Medium Has Me Hostage

Help! I need my day back.

Okay, I’ll get off the pity pot. Just give me five, can you? Okay then, three minutes is all I need. What’s that you’re saying? You don’t have time for me? You’re too busy reading Medium articles and commenting to make new friends to ratchet up your own claps?

See, that’s my point. I used to have a typically frantic day. Client deadlines, my personal deadlines. Time out for chatting on line with friends. A little online Bingo and midday naps (you’ll see when you’re my age). But whatever, I got my shit done. I was a boss when it came to meeting my deadlines. My grandmother never died, you know what I mean? (A freelancer joke.)

And then a friend said I should try Medium.

The old line, the first one is free, just to give you a taste. So now five weeks later and I’m hooked.

I spend my day checking stats, hunting for writers I haven’t met yet, reading articles of friends who read mine, keeping up with my comments, leaving new comments, commenting on my previous comments. And don’t even talk to me about the FaceBook groups.

What about my writing? OMFG. Articles. You should see my desk. Well, my kitchen table because I’m like, a freelancer. Notes, post-its, journals, backs of envelopes, fronts of envelopes. All of them covered with ideas for articles. I won’t live long enough to write all of them. But I’d have a head start if I’d get the ones in my head down on paper. Well, the virtual paper, a “New Blank Document” in my Word.docx.

I started out on Medium full of sass.

An article a day for money? I can do this in my sleep. The nap I take after lunch. So the first three pieces were a walk in the park. I dashed them off like grocery lists, and all three got curated.

Oh, snap! I got this. All of a sudden I had dollar bills dancing in my head.

Until the first week’s earnings came out. Hmmm. Thirteen bucks wasn’t going to buy baby a new pair of orthopedic oxfords.

I better get busy and learn me some Medium.

And that’s when it started. I began scouring the site for every snippet on fans vs. followers; reads vs. views. How to get curated. How to get claps. Were claps worth as much as a comment? Who the hell were the editors, and how do you bribe them for a little curating action?

I was locked onto Medium from the time I opened my eyes until I fell asleep with my phone on my chest waiting to see if my last piece got curated before the cutoff for this week’s earnings report.

My clients started sending me texts asking for their edits.

I was behind on preparing invoices so I’d get paid before my rent was due. I’d missed the deadline for publishing my latest book on Amazon. All in search of the almighty clap.

It has to stop. I want my life back. I don’t have much of it left. Medium isn’t my only addiction. I have a closet full of yarn and a gazillion patterns I’ve promised myself I’ll knit before I die. A banker’s box or two of recipes I’ve promised my descendants I’d put into a scrapbook.

And my closets and drawers? If I don’t get to my purge as I’ve been promising myself, I’ll never have room for all the new smocks and roomy pants I’m going to buy with my winnings er, earnings on Medium.

So please, somebody catch me before I fall into the Medium black hole.

I need my day back. I have people to see. Places to go. Other websites to explore. Help me get a grip on myself and kick this addiction. But wait. Not yet. I just saw this listicle on 10 ways to greater productivity. First, let me read that. I’ll follow and comment so maybe the author will follow me baaaaaaaaaaaaaa