3 dumb myths keeping data pros quiet
If you want to be seen as a thought leader in data, writing is how you start getting noticed and paid for what you already know.
I’ve been writing on Substack for two years. It started as a quiet place to think. A blog, really. Nothing serious. But lately, something shifted.
Substack has exploded in the data world. Data influencers are writing. Which means the readers are coming. And a lot of smart engineers are suddenly asking: should I start publishing too?
If you’re one of them, this is for you. Because most of the reasons people don’t start writing are complete bullshit.
Myth 1: it takes ages
This one kills momentum before it even starts.
Most people think a “real article” has to be 1,500 words, with an intro, a hook, a thesis, perfect grammar, clean metaphors, and some final takeaway that sounds like a TED Talk.
They treat writing like they’re submitting to an academic journal. So of course it feels hard. So of course they never do it.
Why you’re wrong
Your first 10 posts don’t need structure. They need existence.
Write short. Write messy. Write like you talk. A 300-word note about a dashboard that went wrong teaches more than a 2,000-word thinkpiece you never publish.
Most of the ideas that resonated with my readers weren’t polished. They were real. They were honest. They were quick thoughts I needed to get out of my head.
I used to spend 8 to 10 hours editing a single article. Now, I spend maybe two hours a week on writing. And that’s if I’m being slow.
You don’t need to write every day. But if you lower the bar, you’ll write more often. And the more you write, the better it gets.
This isn’t school. Nobody’s grading you. Write a note and move on.
Myth 2: I don’t have a niche
This is the myth that keeps most smart people quiet.
They think they need a unique angle, a five-year content roadmap, and some spicy opinion about “modern data contracts” before they’re allowed to write online.
But most of the people you admire didn’t start with a niche. They just started thinking in public. They used writing as a mirror. That’s what helped them figure out what they actually cared about.
Why you’re wrong
You don’t need a niche. You need a habit.
Nobody knows what their thing is until they write it a dozen different ways. That’s how it works. You hit publish, you cringe a little, you get a random reply, and you slowly figure out what hits and what flops.
If you’re into data, then write about data. That’s the only consistency you need in the beginning.
One post might be a teardown of your latest pipeline mess. Another might be about interviewing, or org charts, or how marketing screwed up attribution again. That’s fine.
Don’t box yourself in before you start. Just stay broadly aligned with the kind of work you want to be known for.
If you want to go narrow later, you can. You can always start a new Substack. You can always rebrand. You can always delete your old stuff if you really hate it.
But none of that matters if you don’t start. Right now, your job is to stop being invisible.
Myth 3: people will laugh at my work
This is the fear most people won’t admit. It was the fear that almost stopped me from writing altogether.
Before I published my first post, I kept imagining the worst-case scenarios:
What if my coworkers read it and rolled their eyes?
What if future clients saw it and decided I wasn’t professional enough?
What if someone I respected thought I was trying too hard, or worse, thought I didn’t know what I was talking about?
It was easier to stay quiet. I told myself I’d start later, once I had more clarity. But the truth was simple: I didn’t want to be seen.
Why you’re wrong
In the beginning, nobody is paying attention. That’s not an insult. That’s a gift.
You don’t start with an audience. You start with a blank page. A rough idea. A quiet space to think online. And if you’re consistent, your voice shows up before your readers do.
That’s what happened to me. I started posting technical breakdowns, short write-ups, raw thoughts from the day. At first, nothing happened.
Then a few people subscribed. Then 100. Then 1,000. And that’s when things started clicking.
Readers replied. They asked thoughtful questions.
A few reached out for freelance work. Others asked for mentoring. And, over time, my writing helped me land recognition I never expected, like being named one of the top professionals in my country.
But none of that was the goal. The goal was to get better at thinking and share some experience.
And writing helped me do that. I figured out what I believed. I found the language for it. And slowly, the right people started paying attention.
If you’re afraid of what people will think, start small. Write short.
Be honest. Keep your voice close to how you actually speak. And remember this:
Nobody becomes a thought leader before they start thinking in public.
The free workshop that actually helped
I’ve been working with the folks Write • Build • Scale since February.
They didn’t just help me become a better writer. They helped me figure out what I actually wanted to say.
If you’ve been thinking about starting a Substack, or you have one that’s collecting dust, their free masterclass is worth your time.
It’s not another “build your audience in 3 steps” kind of thing. It’s for thoughtful professionals. People like you, who want to write better, think clearer, and get their ideas in front of the right people.
This is the same crew that helped me sharpen my writing process, clarify my message, and turn random ideas into real momentum. If you’ve ever wondered how to grow an audience without feeling like a content clown, you’ll like their approach.
Yes, I’m using an affiliate link here. But I’ve been shouting out their work long before there was anything in it for me. I believe in what they’re building. And I wouldn’t recommend it if I didn’t.
Sign up. Watch it. Take notes. You’ll thank me later.
Final thoughts
Writing online doesn’t just sharpen your thinking. It changes how people see you.
When your ideas live in public, others start to understand how you work before they ever meet you. That’s powerful.
The right opportunities, the right projects, the right teammates, even the right job offers, start finding you, because your writing makes it obvious what you stand for.
You don’t need to aim for fame. You don’t need to become an influencer.
What you gain is recognition, clarity, and confidence. You stop being invisible. You start being the person others want to work with, learn from, and trust with bigger challenges.
That’s the upside nobody talks about.
You might sit down to write just to get thoughts out of your head. But over time, those words become proof of who you are.
And when people can see that, they’ll start opening doors you didn’t even know existed.
Thanks for reading,
PS: I am rethinking the group enablement calls. Yay or Nay? Cast your vote now.