A Machiavellian Take on Substack

How writing and reading on this platform changed my vision on it

In 1513, Niccolò Machiavelli finished his masterpiece The Prince, a book admired by those seeking success while being reviled by those uncomfortable with its honesty about human nature. Few books have been so misunderstood throughout history, to the point it reduced its author to a mere caricature. Thanks to it, it became an offense for something or someone be considered “Machiavellian.”

What most people didn’t know is that Machiavelli wasn’t trying to corrupt anyone with his treaty about leadership and power. He just wanted to get out of exile and return to Florence’s political life, and he did this by writing about what he observed on powerful people. In the end, he described how real life was, not as people wished it to be. Negating how humanity struggles with the concept of power is what makes The Prince feel devilish.

Five centuries later, The Prince is no longer forbidden. The stigmas surrounding it never left, but its reputation improved. It became studied, quoted, and loved by many around the world for its timeless wisdom. Including by me.

I admire Machiavelli’s attempt to distill power into behaviors that are observable, repeatable, and — most of all — human. That fascination even leaked into the book I’m writing: I named my main villain The Prince as a (kind of ironic) homage.

Revising my manuscript has been a journey on its own. During the process, I had to think a lot about a challenge most debut writers face: finding my author’s voice. It’s hard to define what it is, but it’s easy to recognize. Readers feel it immediately, as literary agents do too.

And if there’s one place where author’s voice matters more than format, strategy, or growth hacks, it’s Substack.

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The turning point

I’ve been thinking a lot about Substack lately, especially about my silence over the last couple of months. Part of it could be explained by me prioritizing the manuscript as I prepare for the query phase, but that wasn’t the whole reason.

The truth is I wasn’t satisfied with what I was producing. When I started The Boss Level, my goal was to write about business through games and pop culture. It was nothing more than a way to say things I couldn’t say on LinkedIn. However, you can read some of my posts and say that they could easily live there and survive just fine.

Six months in, I realized I didn’t want to write only about business, so I started another Substack: Phones & Joysticks, a freer space to talk about games, music, and whatever else crossed my mind. It sounded like a great idea at first. I would be writing for a whole new audience that didn’t like the LinkedIn-ish approach from my main Substack and I would feel liberated to explore new horizons.

That’s when the paralysis started.

Now I had two newsletters, with different tones and different expectations. Add daily life, my ever growing reading backlog, and everything else going on… and suddenly writing felt heavier than it should.

Something had to change. But where to start?

First, I looked inward. I revisit my past articles to uncover which ones where the most successful and gave me more joy to write. The pattern was obvious: the most successful ones were also the most personal. Less “LinkedIn voice”, more me.

Then I looked outward. The writers I engage with the most don’t win me over because of format, but because of their voices. Even when they drift from their original topics, I follow. And often, so do others.

The common denominator is obvious.

That’s when Machiavelli came back into the picture.

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The Substacker

Today, I want to assume the same role as an observer as Machiavelli and share some of my findings.

However, keep in mind that I’m not here to sell “how to grow your Substack” formulas. Those repel me like garlic repels vampires. But if I had to distill what actually sustains a newsletter here over time, I’d reduce it to four principles. And since we are using Machiavelli as a framework, let’s call them The Substacker.

Here they are…

1. A good Substack revolves around voice, not format.
   You can feel who someone is through their words. I don’t know any Substacker personally, but I know how my favorite writers think. Their voice becomes clearer with time, and that’s what keeps me coming back to them.

2. The best Substacks belong to writers with a clear voice.
   That clarity doesn’t always exist at the beginning. It evolves with each new post through experimentation. Humor sharpens, tenderness appears, confidence settles, and so on. No journey is equal, but reading them feels like picking up a new book by an author you love: you’ll trust them, regardless of the subject.

3. Formats help you start, but they can’t be your ceiling.
   Frameworks are useful until they aren’t. When format starts leading your voice instead of supporting it, your growth stalls. Evolution requires reading others, borrowing some courage, and abandoning what once worked when it isn’t good anymore.

4. No Substack grows alone.
   Recommendations, collaborations, and shared projects are both visibility tools and growth accelerators. Despite being a social platform in essence, Substack still feels human because of that. I owe real gratitude to those who recommended my work, gave me a chance to collaborate, or trusted me with their platforms.

All well and good, but you must be thinking…

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What this means for my writing?

A lot, actually. And if I believe in what I just wrote, I have to apply it to my own work.

That being said, here’s what changes:

• The Boss Level will expand its scope. Games remain a pillar, but books and music now belong here too. My novel is structured around Gustav Mahler’s symphonies, so pretending music isn’t part of my thinking would be dishonest.

• Phones & Joysticks will be merged into The Boss Level. Not only having two spaces where audiences are basically the same, having a single space compels me to refocus and keep my author’s voice consistent. Also, it would be a leaner structure to manage. As Thoreau put it: simplify, simplify.

But that leaves one open question: what about this Substack’s name?

The Boss Level was born with a specific mission: business through games and pop culture so you can level up, one boss level at a time. Now that the scope is wider, I was unsure if the name still fits at first.

As I reflected more and more about other names and the new things I want to bring to the table, I came to the conclusion: I’ll keep it as it is.

But the name now means much more.

I want to keep writing about moments that shape my life and other people’s lives, but not every challenge is a career one and not every learning experience should be reduce to bullet points. Every text here will be a checkpoint in my never ending journey to become a better writer and a better person.

And I would love to have you on this journey.

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A new mission for a new year

One of my favorite pieces I’ve written here was about growing up with videogames. You can check it out below:

In it, I wrote:

“I write because I want more people to see games as tools for growth, and discover the lessons they hold for life, work, and everything in between.”

I still believe in that. But for 2026, my mission is simpler.

I want to write a body of work I can be proud of.

If that keeps you around, I’ll be more than happy.

For now, though, my focus will still be the manuscript, so don’t expect the same frequency as before.

There’s a flexible rule of The Substacker that I didn’t mentioned: frequency is good, but quality is better. If you write a great post, people will read it eventually. But if you constantly post subpar work just to keep your frequency, people will start to leave you.

That’s why I’ll come back when I have my manuscript fully revised. I’m in my best shape when I’m focusing on one thing at a time.

In the meantime, thanks for sticking around. And let’s keep leveling up, whatever challenge you’re facing right now.