S&P Global Market Intelligence ran a survey last month, “Voice of the Enterprise: AI & Machine Learning, Use Cases 2025.” They spoke to 1,006 businesses in Europe and North America. [Telecom Reseller]
AI in the enterprise is failing faster than last year — even as more companies try it out. 60% of companies that S&P spoke to say they “invest” in AI by getting into generative AI. Which usually means subscriptions to LLMs.
But so far in 2025, 46% of the surveyed companies have thrown out their AI proofs-of-concept and 42% have abandoned most of their AI initiatives — complete failure. The abandonment rate in 2024 was 17%.
The companies that pulled the plug did so over data security, privacy, and costs.
Even so, a full 40% of the companies said that generative AI was “fully integrated across the organisation.” I would love to see a deeper dive into that number.
This is a story of upper management being wowed by impressive demos and the vendors promising them it all works in production. But it doesn’t. And they find out the hard way.
This is not good news for the big techs — the one thing they wanted from AI was enterprise subscription sales.
Amanda Luther, managing director and partner at Boston Consulting Group — who will be delighted to sell you a really impressive demo — told the CIO Dive event “Generative AI: Where are we now?” that “celebrating failures matters.” We’re delighted to help them celebrate then! [CIO Dive]
"AI in the enterprise is failing faster than last year [...] in 2025, 46% of the surveyed companies have thrown out their AI proofs-of-concept and 42% have abandoned most of their AI initiatives — complete failure. The abandonment rate in 2024 was 17%."
Substack continues to double down on video amid TikTok’s uncertain future in the U.S. The company announced on Monday that it’s rolling out a scrollable video feed in its app, making it the latest platform to introduce a TikTok-like feed.
Given the timing of the launch, Substack is likely aiming to capitalize on the potential void left by TikTok if it faces a ban in the United States.
The move comes a month after Substack announced that it would start allowing creators to monetize their videos on the platform and let them publish video posts directly from the Substack app.
Substack used to be about writing. Publishing. The kind of longform work that thrived because it dared to slow down. The pitch invited readers to sit with a thought, not swipe past it. But that Substack is vanishing in the eternal pivot to video - tiny, meaningless loops, endlessly scrolled and instantly forgotten.
Their new feature - a vertical scroll of bite-sized clips - isn't innovation. Please, for the love of all that's holy, don't call it that.
It’s Featurecide: the slow killing of a product’s soul in pursuit of every trend that moves the needle on engagement metrics, no matter how disconnected it is from the original mission.
Chasing TikTok users doesn’t build a better platform for writers. It builds a different platform entirely. The value proposition collapses when your infrastructure for thought becomes optimized for the attention economy. You can’t serve two masters. You either build a tool for writers or you build an app for dopamine hits. Once you choose the latter, you’ve already traded your audience.
We've heard it before: new formats, more discoverability, growth.
But what gets discovered when a platform devalues depth?
What grows when creators are nudged to repackage their ideas into 30-second loops?
It's the same noise. Over, and over again.
Sure, some writers use video. And some use podcasts. Multimedia isn’t the enemy. But when the interface tells users, constantly, that faster is better and shorter is smarter, you can’t pretend it's a neutral container for expression. Design is direction. And Substack is pointing away from writing.
Substack's success - for all my dislike of the platform - came from being different. From treating writers as more than just content creators, as something closer to public intellectuals, artists, craftspeople. But you can only hold that line if you're willing to say no to the algorithm. And it looks like they aren’t.
Substack was supposed to be a refuge from the noise. Now it wants to be the noise.
When you start designing for virality instead of value, the value bleeds out. Not overnight. Not right away. But inevitably...
🍕
My goal this year is to make Westenberg and my news site, The Index, my full-time job. The pendulum has swung pretty far back against progressive writers, particularly trans creators, but I'm not going anywhere.
I'm trying to write as much as I can to balance out a world on fire. Your subscription directly supports permissionless publishing and helps create a sustainable model for writing and journalism that answers to readers, not advertisers or gatekeepers.
"The value proposition collapses when your infrastructure for thought becomes optimized for the attention economy. You can’t serve two masters. You either build a tool for writers or you build an app for dopamine hits. Once you choose the latter, you’ve already traded your audience."
For paying subscribers only, today’s post also comes with a bonus first-look at a brand new DT! comic not scheduled to be shared publicly for a little while. You also get to claim your own DT! avatar. Why not upgrade and join us?
This is Give Trans People Drugs and Money. Just finished it. It’s made of wax and razor blades and feelings. It’s 46x30. It’s born of the idea that we are here to help those who need us, without question, without imposing our morals or ideology on them, and without adding additional hurdles.
This week’s question comes to us from anonymous:
I’ve got a really good idea for a book, but how do I find a publisher?
TL;DR: Mirrors are $10 at your local hardware store.
There are five books out there with my name on them (and you better believe I’m linking to them at the end of this newsletter). The first two were originally done with a publisher, and I ended up buying the rights back years later. The third was about to be done with a publisher, but they changed their minds. I wasted some time trying to find another publisher, and ended up publishing it myself. It sold better than the first two. And the last two, I just did myself.
But let’s start at the beginning.
Back in 2010 I pitched my first book to a publisher. I was pretty happy, and a little bit shocked, when they said yes. Looking back, there were two big reasons why. First, hurray, a book. I knew I wanted to write a book, I was fairly sure I could string words together into sentences, then sentences in paragraphs, and paragraphs into chapters, but I had no idea of how to turn all that into a book, with a proper cover, and an ISBN number, and things like an index. I knew how to make zines, but a book felt… proper. So it was exciting to have someone show up who knew how to do those things.
Secondly, the validation of having an actual publisher of books, an arbiter of quality, want to publish my book felt incredible. At that point, I was still fairly green around the gills, very uncomfortable thinking of myself as a writer, and very self-conscious about whether I even deserved to take up precious time on a press. So having someone with a publishing pedigree show up and grant me these things, like Oz the Great Wizard granting the scarecrow a diploma, was incredibly validating. But like Oz the Great Wizard granting the scarecrow a diploma, it was also bullshit.
I was submitting to authority for protection. In my mind, a publisher would take care of me. They’d help me make my book better. They’d help me find my audience. They’d make sure the book got in front of people who’d buy it. They’d do all of the things that authors generally don’t like doing, and allow me to focus on what I wanted to do, which was writing. Getting that gold star from an authority figure feels really good. This goes beyond authors and publishers, of course. We get jobs at big organizations because it feels there’s a sense of protection within a large organization. (It’s false.) We elect authoritarian leaders because we want someone to protect us from what scares us. (They don’t, and we shouldn’t be.) We go to church because it’s satisfying to think there’s a big dad in the sky looking out for us. (If there is, motherfucker is asleep.)
But the reality was that a publisher doesn’t really help you do any of those things. An editor helps you make your book better, a proofreader helps you make it legible, an indexer (should you need one) helps your readers find things in your book, a designer helps you make it legible, and a printer will help you make it an actual book. All a publisher does is gather all of those workers under one roof so they can exploit them.
Are all publishers assholes? As with everything, there are exceptions. If you’re a publisher, and it makes you feel better to believe that you’re the exception, I implore you to behave in a way that makes it true.
As far as finding your audience goes—this part will hurt—connecting with your audience is on you, regardless. The first question from every publisher I’ve talked to has been about my follower count, which was a sign that I’d be doing the marketing. I honestly believe this is how it should be, though. No one knows your audience like you. But if you think entering into a relationship with a publisher will relieve you of that burden, you are wrong. You will still have to hunt for your own food, but with a publisher in tow, they’ll be demanding 75–80% of that meal. Publishers don’t want to hunt, but they demand to be fed, and they eat first.
You don’t need a publisher to tell you your book is worthwhile. You never did. You already told me you had a really good idea for a book. I’m guessing I’m not the first person you’ve told this to. I’m also guessing the first person you told, verified what you already knew—that this was a good idea. As did the second, third, and fourth person. A publisher will only needlessly add to the pile of information you already have, and do you the favor of taking most of your money for the privilege. If you want more verification that your book is worth writing, go to a bookstore. See who else has written a book. Bill Clinton wrote seven. Henry Kissinger has written over a dozen. Bono has written a book. Kara Swisher has written two. Child, Steven Seagal has written a novel. Go to your boss’ desk and see what book is sitting on it. I guarantee it’s shit. (Unless it’s mine.) Worthwhile doesn’t come into play. Write your book.
Every Drag Race fan is familiar with RuPaul’s sign-off phrase, “If you can’t love yourself, how’re you gonna love anyone else?” A minor variation on that phrase might be “If you can’t love yourself, you’re gonna spend your life looking for somebody to tell you your book is good enough.” So let me save you some time—your book is good enough. Humility is expensive. Love yourself. Go make it.
I want everyone to write a book. But I want everyone to write the book they’ve always actually wanted to write, not the one they thought they had to write, or would help their career. That’s just another form of appealing to authority for protection and validation. If you’re writing a book to prove how smart you are, you’re gonna have a miserable time of it. Write a book that makes people feel smart for reading it. Write a book that makes people feel joy and pain. Write a book that tells the stories that need to be told, lest they be forgotten.
The silver lining on the current everything dilemma is that we can all stop writing books about KPIs, managing teams, leveling up, and biohacking your bloodboy. As writers of books, can now freely admit that we never wanted to write books about KPIs, managing teams, leveling up, and biohacking your bloodboy. As readers of books, we can now freely admit that we never wanted to read books about KPIs, managing teams, leveling up, and biohacking your bloodboy. We are free to write trash. (You have always been free to write trash.) You are free to read trash. (You have always been free to read trash. I don’t want to read about affinity marketing, I want to read about raccoons taking over the federal government. I want to read about how Laika, the Soviet space dog, didn’t really die in space but instead landed on the far side of the moon, met a moon dog, started a family, only to have it all fall apart because moon dogs are non-monogamous and Laika couldn’t handle it. I want to read about the guy who owned a bouncy castle rental business who set arson to all his rivals to improve his Google rankings. I want to read about how T-girls hacked their way into a police station and turned it into a dance club that also made really good grilled cheeses. I want to read books about robots opening noodle shops. I want to read about the day that all of the billionaires mysteriously disappeared and we tried to figure out why for maybe five minutes before moving on.
Books about science, real science, are still ok. Please keep writing and reading those.
All that said, let’s get practical about how you can make a book. And since my brain and your brain work differently, I’m going to tell you how I do, and you can take what works for you, discard what doesn’t, and fill in your own joyous blanks.
First off, get yourself an editor. A good editor is someone who helps you shape your book, takes it apart, puts it back together and isn’t afraid to be honest with you. A good editor is on the same page (ha ha, pun) about your goal as you are. They need to be willing to have tough conversations with you. Your BFF cannot be your editor, even if your BFF is an editor. The good, and also bad, news is that in the year of our skylord 2025, you won’t have to work too hard to find an editor who needs work. Search on Linkedin (I know, buddy) for “freelance editor” or just get on Bluesky and ask “Who wants to edit a book for money?” Lord, you will get replies. Yes, you are paying this person, you are paying all these people. You will know you’ve found the right editor not when you feel like you could be friends, but when you’ve found someone you’re a little bit afraid of letting down.
Additional good news, editors tend to hang out with the rest of the other book nerds you’ll need, such as a proofreader, an indexer (if it’s that type of book), and a designer. (Full disclosure, as a designer, I’ve never had to hire a designer to do this, which is great because designers are… difficult. This also means that I’m prone to rewriting things as I lay them out, which is an insane way to work, and I don’t recommend it.) You may also need an illustrator. These should not be the same person. Again, you’ll be able to find them on Linkedin or Bluesky. Or, here’s an idea… go to a bookstore and find a book you think is well laid-out. Two or three pages in you’ll see a list of people who worked on it. Look them up. Odds are they are all unemployed now, or at least underemployed and happy for the work. Hit ‘em up.
Obviously, this means you’ll need a little bit of money up front to pay for these people. Which can feel daunting, and might have you running back to a publisher. But the world is full of authors, and musicians, and other folks who signed deals in desperation just to get their book, or their record made, and now gets quarterly checks for 6¢. Publishers count on this desperation.
For the making of the actual book, I use IngramSpark. They’ll make your book and distribute it as well if you want. Which means it shows on all the online bookshops and your local bookshops can also order it to put on their shelves. The IngramSpark UI is a hellscape. (If you grew up using Debabelizer you’ll feel right at home.) But good news, the book designer you hired is/should be familiar with it and you can pay them to do all that. But in a nutshell, you will be uploading two PDFs: the guts and a cover. A few days later they will send you a digital proof, and a few days after you approve that you’ll be holding an actual book in your hands. If your book is roughly the size of my books, you’ll have spent about $7 for that book you’re holding.
I’m obviously glossing over some of the details here, like the fact that you will fuck up the Ingram thing about five times before you get it right, but you will eventually get it right. It may take asking for help, which is a great and brave thing to do, and you should never feel bad or weird about it.
I’ll end with this: the majority of trade publishers make their books the exact same way I just described. Using the same tools. (If the last page of the book contains a QR code it came from IngramSpark.) The quality available to them is the same quality available to you. This is why I don’t think the phrase “self-publishing” is applicable anymore. It’s just publishing. And the only difference between you making your own book and a publisher making your book is that you’ve seized the means of production.
You get to eat what you hunt.
And never, ever, ever, feel self-conscious about promoting your work.
🖐️ Got a question? Ask it! I might just answer it.
🔎 I’ve got a Presenting w/Confidence workshop coming up and it’s scheduled so that folks in Australia, New Zealand, Japan, and Singapore can join in the morning. And if you’re on the West Coast it’s in the afternoon. So let’s hang out.
"If you’re writing a book to prove how smart you are, you’re gonna have a miserable time of it. Write a book that makes people feel smart for reading it. Write a book that makes people feel joy and pain. Write a book that tells the stories that need to be told, lest they be forgotten."
"If you're trying to dunk on the practice by linking to articles or examples that showcase the work, inadvertently flooding people's timelines with examples of this ghoulish, stolen work, stop.
Nobody wants to see that shit. Nobody needs to see it."
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