Why I Decided to Go Ballistic on Substack Notes
Substack Notes aren’t just mini posts, they’re idea launchpads. Here’s how 14 of them shaped my writing.
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It started quietly.
A few random Notes here and there. A thought. A half-idea. A reaction. But then something clicked. Not in a flash, but in layers like dust revealing itself only when light catches it just so.
That’s what Notes became for me.
Not a mini-blog. Not a social feed. But a creative playground for the messy middle. For ideas too unpolished to publish, too promising to abandon.
And suddenly, I wasn’t just posting Notes, I was collecting them, building off them, returning to them like mental breadcrumbs. More than once, they’ve sparked longer essays, stories, poems, and micro-moments I didn’t know were living inside me.
I used to hoard my ideas in Google Docs, Apple Notes, notebooks with maybe three pages filled. Now? I’m dropping them right into Notes. Because if I don’t, I’ll probably forget them. Or worse: overthink them.
That’s the magic. Notes don’t ask for polish. They ask you to show up as you are, mid-thought, half-formed, fully honest.
But here’s the best part, the real reason I keep coming back: reading other people’s Notes is just as generative. Their unfinished thoughts breathe life into my unfinished thoughts. Their sparks land on my kindling. Sometimes, I don’t even realize it’s happened until I reread something I’ve written and trace it back to a Note I saw a few weeks ago.
So here’s what I’m doing: I’m going all in. Ballistic, even. Posting freely, responding generously, reading everything that catches my eye. Not because it’s strategic. Because it’s alive. And it keeps me creatively awake.
This isn’t about metrics. I’m noting for myself. No hook formulas, no frameworks, no growth strategies. If it lands, great. If it doesn’t, I still wrote it and sometimes that’s enough.
I’m Sarah—someone standing at the edge of university life, with a camera, some scraps of inspiration, and a head full of stories. If you're into design, writing, or figuring things out as you go, I’d love your company (and your feedback!) on this unfolding journey.
Notes That Stirred Something in Me
Below are 14 Notes that sparked something in me during my first month of going all in. I’m sharing them to say thank you and to show how creative ecosystems build quietly, one unfinished thought at a time.
Thank you
What Jamie’s note sparked in me:
Jamie asked, "If you could add a new subject to the school curriculum, what would it be?" I answered quickly and with humor, but the more I sat with it, the more serious my thoughts became. I'd add courses like "How to Listen," "How to Stop Seeking Validation Online," "How to Shun Self-Doubt," "How to Be Confident," "How to Make Mistakes Without Fear," and "How to Trust Your Instincts." Each of these is a response to what I see missing in my generation not because we aren’t capable, but because we’re rarely taught how to build these muscles. I want to turn these course titles into full reflections, posts about the real-world gaps we carry into relationships, classrooms, and future workplaces. And how we can start filling them, one honest conversation at a time.
Thank you
What Danny’s note sparked in me:
Danny wrote something beautiful in his note: "I am increasingly convinced that the point of life is this: More meals shared with people you love." I’ve seen this play out almost weekly in my own home. My parents have always taken joy in hosting. Meals that turned into memories, dinner tables that became story circles. Danny’s note was a validation for a post idea: Breaking Bread, Breaking Barriers. I outlined it in my reply to him and now it’s time to bring it to life.
Thank you
What Scott’s note sparked in me:
It made me think of hunting trips with my father. The countless hours we spent in near silence, just watching, waiting, learning. It was more than tracking game; it was training in patience, courage, responsibility, and resilience. I want to explore how those moments in the wilderness shaped the kind of person I’m becoming. And it made me wonder, had I spent that same time indoors, scrolling or numbing myself with passive content, what would I have gained? Certainly not the same lessons in quiet confidence. Not the trust in stillness. Not the courage to be alone with my thoughts. That kind of growth only happens in the wild.
Thank you
What Ben’s note sparked in me:
Ben's note made me reflect on the tension between media and the medium. It reminded me of Neil Postman’s reflections in Amusing Ourselves to Death—how we once had public discourse like the Lincoln-Douglas debates, rich with reasoned argument and complex thought, shaped by the attention demands of the printed word. Today, we live in a world of short-form visuals and dopamine-driven snippets. Ben’s Note helped me realize that Substack itself is a kind of counter-medium, more print than platform, more conversation than content. I want to write about how that shift matters for the kind of writing, thinking, and learning we do here and how we can protect it.
Thank you
What Lindsey’s note sparked in me:
Lindsey’s note reminded me how powerful it is to choose presence over pressure. Her words made me reflect on what really brings fulfillment: not titles, not constant productivity, but alignment with values and the people who matter. It nudged me into a moment of deep gratitude for my own parents, for everything they’ve given and sacrificed. It moved me enough to write a poem dedicated to them (coming soon). I’d like to explore this more and what it means to let go of old identities, how clarity often looks like loss, and why being present is sometimes the most radical thing we can do.
Thank you
What Sol’s note sparked in me:
They say a picture is worth a thousand words. In this case, it was worth a poem. Sol shared a photo of her toddler, footloose and fancy free in her own tiny way, and something about it unlocked me. I ended up writing a poem that day called “Oh Little One.” It wasn’t planned. It just poured out. If that’s not proof of how a single Note can stir something real and lasting, I don’t know what is. When Sol replied, “I cannot even begin to tell you how happy this made me…This made my day, and the ending really made me tear up.” I felt the magic come full circle. Another thoughtful reader said, “Saw myself and my own babies throughout.” That kind of resonance? That’s the heartbeat of Notes. A single image. A ripple of words. A shared moment that lingers.
Thank you
What Maxime’s note sparked in me:
I asked, "Can we stop treating hobbies like they don’t matter? Not everything you make needs to scale. What’s a hobby you love just for the sake of it?" Maxime responded: "for me it’s my evening walks. when the streets are empty." That image stayed with me. It sparked a memory of a story my father once told me. How he once met an elderly gentleman on an island, a retired schoolteacher, deeply well-read, a man from another era. He was an ocean of quiet wisdom. With almost childlike wonder, he told us how he waits eagerly for the first snowfall each year. As soon as it comes, he drives through his small-town roads just to be the first to leave tracks, watching them shimmer in his rearview mirror like a secret only he gets to witness. It’s the kind of story that lingers and is one that is worthy of being developed fully.
Thank you
What Jesse’s note sparked in me:
Jesse’s reflection, “We are tactile creatures. We need to touch more than a keyboard.” reminded me of Sherry Turkle’s Alone Together, where she warns that tech may offer the illusion of companionship while deepening our isolation. This idea made me pause: are we outsourcing our need for connection to screens? It inspired me to think about how I can bring more of the physical world into my writing. I want to explore the link between digital dependency and emotional distance and how small physical rituals, like handwriting, walking, or even pausing to look up from a screen, can restore something essential. Maybe even a post about how going outside, smelling a flower, and chasing the sky is not poetic; it’s survival, considering where the world is headed.
Thank you
What Tracy’s note sparked in me:
In response to Tracy's note about five mindset shifts she wished she'd learned in kindergarten, I added a sixth: "Not everything you create needs applause to be worth making. People won’t always get it." That line has been living in my head since. It made me think about the culture of praise so many kids grow up in constant validation, no room for criticism, no space for failure. I want to explore what this does to us when we enter the real world where success isn't guaranteed and people don’t clap for showing up. Where relationships take work, not gold stars. Where workplaces need responsibility, not just potential. There’s something deeply dysfunctional about a world that teaches us to seek approval before we’ve built resilience. I want to unpack that.
Thank you
What Anna’s note sparked in me:
Anna’s note “The more digital the world gets, the more I am comforted by words on paper” hit home. Our parents never gave us devices; they gave us books. Used bookstores were (and still are) our version of treasure hunts. Her note made me think about all the quirky, character-filled bookstores we’ve visited across North America and the stories tucked into their walls. I’m now inspired to go back, interview the ones still standing, and document the people behind them, their love for books, and the quiet magic they’ve preserved in a noisy world. With pictures, of course.
Thank you
What J. A.’s note sparked in me:
I wrote a Note called "A Salute to Gen X: The Hands-On Generation That Raised Us," inspired by stories my father always told me about his generation. J. A. Plosker responded with a beautiful story of his own, and it gave me the push I needed to actually start documenting my father’s memories. Mechano, Etch-a-Sketch, Atari, tape decks, analog clocks, rotary phones, and view-masters. We’re diving in. I want to write a series that captures the world he grew up in, what it felt like to build and fix things with your hands, and the kind of resourcefulness that doesn’t come from Google. Here we come.
Thank you
What Caitlin’s note sparked in me:
Caitlin’s shout-out, "Don’t have a to-do list. Have a to-be list!" shifted my thinking from chasing tasks to embracing traits. I wrote my own To-Be list: not a checklist of accomplishments, but a compass of character. I want to turn it into a poster (someday!) and a post that reflects on how identity is less about doing and more about becoming.
Thank you
What Perzen’s note sparked in me:
Perzen pointed out something in my writing I hadn’t even noticed: "I love when recipe instructions include high powered simile." She quoted a line from my post: “Stir gently so the potatoes are coated in the masala like a warm shawl in winter.” Was I deliberate with that simile? Not at all. But now I’m thinking maybe I should be. I want to intentionally learn literary devices and start documenting them for other writers to use, too. This tiny moment sparked a whole new layer of curiosity for me.
Thank you
What Emiliana’s note sparked in me:
This prompted me to reflect on my formative years in Dubai and made me write this blurb which I intend to develop into a full story on the craziness of Dubai:
Dubai, where the skyline changed every time you turned your back, where everything was temporary but still managed to feel permanent while you were in it. Indoor ski slopes, supercars purring in mall parking lots, 24-hour brunches, air-conditioned bus stops, office towers rising overnight. A world built on ambition and transience. And then Canada, the final turn of the kaleidoscope. Snow falling in thick, unhurried sheets. The quiet at night. The slow realization that here, you could take your time.
To Substack, and the collective wisdoms of the brilliant minds out here.
I’m not afraid someone else might write from one of my Notes before I do. Because they’ll write it their way, in their voice, from their life. I’ll write it from mine.
That’s the beauty of Notes. Everyone sees the same spark. But the fires look different.
So go ahead, steal my Notes. I’ll steal yours. I’ll riff, remix, and respond through the lens of a 17-year-old who’s figuring it out one line at a time.
PS: I’ve never shared this many unfinished sparks in one place before. Which one would you be curious to read as a full piece?
Thank you for reading all the way through—it means more than you know. If you felt something, learned something, or even just want to help me get better at this whole writing-and-designing-my-way-through-life thing, I’d love for you to subscribe, share a thought, or leave a gentle critique. Every bit of feedback helps me grow.
I am glad we got you thinking. Notes are a new feature that fascinate me and I love seeing them.
I’m glad my Note sparked something for you. I love your take on Notes and your approach to them. Fantastic!