As a tribute to Substack’s newest feature, this week’s theme is “Things I Found Via Substack Notes.” If you’re a regular Substack user, you’re probably already tired of hearing about Notes, but spare me a moment while I briefly explain for my non-Substack subscribers.
Last week, Substack launched it’s new microblogging feature, Notes. Basically, it’s like Twitter, but with no ads, and therefore no algorithm pushing paid posts into your feed. This is great, because you are mainly hearing from the people whose newsletters you subscribe to, and from the people those people subscribe to — an ideal way to find new content you want to read here on Substack. So far, the conversation feels meatier, too, though not without its challenges. Content moderation has already become a major topic, and I have heard about some bad behavior in the comments. But if you’re looking for a Twitter replacement that is a more focused community, this might be worth your time — you don’t have to publish a newsletter to participate.
I was never a big Twitter user. I once challenged myself to “play the game” and boosted my followers to something like 1,500 (mostly via writer community follow loops) but I still felt like I was shouting into the void every time I posted there. I’m honestly not great at the whole “social engagement” thing, so I will be surprised if I turn out to be a super-interactive poster on Notes. I will probably use it to share links to interesting articles and other “distractions” that don’t fit in this newsletter, though.
What about you? Have you dipped your fingers into Notes at all? I’d love to hear what you think in the comments!
Into the Maelstrom
Between Jura and Scarba, the waters of the Scottish Atlantic are squeezed - by the narrowing width of the Strait, and from below, as the sea floor rises to that pinnacle (really more like a buttress) just 30 metres short of the surface, before plunging down towards a deep hole on the other side.
What happens in these conditions is that during the racing tide, a huge line of standing waves emerge, up to 9 metres tall and foaming continuously in place - and, a little further out, a roaring, thundering, terror-inspiring monster the Greeks called Charybdis, and which the rest of us call a maelstrom.
The whirlpool of Corryvreckan is the third largest in the world, behind the ones at Saltstraumen near Bodø, Norway, and at Moskstraumen sea near Norway’s Lofoten Islands.
It’s entirely delightful that they have such big, dramatic names, proper mouthfuls containing all the appropriate face-noises. If it doesn’t sound like it could be performed by Metallica, it’s not a proper whirlpool, I reckon. Just imagine if they had names like “the whirlpool of Milton Peevly” or “the maelstrom of Wetwang*”. I know, I digress, but these things are important.
Also, it’s something of a misnomer to say “whirlpool,” because that suggests permanence and the presence of just the one - but there are many, and they appear and vanish again with the tides in an unpredictable, chaotic way. That’s the nature of whirlpools in the real world.
Read more: Beware The Thousand Invisible Hands
The Power to Save the World
To be a Hero isn’t about being the best we can be; it’s about wanting to be better than everyone else. The most popular books and movies today are profoundly Heroic in nature: swashbuckling, swaggering, solitary protagonist — male or (increasingly) female — conquers all, or saves the world. And when common-or-garden human heroes aren’t enough for us any more, then there are always the superheroes to help us out. Vampires, of course, are the new superhero, and teenagers all over the world who long to be more special, more magical than everyone else, are falling for them like flies. Because let’s face it: everyone wants to be Harry Potter. No-one – but no-one – wants to be a Muggle. This attitude is derived from the intensely individualistic, narcissistic, human-centric cultural mythology that has us firmly in its grip.
The beauty of the post-heroic journey, in contrast, is that it is universal, inclusive, community-driven. Campbell declared, in the context of writing about the Hero’s Journey, that: ‘Not the animal world, not the plant world, not the miracle of the spheres, but man himself is now the crucial mystery.’ Again, I’m forced to profoundly disagree: in our endless self-obsession we have clearly lost sight of the real ‘crucial mystery’ — which is not man, and is not humankind — but rather an understanding of our place in the wider web of life on this beautiful and mysterious Earth. That is the goal of the post-heroic journey, whichever gender you might happen to identify with. It’s a goal on which our future, and the future of the planet, depends.
Read more: The Post-Heroic Journey