Send the Second Message: Why Chasing People Is Part of the Work

I used to think the creative work ended when the email was sent. The proposal, the pitch, the lovely long message with the idea in it — that was the art. Everything after that was admin. Worse, it was needy admin. The sort of thing that makes you feel like a small dog jumping at a gate.

A while back, I had a conversation with someone I really wanted to work with. It was one of those meetings where the tea goes cold because you are too busy saying yes to everything. We left it with a plan to speak again in the new year. I was delighted. I was also, it turns out, waiting for them to make the first move.

They did not. Or rather, they did — eventually — but by then I had spent three weeks composing drafts and deleting them. By the time I sent the message, they had filled the slot with someone else. Not because they did not like my idea. Because they assumed I had gone off it. The silence on my side looked, from their side, like a polite no.

That was a useful, if slightly humiliating, lesson. The follow-up is not the opposite of creative work. It is the bit that keeps the work alive long enough to happen.

The silence is not a verdict

When someone does not reply, I used to read it as a judgement. They are not interested. They have seen my website and quietly closed the tab. They are busy being successful without me. In reality, most silence is just inbox weather. People are knackered. They read your message on the bus, mean to reply, then their kid needs a costume for World Book Day and it is gone.

I am not saying you should chase forever. I am saying that one unanswered email is not a decision. It is an unfinished sentence.

What I got wrong about being a nuisance

I thought following up made me look desperate. What actually makes me look unreliable is going quiet after expressing enthusiasm. The people I have collaborated with since have all said some version of the same thing: they would rather have a clear nudge than a mysterious silence.

The trick — for me, anyway — is to make the follow-up about the work, not about my ego. It is not why have you not replied. It is here is the thing I am still excited about, and here is the easiest way to say yes or no.

Three scripts I actually use

I keep these in a note on my phone. They are not magic. They just stop me from writing a three-paragraph apology before I have said anything useful.

1. The warm thread-keeper — after a good meeting:

Hi [Name], lovely to meet you on Thursday. I am still thinking about [specific detail]. I would love to keep the conversation going — would [day/time] work for a quick call, or is there someone else I should be speaking to? No rush.

2. The gentle bump — after no reply for a week or so:

Hi [Name], just floating this back to the top of your inbox. I know things get buried. If now is not the right time, that is completely fine — just let me know and I will stop nudging. If it is, I am free [two options].

3. The clean close — when you need an answer:

Hi [Name], I am going to assume the timing is not right and close the loop on my end. If that changes, the door is open. Thanks for [specific thing].

None of these have ever made someone cross with me. A few have gone unanswered, which is its own answer. Most have produced a reply within a day.

The admin is the practice

I now treat thread-keeping as part of the job, the same way I treat printing flyers or charging my laptop. I block twenty minutes on Friday mornings. I look at every conversation where I am waiting for someone and ask: is this still alive? If yes, I send the next message. If no, I close it properly.

That is it. Not a growth hack. Not a masterclass in persuasion. Just the small, unglamorous act of not disappearing.

The follow-up email is a creative act because it shapes the relationship that makes the work possible. It says: I am still here, I still care, and I am not going to make you guess. In a small creative life, that is not neediness. That is craft.