Make Good Trouble. Make Good Friends. Make Things Better.

Anyone can be a publisher now. You don’t need permission. You don’t need a journalism degree, an editor’s approval, or a media company’s or benefactor’s investment. You don’t even need to be particularly good at it. You just need something you want to say, the desire to share it, and enough conviction to hit “PUBLISH”.

I love that. I love that someone who has spent thirty years doing something can share what they’ve learned, and someone who started yesterday can question everything that vet or unk believes. I love that we can build publications around ideas and interests that trad media never addressed. And I particularly love that we can find people who care about the same things we do, however obscure, unfashionable, or doggone weird those things may be.

But I have been thinking a lot lately about what happens after we hit PUBLISH. A few conversations and reflections have brought some uncomfortable questions into focus, particularly about how we treat one another. And of course… we can do better.

Before anyone gets that hot and bothered feeling, I am not proposing that we professionalize Substack. Quite the opposite. We don’t want gatekeepers deciding who gets to speak or what constitutes acceptable expression. We have the freedom to publish. Let’s make good use of it.

Personally speaking, I want more amateurism. In the original sense of the word though: doing something for the love of it. We can always use another dose of even more curiosity, enthusiasm, experimentation, obsession, generosity, and joyful disregard for convention, right? Pleae give us all more people making something because they can’t imagine not making it.

Pour on a shot of that ol’ punk rock attitude too. More DIY, more irreverence, more challenges to authority. Effin’ yeah! More people making trouble for the right reasons and questioning those who claim to know how everything is supposed to work.

But most of all, I want us to remember that publishing is also a human activity, involving actual human beings whose lives can be affected by what we say and do. This IS the real community organizing, friends. Take a breath and consider what that means.

We are in this together, and we have to look out for one another, even when we disagree. We should treat each other like friends, like family, like people whose success and happiness matter to us. Because they do. They reallyreallyreally do. I can never say this enough. People who know this, seem truly able to forget it, regularly.

And maybe we should aim a little higher than simply avoiding harm. What if we approached publishing with the intention of making things better for the people around us? Helping someone find an audience, discover an opportunity, improve their work, or feel a little less alone in an industry that can be highly isolating. We have the means to do all of that right here. We just need to make it part of how we all operate. There are those who have made it their mission to do this who also seem all to able to forget it. How do we prevent that from happening?

I keep returning to something a New York cab driver told me many years ago, when I was having a particularly lousy day: “Don’t let their bad actions change your good ways, friend.” I’ve tried to carry that advice ever since. I admit: sometimes I fail spectacularly. But I don’t want someone else’s negativity determining how I treat the next person who comes along.

I’ve written before about Givers, Takers, TruthTellers, Fakers, and Negs. Me, I am a Pozzie. Or at least I work at being one. Independent publishing gives us a chance to build something around that choice, rewarding generosity with more generosity and making the positive contributions of our community more visible.

A Few Recommended Practices

If you have ever worked with me, you know I like to call such things “Recommended Practices” rather than “Best Practices,” because I don’t believe we’ve figured everything out yet. Isn’t it a bit arrogant to say they are “best”? These are suggestions, not commandments. Some are basic responsibilities; others are aspirations for the kind of community I’d like FilmStack, and Substack more broadly, to become.

Consider this Version 1.0. I hope you challenge it. Improve it. Tell me what’s missing. I hope other publishers will adopt what works for them, discard what doesn’t, and develop practices of their own.

And as I’ve said, I need reminding of some of these myself. I’ve made enough mistakes to know that having principles and consistently living by them are two very different things. But it really does help to have principles to fall back on. Unfortunately, I don’t think many of us yet have tried to capture such principles and practices for ourselves or else why would people who should have known better, gone and done something like they did or do?

Community has to be practiced, not merely celebrated. I believe that more strongly the longer I work in cinema. It’s easy to praise collaboration, generosity, and mutual support. The harder part comes when we disagree, when someone makes a mistake, or when fairness requires us to challenge a friend.

That’s what these recommendations are about. Not creating rules for everyone else, but figuring out how to put the values we claim to share into practice—including when it’s uncomfortable. I have seven guiding principles and 27 recommended practices to share and get us started. Yeah, you know me… I like lists too.

I. Do It For Love

1. Protect the amateur spirit.

You don’t need credentials to have something worthwhile to contribute. Expertise can come from experience, obsession, curiosity, or simply paying close attention. Perspective most certainly can. Some of the most interesting voices are people who have never considered themselves writers. Let’s encourage them. The more varied our backgrounds and perspectives, the richer our conversations become.

2. Publish before you’re an expert.

Share what you’re learning. Ask questions you can’t answer. Admit what you don’t know. A post can be a hypothesis, an observation, an experiment, or the beginning of an inquiry. Just make sure readers understand the difference between what you know, what you suspect, and what you’re trying to figure out.

3. Don’t optimize the life out of your publication.

Subscriber counts, open rates, conversion percentages, and engagement metrics have their uses. I look at them too—and probably too much. But the moment we start making every editorial decision based on what will generate the most attention, we’ve surrendered something precious. Sometimes the most worthwhile post is the one that reaches the fewest people but matters enormously to those who read it.

4. Make room for the weird.

Experiment with form, voice, length, structure, and subject. Be funny, angry, personal, eccentric, contradictory, or gloriously obsessive. We don’t need every publication to sound like a newspaper, a business school case study, or a corporate communications department. We need more distinctive voices, including ones that make us uncomfortable.

II. Keep It Conversational

5. Treat publishing as the beginning of a conversation.

The PUBLISH button doesn’t have to be the final word. Invite readers to challenge your conclusions, add their experience, introduce evidence, and take the discussion somewhere you hadn’t anticipated. Sometimes the most interesting part of a post happens afterward.

6. Be willing to change your mind in public.

If someone makes a better argument, acknowledge it. If new information changes your understanding, say so. There is no shame in learning something. The insistence on always being right has made much of our public discourse unbearably tedious, not to mention dishonest.

7. Make the conversation better than you found it.

Disagreement is valuable. Disagreement that adds evidence, context, experience, or a constructive alternative is even better. We don’t have to agree, and we certainly don’t have to be polite about every idea. But we should approach conversations with the intention of contributing something worthwhile. A new perspective. A useful resource. A little encouragement. Maybe even a laugh.

And when we criticize something, let’s try to identify what could be better. Criticism that helps someone improve is a gift. Criticism designed merely to diminish someone is something else entirely. We should aspire to leave people and conversations better than we found them. Okay?

8. Respond to people.

I’ve learned that one of the simplest ways to show respect is also one of the easiest to neglect: responding when someone raises a legitimate concern about something we’ve published. You don’t have to agree with them. You don’t have to take down the post. You don’t even have to change a word. But you owe them the basic courtesy of letting them know you’ve heard them and will consider what they’ve said.

For substantive editorial complaints, I’d suggest acknowledging receipt within 48 hours when reasonably possible. Resolution may take longer. That’s fine. Explain what you’re doing and when the person can expect to hear back.

Don’t make someone chase you for a week simply to discover whether you’re listening.

III. Question Authority, Including Your Own

9. Don’t wait for permission.

Start the publication. Ask the difficult question. Challenge the prevailing wisdom. Investigate the accepted practice. The freedom to publish independently is one of the great opportunities of this moment. Use it.

10. Challenge the people you agree with, too.

Every community develops orthodoxies. FilmStack is no exception. We have shared frustrations, assumptions, loyalties, and preferred explanations for what’s wrong with our industry. Some are undoubtedly correct. Others deserve examination. Don’t let belonging become a reason to stop questioning. Questioning our own assumptions is one of the ways we make the community stronger.

11. Don’t confuse civility with politeness.

Some arguments deserve anger. Some institutions deserve ridicule. Some practices deserve to be called out in language that makes people uncomfortable. We should preserve the freedom to be fierce, profane, provocative, and irreverent. But let’s make sure we’re challenging ideas and conduct, rather than ever trying to hurt people.

The question is whether we’re making a legitimate argument or merely trying to humiliate someone. People who exercise public power deserve especially fierce scrutiny, and ridicule has a proud place in political and cultural criticism. But cruelty shouldn’t be our objective, even when the target has earned our anger.

12. Don’t mistake criticism for censorship.

If someone challenges your facts, questions your fairness, or objects to how you’ve characterized them, that doesn’t automatically mean they’re trying to silence you. They may be exercising the same freedom of expression you claim for yourself. Consider the substance of the complaint before assigning motives to the person making it. Broadening our perspective is a positive thing. Helping us understand what the data reveals (or doesn’t reveal) is a noble effort.

And the reverse is equally important: people with money, influence, or institutional power should not be able to suppress legitimate criticism merely by claiming reputational harm, provided that criticism is grounded in research and fact-checking.

IV. Be Human

13. Treat people like friends and family, even when you disagree.

Someone may have spent years building the reputation you’re questioning, developing the practice you’re criticizing, or earning the living your words could affect. Me, I’ve been writing the same article for over thirty years now! That doesn’t place any of us beyond scrutiny, though. But it should encourage us to be accurate, fair, and considerate. We can challenge someone’s work without forgetting their humanity.

Think about how you would approach a friend or family member whose actions or opinions concerned you. You might disagree passionately. You might tell them they’re making a terrible mistake. You might even get angry. But hopefully you’d also listen, try to understand, and want them to come out of the exchange better off. We should bring more of that spirit to our publishing community, including when the people involved are strangers. You know how it is when you collaborate with someone who truly knows how to lead with love? You like how that feels, right? You can always bring that game to this field.

14. Listen before defending yourself.

Our first instinct when criticized is often to explain why we’re right. Resist it long enough to understand the concern. Perhaps you’ve missed something. Perhaps you’ve made a mistake. Perhaps the person has misunderstood your argument. You’ll be better equipped to respond once you know which it is.

15. Remember that accountability applies to us, too.

Being challenged can be uncomfortable, especially when you’ve published something you believe is important. But not every complaint is an attack. Not every request for a correction is an attempt to suppress debate. We should be capable of distinguishing genuine pressure from legitimate accountability, even when the criticism comes from someone we don’t particularly like.

16. Practice generosity without requiring agreement.

Assume good faith where reasonable. Give people opportunities to clarify their meaning. Allow for honest mistakes and misunderstandings. Apologize when warranted, and accept sincere apologies without demanding public humiliation. We should be trying to make it easier for people to participate, learn, and improve, rather than creating an environment where every error becomes a permanent indictment.

Me, I like to pick up the phone. Or rather, even better, set a time to talk on the phone. Or meet virtually so we can look each other in the eye. But that’s me. Perhaps you should try it sometime…

And let’s make encouragement a habit, too. Tell someone when their work moved you, taught you something, or helped you see an issue differently. Celebrate their achievements. Offer support when they’re struggling. A kind word, a recommendation, or a thoughtful introduction can make an enormous difference, particularly in a community where so many people are working independently and without much institutional support. Maybe even introduce them to someone!

V. Be Fair, Even When You’re Fierce

17. Check your facts. Especially when criticizing someone.

If you’re making claims about another person’s conduct, business practices, professional relationships, or reputation, verify them. Go to original sources. Understand the evidence. Distinguish established facts from allegations and interpretations. If you’re relying on research, understand what it actually measures. A provocative argument becomes stronger when its factual foundation can withstand scrutiny.

18. Give people a meaningful opportunity to respond.

When making substantial criticism or allegations about an identifiable person or organization, contact them before publication whenever reasonably possible. Explain the material claims, provide a fair opportunity to address them, and give a clear deadline. Two business days might be a useful default for nonurgent matters, with more time for complex allegations.

A right to respond is not a right to approve the article. Nor is it a requirement to delay legitimate reporting indefinitely. But fairness generally requires making the effort. If someone responds after publication, consider whether their contribution warrants an update.

19. Represent opposing arguments honestly.

Don’t cherry-pick quotations, omit essential context, exaggerate someone’s position, or attribute beliefs they haven’t expressed. And be especially careful about guilt by association. A person’s past collaborators, employers, or acquaintances do not automatically establish their present beliefs or conduct.

You can dismantle an argument without misrepresenting it. In fact, you’ll generally make a stronger case if you don’t.

20. Disclose relevant interests and relationships.

If you have a financial, professional, or personal connection to the subject you’re covering, tell readers. If you’re advocating for a practice from which you benefit, acknowledge it. If you’re criticizing a competitor, disclose the relationship. Transparency doesn’t invalidate your argument. It gives readers information they deserve.

And let’s not forget that this applies to paid recommendations, sponsorships, affiliate arrangements, and other commercial relationships, too.

21. Don’t manufacture controversy for attention.

Outrage can generate clicks, subscribers, and visibility. That doesn’t mean we should pursue it. Don’t exaggerate allegations in headlines, speculate about someone’s motives without evidence, or turn a legitimate disagreement into a personal feud simply because conflict attracts attention. The same principle applies to Notes, restacks, and promotional excerpts.

And let’s not forget to report the good news. The people doing extraordinary work, the collaborations that succeed, the new opportunities being created, and the practices worth emulating deserve our attention, too. We help shape what our community values by choosing what we celebrate.

VI. Show Up For One Another

22. Defend people when they’re treated unfairly.

A community is more than a collection of individual audiences. Sometimes we need to speak up when someone else is being misrepresented or attacked unfairly. Disclose your relationship, bring what you know, and make the case. Solidarity should not require blind loyalty, and fairness should not depend on whether the person is your friend.

23. Share knowledge, credit others, and help new voices find their audience.

One of the best things about independent publishing is that we can build an ecosystem rather than compete for a limited number of institutional opportunities. Link to original reporting. Recommend other writers. Share resources. Encourage newcomers. Make room for perspectives that haven’t traditionally had access to the microphone.

FilmStack will become more valuable when we help one another grow, not merely when our individual publications grow.

We should also reject the notion that another writer’s success somehow diminishes our own. There’s room for many more voices, more publications, and more perspectives. When someone else succeeds, that’s an opportunity to celebrate, learn, and perhaps collaborate. We should be trying to make the whole community more vibrant, not merely secure a larger portion of its attention for ourselves.

And perhaps we should make a point of recognizing the people who consistently give more than they take. The ones who make introductions, share resources, offer thoughtful criticism, celebrate other people’s achievements, and help without immediately asking what they’ll receive in return. We know who some of these people are. Let’s make sure everyone else knows, too. The behavior we celebrate is the behavior we encourage.

24. Don’t let personal suffering obscure collective responsibility.

There’s something troubling about how readily our culture translates collective problems into individual wounds. People are exploited, underpaid, excluded, and denied opportunities, and somehow the conversation ends up being about their trauma, their resilience, their healing. All of which may matter enormously to the individual. But what about the conditions that caused the suffering in the first place? Who benefits from those conditions? And what would it take to change them?

I worry that the emphasis on individual trauma and personal healing can distract us from the economic and institutional structures responsible for much of that suffering. Poverty becomes a personal struggle. Exploitation becomes a story of resilience. Structural inequality becomes an occasion for expressing empathy. The people experiencing these injustices may receive recognition, even sympathy, while the systems responsible remain intact. And those who benefit from the status quo have little reason to object.

Empathy is easy to perform. Solidarity demands that we actually change something.

That’s where I hope FilmStack can distinguish itself. When someone describes an injustice, let’s listen to their experience, but let’s also ask what the rest of us can do about it. Can we organize, share resources, challenge an institution, change a business practice, or build something better? Can we improve working conditions, expand access to opportunity, or help people gain greater control over their creative lives and livelihoods? Personal healing and collective action needn’t compete. But I’d like us to make sure that compassion leads toward solidarity, and that solidarity produces material change.

VII. Own Your Shit

25. Take responsibility for what you publish, including guest contributions.

A guest post is still something you chose to publish. A Takeover is still appearing under your publication’s banner. An anonymous contribution is still an editorial decision you’ve made. You don’t have to agree with every opinion expressed, but you are responsible for the fairness of the process and for taking reasonable steps to verify material factual claims.

Anonymity can be essential, particularly when someone faces genuine risks for speaking publicly. But it should have a defensible purpose, and the editor should know who the contributor is whenever possible. Anonymous authorship should never become a convenient way to avoid accountability. I know who all the anonymous authors are on HFF FWIW.

26. Correct mistakes openly, promptly, and without unnecessary drama.

If you’ve published something inaccurate, correct it. Right away. Or take it down if it can do harm. If you’ve materially misrepresented someone, acknowledge it. If you’ve removed an article, explain the editorial decision as clearly as you reasonably can. Significant changes shouldn’t simply disappear into a silently revised post. Yeah, and you should always acknowledge revisions too.

And remember that an explanation of your intentions is not necessarily an acknowledgment of what went wrong. You can stand by the larger argument while admitting that part of its presentation was unfair. You can apologize without surrendering your independence. You can make a correction without abandoning your convictions.

Nobody expects independent publishers to be perfect. But readers should be able to expect us to take responsibility when we aren’t. And we can act quickly. We don’t have to wait days.

27. Declare conflicts of interest.

If you are publishing something to promote something that you are somehow related to, declare it. Act like a publisher. If you are the director’s producer, let that be known. If you invested in that movie, say it. No shame in speaking up for what and whom you believe in, but let us know what your relationship is please.

Before You Hit Publish

Here’s a short checklist worth keeping nearby, particularly when a post criticizes identifiable people or organizations.

• Have I checked the material facts and original sources?

• Have I distinguished what I know from what I believe or suspect?

• Have I represented the people and arguments I’m criticizing fairly?

• Have I offered an appropriate opportunity to respond?

• Have I tried to talk to the person in question?

• Have I disclosed relevant relationships or interests?

• Am I criticizing conduct and ideas rather than speculating about motives?

• Have I considered whether naming someone or repeating an allegation is necessary?

• Does my headline accurately represent what follows?

• Am I prepared to acknowledge and correct mistakes?

• Would I apply the same standards if the person involved were someone I liked—or disliked?

Not every post needs all eleven checks. A personal reflection, a movie recommendation, or an open question doesn’t require the same process as an investigation or an allegation of misconduct. Common sense should prevail. The more consequential the claims, the greater the responsibility to get them right.

The Kind Of Community We Could Build

I don’t want FilmStack to become a professional association with membership requirements, approved opinions, or an ever-expanding rulebook. I don’t want everyone writing in the same voice or agreeing about what cinema should be. I certainly don’t want us to become so worried about making mistakes that we stop taking risks.

Think of underground music scenes. Anyone can start a band. Nobody needs permission. People borrow ideas, experiment, collaborate, argue, support one another, and sometimes make a glorious noise. Some become exceptionally good. Others remain enthusiastic amateurs. The scene benefits from both. Maybe FilmStack needs a few more guitars.

I’ve learned that the best creative communities depend on a few habits that don’t always come naturally. Giving credit. Listening when challenged. Admitting mistakes. Helping people whose work we admire. And finding ways to forgive one another when we inevitably screw up.

What we are all doing here does not require a corporate handbook or a journalism degree. It requires curiosity, consideration, and enough humility to recognize that none of us has all the answers.

I have wondered for years whether we can build a creative practice, use that practice to build a community, develop a working model from that community, and eventually create a sustainable ecosystem. FilmStack gives us a chance to try. Every recommendation, every introduction, every useful disagreement, every act of generosity becomes part of that effort. We are establishing habits, and those habits will help determine what kind of community we become.

We can build a community that rewards outrage, suspicion, competition, and the endless pursuit of attention. Or we can build one that celebrates integrity, curiosity, generosity, collaboration, and the joy of making something worthwhile. A place where we challenge powerful institutions without becoming tyrants ourselves, defend people without protecting them from legitimate criticism, and take greater creative risks rather than greater liberties with other people’s reputations.

Most of all, I want us to remember why we came here. We love cinema. We love discovering it, making it, arguing about it, sharing it, and helping other people experience it. That love should be evident in how we publish and how we treat one another.

These 25 recommendations are a starting point. I expect some of you will disagree with them, and I hope you’ll tell me why. Perhaps we’ve overlooked important responsibilities. Perhaps some suggestions are too restrictive. Perhaps there are better ways to preserve the wildness of independent publishing while making our community more trustworthy and generous.

What would you add, change, or throw out? And which of these practices are you willing to put into action?

Let’s build something worth belonging to. And let’s keep it a little punk rock. Grab the mic and yell with passion.

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