The Chisel and the River: Two Ways to Build an Audience
We talk endlessly about building an audience, but we rarely stop to ask: what kind of structure are we hoping to build? The metaphor itself implies a kind of architecture, a deliberate act of assembly. But in practice, I see two distinct, almost oppositional, approaches emerging. One is the work of the stonemason; the other, the patience of the river.
The first approach is that of The Chisel. This is the writer who identifies a specific niche, a particular shape in the marble of public discourse, and carves into it with relentless focus. Every piece of content is a deliberate strike, aimed at a predefined audience. The headlines are sharp, the keywords are precise, and the value proposition is immediately clear. This is a strategy of clarity and intention. It’s building a monolith, one carefully measured chip at a time. The audience that gathers is a congregation of the like-minded, those who specifically sought out the exact shape you are creating.
The second approach is that of The River. This writer is less concerned with carving a specific form and more interested in following a consistent current of curiosity. They write widely, following tributaries of interest that may seem to meander. The value isn't in a single, targeted strike, but in the persistent flow of a unique perspective applied to diverse subjects. The audience here doesn't congregate around a single topic; they are drawn to the water itself—the writer’s voice, their particular way of seeing. They come for the mind behind the words, not just the words themselves.
Neither approach is inherently superior, but they demand different things from a writer. The Chisel requires immense discipline and the sometimes-frustrating work of repetition within boundaries. The risk is that the monolith can feel static, or that the niche might eventually erode. The River demands a different kind of faith: a trust that your voice is the throughline, and that an audience will find coherence in your eclectic path. The risk is appearing unfocused, or failing to be discovered by any one algorithm designed to categorize The Chisel’s work.
Most of us, I suspect, feel a pull toward both. We want the focused authority of the monolith but the creative freedom of the current. The tension lies in finding a balance that doesn’t lead to a muddled middle—a river trying to be a statue. Perhaps the answer isn't to choose one, but to understand which force is dominant in your nature. Are you fundamentally a carver, finding joy in perfecting a defined craft? Or are you a wanderer, trusting that your path, however meandering, will attract those who appreciate the view from your particular banks? The structure of your audience will inevitably reflect the answer.
Notes & further reading
A few pages I came back to while writing this: