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So we all get caught chasing micro hits of dopamine while doomscrolling our way through another social media hellscape of the day…

Similar to how a rat would inside of a Skinner box except the box is your phone, and the cheese is that glorious, glowing red notification.

And so this whole “you gotta do a dopamine detox” thing pops up every now and then.

No, not the kind where you go live in a cave and eat moss until you hallucinate a spirit animal.

I mean the kind where you pry your eyeballs off whatever internet hamster wheel we’ve created since the 90s and try to…

Wait for it… (In my best Barney Stinson impression)

…be a person again.

The internet is broken. No, not like “404 error” broken.

Like “Twitter is now X, Elon is cosplaying as Emperor Palpatine, and everyone is arguing about whether pineapple belongs on pizza while Rome burns” broken.

Also just a sidenote: Pineapple belongs wherever the hell you want it. Also, stop fighting about it, you beautiful weirdos.

But why you might ask?

Well sometimes your brain resembles a microwave burrito left on high for too long.

Every dumb argument you avoid = one more neuron that survives the gladiator pit of internet discourse.

You might just maybe remember what it’s like to enjoy things without needing 12 strangers to validate you with heart emojis or that obnoxious little fucker cry face emoji.

You get to watch your sanity crawl back from the abyss, middle finger raised at all of those politically bent algorithms trying to mainline outrage straight into your cortex.

Generally speaking. Social media is a dumpster fire, and you’re the raccoon poking around for scraps of validation and memes. (No shame. We all love a good meme. But raccoons get rabies)

You don’t want rabies, right?

You don’t have to quit everything. (cue dramatic Hans Zimmer score)

Because the only thing you’re not allowed by law, by blood oath, by whatever eldritch contract you signed when you landed here…

Is to quit is these emails. My emails. The ones you’re reading right now.

Because unlike the endless scroll of “who wore it better” and “your uncle Gary’s political meltdown,” this is the good stuff. The dopamine you want. Not the kind that makes you want to bleach your brain with off brand tequila.

Stay subscribed, and I’ll keep showing up in your inbox like a friendly poltergeist with stories, rants, the occasional existential crisis, and zero pineapple on pizza debates. (Unless I’m feeling spicy. Then all bets are off)

Unsubscribe? That’s banishment, friend.

Exile. You’ll be cast into the outer darkness, where there is only weeping, gnashing of teeth, and endless TikToks about air fryers.

So again your prescription for today:

Detox from the social media platforms you dont need to be on.

Take a walk. Eat some real pizza. Hug a tree. Scream into the void or whatever.

But keep these emails. This is your lifeline. Your golden ticket. Your permission slip to sanity.

Stephen Walker

Thibaut Meurisse has a slew of productivity books and his dopamine detox book is spot on.

P.S. The unsubscribe button is a trap. Don’t touch it.

If you’re not diggin’ these tasty little emails anymore you can hit the unsubscribe button right here >>> unsubscribe

Stephen Walker
Unit 146317
PO Box 7169
Poole
BH15 9EL
United Kingdom

Hey you. Yes, you.

The one reading this email instead of working or whatever…

I get asked this occasionally and so I thought I’d just give you the down and dirty way of making coins on the internet.

And like everyone now in this space we’ve all started off by googling something like “how to make money online” only to then be bombarded with penis pills and shitty adverts on shitty blogs selling crap.

I actually miss the early 2000s internet tbh.

Anyways here goes…

You don’t need a degree, a trust fund, or the charisma of a golden retriever. You need a page.

Just like the one that landed you on this email list. Yeah, that one. The sneaky little opt in that promised forbidden knowledge and delivered, well, me. The one with the words and the things and the stuff.

And so it is with step 1.

The Page is the Thing

Call it a sales page, a landing page, a digital mousetrap. The goal? Catch eyeballs. (Not literally. Please don’t go all Cronenberg on your audience)

Write like you’re having a 1 on1 with your reader. Not a speech. Not a TED Talk. More like, “Hey, I see you. You want this thing? Here’s why you need it. Here’s why you’d be a fool not to click buy.”

Don’t overthink your first offer. Ebook? Mini course? Niche templates for left handed underwater basket weavers?

It does. Not. Matter.

Just pick something. Ship it. (Perfectionism is a corpse in a clown suit. Leave it behind.)

And if you see the things that are floating around on the internet now…

There is a market for EVERYTHING.

And so it is with a simple process.

If you’re good at a specific thing you can teach others how to do it. Let’s just for interest say you do Yoga and have done so for years.

You can jump onto Amazon and search for anything and everything Yoga related. Read some reviews, especially the terrible ones and see if there something that is missing. A likely problem that’s not specific.

So you’ve found the problem and you know how to solve it because hey you’ve been there.

So you spend a few hours writing a little guide or a mini book on the topic. It doesn’t have to be hundreds of pages. Just short and sweet and to the point.

So you’ve got your thing and you’re setting up your page to sell that thing. You’re basically in business.

Now you just need to get eyeballs on it.

Where do those eyeballs come from? Anywhere where people talk about Yoga.

Pinterest. Reddit. Facebook Groups and Pages, Twitter etc.

The thing is. It really is this simple. It’s not easy because you have to do a bit of work and learn a whole bunch of new things but once you make that first sale.

That’s when the shift inside happens.

And when you’ve got them on an email list that is just about Yoga and yoga best practices, guess what?

You can talk about Yoga and sell them more stuff about it too.

This is the type of thing I do and it’s fun.

I’ve also recommended this book in the past. It goes more into concepts of direct response marketing which applies to old print styled marketing and selling, but this all applies online too.

Now go make a thing and go sell the thing.

Stephen Walker

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Stephen Walker
Unit 146317
PO Box 7169
Poole
BH15 9EL
United Kingdom

Here’s how you can build a “voice” so entertaining even your inner critic will shut up and listen…

But first let’s hit a little truth.

Not everyone’s born with the electric charm of a stand up comic.

(R.I.P George Carlin)

And you? Maybe you’re about as riveting as a beige wall at dusk.

Maybe you have the personality of cold oatmeal.

Maybe you’re convinced there’s a secret gene for “entertaining writer” and, oops, you missed the distribution line.

But there is some good news. It’s not the end of the road for you just yet…

The lies you’ve been told are all total bullshit.

Entertaining voices aren’t just something you’re born with. It takes years of being exposed to other people’s parts.

(Woah that sounds a bit pervy lol but I’m not rewriting it cause it’ll make sense in the next sentence)

Mix that in with some weird obsessions, and a dash of unhinged self awareness and you got something that is wildly Frankensteined together that even Mary Shelley would’ve been proud of.

The thing is. You can build yours, right here, right now. No sacrificial goats required (unless you’re into that, in which case, yikes, but also: we’ll need to talk)

How do we do it?

Blatant Outright Theft

Yep that’s right. No we aren’t going to prison but keep reading…

Consume: Read, watch, listen, scroll. Devour writers with voices you wish you had. Chuck Palahniuk, Samantha Irby, that one unhinged TikToker who reviews haunted dolls. It doesn’t matter. Drown in their cadence, their metaphors, their attitude.

Dissect: What makes their voice work? Is it the cussing? The pop culture deep cuts? The way they break the fourth wall and slap you with a joke? (The answer is yes, yes, and hell yes)

Remix: Grab what works. Stitch it together with your own weird quirks. Like that time you ate an entire pizza alone while doom scrolling Twitter. Mash it all up until it sounds less like “carbon copy” and more like I dunno? A casserole?

Sneaky Pro tip in Italics: The only original thing in art is your voice. Everything else is recycled. So steal. Steal with style.

Write Like Nobody’s Watching (Because Nobody Is, Yet)

…and you’re not going to have some writer-ly committee peering over your shoulder and watching you type words…

So get to it.

Break grammar rules. On purpose. Sentence fragments? Do it. Em dashes like you’re fencing with punctuation?

Hell yes. Parentheticals (like this) to whisper secrets to the reader? Don’t just allow it. Use it like a weapon.

(Tbh I used to love a good Em dash, but since A.I. has shit all over the internet while using it incorrectly, I’d maybe give that one a little bit of a swerve for now)

Talk to the reader. Second person isn’t just a POV.

When you think of second person. It’s more of a direct line. A psychic text message, straight into their brain.

“You ever feel like your writing is a cardboard cutout? Yeah, me too. Let’s set it on fire.”

Get weird. Use metaphors that make people squint and then snort.

“My prose was so dry it could sand the paint off a car. Time to lube it up with some personality.”

If you feel slightly embarrassed hitting “publish,” you’re probably on the right track.

Why? Because that shit is entertaining. I’m here to entertain myself firstly and if I’m entertained. You’re entertained.

Turn Up the Volume on You

1) Mine your flaws. Are you anxious? Chronically sarcastic? A recovering perfectionist who alphabetises their cereal?

Good. That’s fuel.

The world doesn’t need another slick, sanitised “personal brand.” It needs the real, raw, slightly unhinged you.

2) Embrace the cringe. Your inner critic is a gremlin that lives under your desk, gnawing on your confidence.

Give it something spicy to chew on. Like a story about the time you peed yourself in third grade.

(No? Just me? Moving on)

3) Make lists. (See what I did there?)

Bullet points and numbered lists are dopamine for the ADHD riddled TikTok internet brain.

Use them. Abuse them. Break up your text like it owes you money.

Bonus Round: Horror, Humour, and Heartbreak. Mix It Liberally

Nobody wants oatmeal. They want something electric, something that makes them laugh, wince, and maybe clutch their pearls. So throw in a little body horror

“My first draft was a shambling zombie, missing half a face. Beautiful in its grotesquery”

A little gallows humour, and a little raw, emotional honesty, bleeding right through your lines.

And if it gets a little messy? Good. Messy is memorable.

TL;DR:

Your voice isn’t missing. It’s just waiting for you to get weird, get real, and stop trying to be “professional.”

Break stuff. Eat the paint chips. Write something so entertaining, your inner critic will slink back into its lair, too stunned to complain.

We only live once, so we better make it memorable and entertaining.

Stephen Walker

P.S. I’m not gonna make you click any links today and do my bidding and if you’ve made it this far. I appreciate you sticking around and reading what pours out of my skull cavern.

If you’re not diggin’ these tasty little emails anymore you can hit the unsubscribe button right here >>> unsubscribe

Stephen Walker
Unit 146317
PO Box 7169
Poole
BH15 9EL
United Kingdom

You ever get that itch?

Not the “should probably see a doctor” kind.

But the one where you want something gloriously dumb, gory, and absolutely unapologetic in its pursuit of fun?

Yeah. Here comes Clown in a Cornfield.

Cause sometimes you want a clown with a grudge and a combine harvester and not some prime hollywood masterpiece.

Not everything needs to be high concept.

Not every story needs to be a tortured maze of literary ambition.

Sometimes you need… cheese.

Sticky, neon orange, slasher movie grade cheese.

I want to see Clown in a Cornfield because it promises exactly that.

Kills you can cheer for.

Characters you can root for (or at least bet on in your group chat)

A villain so ridiculous and on the nose, it circles back around to genius.

A plot that’s basically “adults are mad, teens are madder, and somewhere in between, a clown is out for blood.”

Cause if you don’t. You get stuck.

You freeze up, overthinking, overengineering, turning your brain into a lukewarm bowl of mashed potatoes.

You forget that joy is allowed. Especially in horror. Which I know is probably the weirdest thing I’ve said.

Joy in horror.

But having a bit of cheese in a creative sense isn’t the enemy.

Cheese is the glue that holds the slasher sandwich together.

It’s the reason we remember the fun stories, not just the “worthy” ones.

So, yeah, I want to see Clown in a Cornfield. Not just for the blood and the banter.

Cause sometimes the best kind of art is the kind that makes you grin, groan, and fist pump at a well timed decapitation.

Stephen Walker

The silly review is over here if you’re interested

If you’re not diggin’ these tasty little emails anymore you can hit the unsubscribe button right here >>> unsubscribe

Stephen Walker
Unit 146317
PO Box 7169
Poole
BH15 9EL
United Kingdom

Pull up a chair. Wipe off the mysterious pub goo first, unless you want to lose a hand to the sticky abyss.

Settle in, because I’m about to drop a couple truth bombs with the grace of a Final Destination premonition meaning, zero grace, and a fuckload of broken glass.

So…

Final Destination: Bloodline. (Holy shit I can’t wait to watch it)

The franchise that’s been teaching us, since time immemorial (or at least since Devon Sawa was a thing), that DEATH is a petty, vindictive bastard with a flair for the dramatic.

You think you can outmaneuver the Grim Reaper?

Please…

You can’t even dodge a pool noodle at your nephew’s birthday party.

Death has rules.

Death has a list.

Death doesn’t care about your feelings, your TikTok, or your self care Sunday.

(Death probably is the algorithm, honestly. The original shadowbanned content creator.)

You know what else has rules?

This email list.

That’s right. Once you’re on, you’re on.

Blood pact. Digital soul-binding-cult-initiation or whatever…

You unsubscribe? That’s it. You’re dead to me.

Not in the “oh, I’ll miss your warm presence” way. more in the “your inbox is now haunted by the ghost of emails past and no, Karen, you can’t come back because you regretted rage-unsubscribing at 2am.”

And so with this here list here are some things:

1. You sign up? You’re family. (The kind that might eat you if the apocalypse comes, but hey, family.)
2. You leave? You’re gone. No zombie resurrection, no phoenix-from-the-ashes bullshit.
3. (Fine, sometimes I let people back in. But only if you bribe me with artisanal gin/whiskey/cheese, a mixtape, and a signed confession that you once cried at a Fast & Furious movie.)

Why so harsh? Because rules are the only thing standing between us and total fucking chaos.

Look at Final Destination.

Every time someone tries to bend the rules, people end up as human origami in a hardware store.

You want that? I don’t want that.

Existential writing advice time (because I’m generous like that)

Death is coming. For me. For you. For that weird guy who always microwaves fish at work.

You can’t unsubscribe from mortality, either.

The universe is a vending machine filled with expired snacks and every slot is marked “SURPRISE BITCH.”

We’re all just meat puppets doing the cha cha at the edge of the void.

But I’ll let you in on a little secret:

If you’re gonna dance with DEATH. Or my email list. At least do it with style. Don’t unsubscribe. Don’t look back. Don’t try to cheat the system, because the system has teeth. And they’re hungry.

You stay, you get the goods. You leave, you get nothing.

And if you come crawling back, well…

Maybe I’ll let you in. Maybe I’ll send you a single, cryptic email: “Too late. DEATH’S already in your inbox.”

Now. Buy me a drink. I’m thirsty, and I hear the bartender’s got a mean existential crisis on tap.

Stay alive,

Stephen Walker

P.S. If you really need to cheat death, try unplugging your router and hiding under the bed. It won’t work, but hey. It’s worth a shot? Here’s the new trailer that dropped yesterday too for Final Destination: Bloodlines. It’s wild.

If you’re not diggin’ these tasty little emails anymore you can hit the unsubscribe button right here >>> unsubscribe

Stephen Walker
Unit 146317
PO Box 7169
Poole
BH15 9EL
United Kingdom

When you’re online.

Your life is usually run by some internet algorithms force fed into your eyeballs on whatever platform you use.

They’re cleverly tailored to the posts we interact with, the things we share and where exactly we’re interacting from.

Usually when I’m researching ideas or concepts I’m all over the web. From Youtube to Reddit to Pinterest, Facebook and Twitter.

It all gets a bit exhausting sometimes and yes. A lot of people are like “Just use ChatGPT bro”

And tbh the only GPT I will use is the one I’ll leave at the bottom of this email which I know you’ll read because you’re awesome and I’m awesome.

Anywho…

So I’m creating a document of ideas that are linked to what I do. Writing. Copy. Sales. All the creative stuff etc.

Those are the things I’m going to expand and create micro books on that are roughly about 15 pages long (give or take)

But then Youtube hit me with a music set recommendation that just had such a good vibe. It had sound bites from fellow South Africans. A deep house-y mix and it just lifted my mood. The last days have been a rollercoaster but this set came in clutch.

I guess the point of the email is that sometimes things come into our lives, be it algorithms sending us what we need, people or something as silly as a day where the sun is awesome and the coffee is good.

So while I’m doing all this research.

I’m listening to this magical set right here and thought you’d enjoy it…

And if you want to know my GPT recommendation.

You definitely don’t want to click on this obnoxiously long link that will take you to the best tool ever.

Stephen Walker

P.S. The sound bite around 09:00 on that set is true about us Capetonians.

If you’re not diggin’ these tasty little emails anymore you can hit the unsubscribe button right here >>> unsubscribe

Stephen Walker
Unit 146317
PO Box 7169
Poole
BH15 9EL
United Kingdom