The Ordinary Quest that Led to Building a Podcast Network

[2026] Neurodivergent Narratives - Writing Prompt #25: The one where I explain where the whole podcast network idea started and maybe a little about where we are going by answering our weekly prompt.

It was August 2024 and I was getting about 20,000 monthly downloads of my podcast — far too successful to quit (we were in the top 1% of all podcasts!); but it was not successful enough to become my full-time job.

If you’ve never been there, it is difficult to explain the peculiar frustration of that middle ground. Every month, thousands of people choose to spend time with your work. You know the show matters. You know people care, but the math still refuses to cooperate.

I needed direction, so I attended Podcast Movement in Washington, DC, but nearly every conversation about podcast monetization seemed to end the same way.

Build a course.

Start coaching.

Create a consulting business.

I remember going home and crying because I thought there was no future in podcasting for people who simply wanted to make podcasts.

I didn’t want to be a coach, or run a mastermind, or start consulting on how to make a podcast.

I just wanted to make great audio.

So, I looked for alternative advice and the next best thing to selling coaching or consulting, was selling ads. But to do that, you needed more listens and to get more listens, everyone was recommending cross-promoting with shows who have a similar audience.

Okay, I thought, I can do that. So, I formed a fellowship.

Not an actual fellowship. There were no swords. Nobody received a cloak.

But there were twelve podcasters.

Armed with everything I learned from Podcast the Newsletter, Earbuds, Air Media, and every podcast marketing resource I could get my hands on, I was certain we had discovered the answer.

Feed Drops!

The experts all agreed. Podcasters discover podcasts from other podcasters. If we recommended one another’s shows, audiences would grow. Everybody would win.

The logic was flawless.

Which should have been my first warning.

I asked members of the fellowship to promote each other’s shows.

I imagined a great exchange of listeners flowing between shows. Thousands of people discovering new creators. A rising tide lifting all boats.

What actually happened was this:

Of the twelve members, I was one of only two of us who ran promos for any of the other shows.

Nothing else happened.

The grand alliance of podcasters had assembled.

Then immediately wandered off to answer email, record episodes, manage social media, work their day jobs, raise children, walk dogs, pay bills, and generally survive being human.

The problem was not that anyone was selfish.

The problem was that everyone was busy.

Independent podcasters operate like tiny kingdoms of one. Every creator is simultaneously the host, producer, editor, marketer, social media manager, advertiser, accountant, and customer service department.

Cross-promotion sounds easy until it becomes one more thing on an already impossible list.

So the collective stalled.

And I found myself standing among the ruins of a perfectly reasonable plan.

Fortunately, the one other creator who had actually a promo was already working with me on the Autistic Culture Podcast as a producer.

The two of us started talking about why it was so hard to get people to cross-promoted other shows. I promoted his and he promoted mine. What made our relationship different?

What if the problem wasn’t the people?

What if the problem was the structure?

The more I thought about it, the more obvious it became.

A collective asks people to cooperate.

A co-op gives them a reason to.

Those are not the same thing.

So we went back to the drawing board.

Instead of asking creators to promote one another as a favor, we built a system where everybody benefited when the network grew.

Instead of a loose collective, we built an artist co-op.

Creators retained ownership of their intellectual property. Nobody sold their show. Nobody gave away their rights.

Instead, they licensed their podcasts to the network for two years.

That allowed us to sell network-wide advertising, pursue sponsorships, coordinate launches, create shared marketing campaigns, and invest in audience growth.

For the first time, everyone’s incentives pointed in the same direction.

Growth for one show became growth for all shows.

Suddenly, the impossible tasks became possible because we had centralised the function.

All the promos and feed drops were under one management team. Now we could cross promote to our heart’s content.

A network trailer.

Launch campaigns.

Cross-promotion.

Shared advertising.

Shared production support.

Shared marketing.

Things that felt overwhelming for one creator became manageable.

Today, I feel hopeful.

Turns out, it was about building a structure where independent creators could succeed together instead of struggling alone.

And that may be the lesson I learned from the whole adventure.

People often assume community is built from shared values.

Shared values matter.

But shared incentives matter too.

An artist co-op doesn’t replace community.

It gives community a way to survive.

Our podcasting adventure is still far from being profitable, but now know it’s possible, and that is an ordinary task that feels like a heroic quest! We have an asset that we know will have tremendous value for sponsors. The next step is to go get some.

If you are a business owner and would like to reach over 100,000 neurodivergent people a month, we’d love to talk to you!

In our first Neurodivergent Narratives writing prompt for June, editor Genya invites us to use writing to go deeper into reflection. The writing prompt is below. Paid members will see it. If you don’t see it, either you are not a paid member, or you are logged in to the wrong account. If you are not a member, you will need to subscribe to have full access and to see the prompt below. If you would like a free subscription for June, just reply to this email, and we will get you a free trial month.