A lot of writers assume sponsorships aren't for them.

They picture a TikToker doing an unboxing or a fitness influencer with a protein powder promo code. They don't picture someone who writes on Substack, or who ghostwrites for clients, or who publishes essays on the internet. So they never try.

That assumption is costing them a lot of money.

Writing Is a Superpower Brands Will Pay For

Here's what I tell writers who think this isn't relevant to them: your skill is exactly what brands are desperate for. Most companies are terrible at content. They have a blog that reads like a press release. They email their customer list twice a year with a feature announcement nobody asked for. They have a LinkedIn presence that gets seventeen likes from their own employees.

You know how to write things people actually want to read. That's worth money — and you don't need a huge platform to offer it.

So when you're early in your journey with a small audience, don't pitch brands on "mentioning them" in your newsletter. Go look at their content footprint. Do they have a blog? Is it good? Are they emailing their customer list anything valuable? Are they posting anything worth reading on LinkedIn or Threads?

If the answer is no — that's your pitch. Tell them you love the brand, but you think they could be telling their story in a more compelling way. Offer to ghostwrite their blog. Start a newsletter for their customer list. Create content for their LinkedIn. Then say: here's my Substack — that's my portfolio.

You're not asking them to bet on your reach. You're solving a problem they definitely have.

The Four-Part Pitch That Actually Gets Opened

When it's time to reach out, most writers make the same mistake: they lead with themselves. Their stats, their audience size, their impressive open rates. Brands read that and delete it, because they don't care. They care about one thing — what's in it for them?

Here's the framework I use, which I call the ROPE method:

R — Relevant. The very first sentence of your outreach has to be about something happening in their universe. A product launch, a new market they've entered, something they posted about on LinkedIn. Don't introduce yourself. Don't say how long you've been writing. Start with them.

O — Organic. Tie your pitch to something you've already published that shows your audience has affinity for their category. If that piece doesn't exist yet, write it before you send the pitch. It'll serve your readers anyway — but now you're also being strategic about when and how you use it.

P — Proof. Show you've helped other brands get results. A case study, a testimonial, some concrete outcome from a previous collaboration.

E — Easy to execute. Don't say "I'd love to figure out a way to work together." Say: I can write three sponsored pieces, I'll have the first to you within seven days, I'll grant you repurposing rights for six months, happy to hop on a call Thursday at 10am.

That's the whole pitch. No audience demographics. No follower counts. Something tangible they can react to, an easy yes or no, and a clear next step.

Burn the Rate Card

If you have a page on your website where brands can book a sponsored slot with a preset price, delete it. Seriously. That page is costing you money.

Here's why: you have no idea what a brand would have been willing to pay until you have the conversation. And if you price yourself in a vacuum based on what seems reasonable, you might be leaving three or five times that amount on the table.

Before you quote any number, ask one question: "What would success look like for you if this partnership went really well?"

Every brand will say something different. And what they say completely changes how you price.

Brands have three possible goals when they work with creators. I call it the ARC framework:

Awareness — they want to spread the word about something. A new market, a new feature, a new product. Their success metrics are impressions, views, engagement. Squishy things that are hard to hold you accountable to. This means your negotiating leverage is high.

Repurposing — they want to take what you create and use it elsewhere. On their blog, in their newsletter, as paid ads. Here's the powerful thing: if repurposing is their goal, your audience size becomes largely irrelevant. They're not paying for your reach. They're paying for your writing. You could charge five times what a standard newsletter insertion would cost because the value is the creative asset, not the distribution.

Conversion — they want sales, signups, downloads. They're doing math in their head before they ever contact you: average readers × estimated click-through rate × conversion rate × customer lifetime value = maximum they'll pay you. And they want to pay less than that. This is the hardest negotiation because they're beholden to a spreadsheet.

Knowing which goal they have before you quote a number means you're not leaving money on the table — and you're not pricing yourself out of a deal that would have been easy to close if you'd understood what they actually cared about.

The Budget Question That Actually Works

At some point in any negotiation, they'll say: "Okay, just give us a ballpark."

Don't panic. Don't blurt out a number. Instead, say this:

"I'd love to put together a custom proposal for you — I typically come back with three to four packages. Do you have a sense of where I should set those tiers from a budget feasibility perspective?"

Then stop talking.

About 75% of the time, they'll give you a range. Not because they're generous, but because it's in their interest — they're likely negotiating with multiple people at once and trying to figure out how their budget fits together. A range gives them flexibility, and it gives you the information you need to come back with something useful.

The other 25% still won't tell you. That's fine. Package one — your lowest option — should be what I call your "hell yeah" number. The amount where, if they choose it, you're genuinely excited to do the work. Not resentful. Not dragging your feet. Excited. That's your floor.

And always offer multiple tiers. The difference between giving someone one price and giving them three options is the difference between "do I say yes to this?" and "which one do I choose?" The second question is much better for you.

Start by Learning About Your Audience

The most counterintuitive piece of advice I give writers who want to land their first sponsorship: before you think about which brands to pitch, survey your audience.

Most people sit alone trying to figure out which brands would be "a good fit" for their content. That's the wrong starting point. Send your readers five to seven questions about their lives — what they do for work, whether they have kids, what's keeping them up at night, what products and tools they're using and loving right now. Then look at what comes back.

You might find out that 30% of your Substack readers are homeschooling parents. You might discover that a significant chunk are dealing with a challenge you've never written about. And suddenly there's a brand you'd never have thought to pitch who is a perfect fit for your audience.

And here's the thing about that pitch: instead of "I think my audience might like your product," you're saying "I surveyed my readers and 35% are dealing with exactly the problem your product solves." That's a completely different conversation. One is a guess. The other is evidence.

Writers have been underselling themselves for years because they assumed sponsorships were for influencers with ring lights. They're not. If you have an audience — even a small one — and you know how to write things people want to read, you have something brands genuinely need.

The full playbook is in Sponsor Magnet — the ROPE framework, the ARC framework, the post-campaign report process, all of it. And if you want coaching support while you work through actual deals, Wizard's Guild is where we do that work together.

What would change about your writing business if sponsorships were a reliable part of your revenue?