open loops.

https://craigconstantine.gumroad.com/l/hand-write-think-better

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Two-fer from an introduction

I’m currently in the Introduction from Will Stone’s translation of, Montaigne by Stefan Zweig. Two things:

First, a nit about getting the right ideas into our minds when we read. Not a criticism of authors’ (such as Stone) word choices, but rather of our thinking correctly as readers.

Stone quotes Zweig as, “How to keep humanity intact in the throes of bestiality?” Stone’s translation is from 2015, and our current English usage carries sexual connotations. But I had a hunch that Zweig had something like “in the way of beasts” in mind since he was writing in German, in Brazil, in 1941, amidst the global throes of WWII.

It took me just a few moments to get an LLM to show me that Zweig almost certainly wrote «Bestialität»—which in Zweig’s German would have meant brute savagery or barbaric cruelty with no modern (circa 2025) sexual connotation. And in the larger context of the brutality of the war, that connotation makes perfect sense.

Second, further along Stone quotes a vivid metaphor from Zweig relating to suicidal ideation:

[…] always in moments of impotence it emerged, surging powerfully upwards like a dark rock whenever the tide of passions and hopes in his soul ebbed.

Relax; I’m not suicidal. I’m only remarking on the sublime perfection of that metaphor.

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Don’t stand in the shade

Remember we employed a visual to help us understand this. We said that the Dream is like a tree in the middle of a sunny meadow. The tree casts a shadow.

~ Steven Pressfield, from Writing Wednesdays: Gotta Do It

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I find Pressfield’s metaphor to be striking. The tree in the meadow casts a real shadow. I was struck by the layers in this metaphor: light and darkness, the singular clarity of lone tree in an open space as a symbol of a life’s purpose, the proportional relationship of the larger the tree the larger and darker the shadow, and that one’s ability to avoid or at least escape the shadow is a choice we make.

By extension then, if one attempts to nurture multiple callings, visions or projects, one has multiple big trees. That’s at least a copse of trees whose shadows merge together creating something much more significant to avoid or escape from.

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Manual labor of the mind

Writing is essentially donkey work, manual labor of the mind. What makes it bearable are those moments (which sometimes can last for weeks, months) when the book takes over, takes on a life of its own, goes off in unexpected directions.

~ John Gregory Dunne

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Printing 20 copies

Writing issues of 7 for Sunday has become familiar (not to be confused with “easy”). I have a checklist which I use when I’m writing each issue. It’s as much for scratch-paper thinking, as it is for ticking off completed steps. Originally, the checklist had a lot of notes about formatting, what goes where, how to typeset the specific parts, image sizing, etc. all nuts-and-bolts stuff. As I’ve modified it, it’s now mostly signposts and I use it to celebrate each phase of the issue’s development.

Today, I was down to just a couple of these checklists and I hit print. How many copies? Without hesitation I printed 20—because that would be checklists through issue 150. It simply struck me as interesting that I’ve moved beyond “should I continue” and even beyond “can I continue” for this neat little weekly missive that I enjoy putting together.

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The real fear

These are serious fears. But they’re not the real fear. Not the Master Fear, the Mother of all Fears that’s so close to us that even when we verbalize it we don’t believe it. Fear That We Will Succeed. That we can access the powers we secretly know we possess. That we can become the person we sense in our hearts we truly are.

~ Steven Pressfield

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Misunderstanding why

Exasperated, the therapist finally suggests that she could stop writing. “Stop?” says the writer, blinking in surprise.

~ Mandy Brown, from A battle with the gods

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The challenge is to realize that the error I’m making is in thinking the writing part sucks. Of course it’s not easy— that’s what makes it fun. (Is the lesson I need to continue to work to internalize.)

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Oh crap

The Fourth Rule of the Artist’s Journey is: It’s for life.

~ Steven Pressfield, from The Artist’s Journey Is a Lifetime Engagement

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Because that means there’s not going to be an end, so I better get my stuff sorted.

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Sit down

There’s a secret that real writers know that wannabe writers don’t, and the secret is this: It’s not the writing that’s hard. What’s hard is sitting down to write. What keeps us from sitting down is resistance.

~ Steven Pressfield

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