You May As Well Write Any Old Shit

Tell your story… I’m putting words to screen and writing a jumble of crap that no one will read. Does it even matter anymore writing a well-researched thought piece when the views are hitting rock bottom?

I’m Ted Cruz in an airport shouting if anyone knows who I am? The definitive answer to that is ‘no’.

So why not liberate yourself and write any old crap down?

What are your random thoughts for the day? Can you type while you think randomly? Is that logical? Are my thoughts so linear that in effect I’m dictating what I’m writing? The words are controlling the hands that are controlling the keyboard. I’m not two or three thoughts away from typing, just the one long stream of piss.

Imagine if I could actually type? Would my thought stream be more abstract? Would it contain any gems? A lair suited for dragons tight-fisted from the economic meltdown of medieval times.

Follow my shit prose and it will lead to nowhere. I’m making stuff up and daring the reader to grasp their own message in my turning tide of apathy. Again, it doesn’t matter as I can reveal my read ratio is well below an admirable threshold of 40%.

I drank the Koolaid. I swam in the ocean of words. I swallowed a bucketload of prose and now I’ve reached my zenith. A literal piece about fuck all aimed at a single reader…the indomitable David P.

Can you believe I actually started writing a serious self-help piece yesterday to stem the rot? Ten questions you need to ask before you quit your job. What the fuck have I become? Chasing the dollars that aren’t important? No…I’m chasing my ever-dwindling views. I can feel the Torah’s smirk.

And how did that story go? Not too well. It started with serious questions and ended with sexual innuendo more grubby than a Trump changing room. Here’s an example:

“How would my perfect day be different?

Before you up sticks or report your hands-on manager, consider what perfection would look like. In an ideal world, would Barry seduce you by the photocopier? Could Cheryl really be wearing no knickers in an attempt to lure you back to the office?

Have a clear picture of your ideal tomorrow and repeat that exercise over the next couple of weeks.

You’ll be surprised as to how horny this makes you feel.”

It didn’t make me laugh. I stopped reading my own shit and I am my biggest fan.

Where to now is the big question. How do you arrest a slide? Is this a moment that’ll pass? It feels like Medium is no longer ranking high on a Google search.

And maybe I’m right. Down 10 million views in a couple of months with an incredibly high bounce rate. People are spending less than two minutes on the site.

And what do they find when they get here? Certainly not my brilliance. Popularity eludes me. So why bother?

That’s the crux isn’t it? Why bother? What are you writing for? If the audience has left are you even still writing? If no one is reading are you a writer? What’s your why? Why haven’t you quit?

Quit Medium.

That’s the pain point. That’s what causes dissatisfaction.

Or ride out Medium’s slump.

The world really can be a black and white place sometimes.

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