I Realized Something Surprising While Writing My 1,000th Medium Story

Reflections on a dubious milestone

As I was pulling a draft from my stories page this morning, I just happened to look at the number of articles I have published here, and because my brain only retains song lyrics and quotes from movies, my first thought was a paraphrased version of a Bill Nighy quote from the questionable Christmas classic, Love Actually:

As dire chance and fateful cockup would have it, here I am, late 50s, and without knowing it I’ve gone and spent the past two years and eight months of my life writing 999 articles on Medium.

That’s right, dear readers; this is my 1,000th story on this platform. I’m as surprised as you are.

When I saw that flashing number (it wasn’t flashing in reality, but in my mind it definitely was), I very briefly considered walking away from Medium right then and there. Like Barry Sanders retiring from the NFL in the prime of his career or The Smiths breaking up after just five years, the idea of slamming on the breaks just short of what is truly a massive number seemed appealing in a what-might-have-been sort of way.

Then I remembered that even as poorly as this place pays these days, it’s one of the main ways I’ve chosen to afford the essentials of life: coffee, cigarettes, books, Bailey’s Irish Cream, and cat food (with things like rent and health insurance falling far down the list). I also remembered what I wrote in story #999 about the voices in my head needing to get onto the page lest they drive me deeper into madness than I already am. Thus, I was faced with a conundrum: what could I possibly write about that would be worthy of such a milestone?

Another ode to Bruce Springsteen seemed a likely choice (82 of those 999 articles are about him, after all). Or perhaps something about the saints or bookselling (did you know that St. John of God is the official patron saint of booksellers?). Or even a rant about one of the myriad things that irritated me just this week.

With apologies to both Bruce and the saints, none of those felt right. As much as I would love to mention that “Born to Run” is the Greatest Song Ever for the 1,000th time in story #1,000, I just can’t think of a way to subtly slip it in. Besides, I’ve written about all of those things recently enough.

As I pondered and smoked, smoke and pondered, what kept coming to my mind was actually not any of the stories I’ve written, but the people I’ve gotten to know over the past nearly three years because of them. The articles from when I started here have faded into the dark chasm that is anything on the internet more than 72 hours old, but those friends remain.

It’s odd in a way. I interact more with a handful of folks whom I have never met in person, who live in places like Spain, England, Canada and even more exotic locales like Michigan and Colorado than I do with relatives who live five miles away. Unlike my relatives, most of them are not certifiably deranged (batshit crazy is a better term).

They’re not just an insanely talented group of writers who improve both my writing and my life every time I read them, either. They are daily proof that there is still hope left for this seemingly hopeless world, even if some don’t like The Smiths and one in particular believes that country music is worse than putting beans in chili or being a Tottenham Hotspur fan. Maybe the best way I can sum it up is that when they say they will pray for you, they mean it…even the ones who don’t believe in God.

I never expected to publish 1,000 stories here; I was certain I would either be dead, famous, or both long before that happened. As has been the case so often in my 57 years, I was wrong. This time, however, I’m glad I was wrong. For 32 months and counting, I have been able to spread the gospel of Bruce and books (and even the actual Gospel as well). I’ve read amazing stories by amazing writers who I can truly call my friends. And I have been able to confirm one thing with certainty: the whole starving artist thing surely looks better in hindsight than in the actual moment of starvation.

I wasn’t going to tag-bomb the writer friends I am referring to above, as I know I will inadvertently leave someone out. After some consideration (and probably too much Bailey’s for a weekday morning) I’m going to risk it because you need to know them, too. It also gives me the opportunity to say “thank you” to the people who have made the days here a fascinating pilgrimage in a world where nearly everyone is simply sleepwalking. Thank you Simon Dillon, Eric Pierce, Arpad Nagy, Sarah Paris, Buddy Gott, Alex Markham, Mark Holburn, Terry Barr, Inge E. Knudsen, Patrick Metzger, Rui Alves, David Rudder, Kevin Alexander, Amy Sea, and so many more. You may wonder sometimes if what you write makes any difference; I can tell you that it has made a difference to me.

Will I make it to 2,000 stories here? I hope not (surely I will have been made governor of Texas by acclamation before then), but never say never; there are still things about Springsteen I have yet to write.

Tramps like us…

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