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mplain about only earning a few thousand dollars per month. We feel bitterness creep in, and we begrudge the success of others.From an outsider’s perspective, what exactly is Medium? So what, if anything, should we do to change our Medium story? How should we view our on-platform writing space?<h2 id="94fe">The Breakdown</h2>Medium is a place where readers can peruse thousands of articles a day on almost any subject. It’s a place where writers can grow their skills and their followings. Generated member read time earns us money — anywhere from $.001 to thousands we didn’t have before hitting the “publish” button. Other writing platforms try to compete with Medium but have nowhere near the pull or interface ease or the actual editors and publishers (with real-world experience! Sometimes decades’ worth!).We pay the equivalent of the monthly basic fee of Hulu for the gift of getting published. Many of us submit a plethora of stories off-platform and receive a plethora of rejections. Some rejections come laced with encouraging notes; some come via a form letter. But to break through the publication world outside of Medium is a notoriously difficult endeavor. And, for each$ 500 article or short story published, a writer has twenty more locked up in a laptop’s rejections folder.Perhaps we’re here to build our writing platform and grow our writing skills. Maybe we hope to eke out a living stripped of us in other fields or dream of building enough virality to quit our day jobs. Maybe writing is our hobby, and we’re here in hopes of even a few eyes of encouragement.If we crack through to the “upper echelons” of Medium writers and begin to gain sizable earnings — part of this is luck, and a smaller portion comes from quality and distinctive voice. But even then, if our earnings dropped by 97%, Medium would owe us neither an explanation nor lost wages.We didn’t have to apply to become writers here. We choose how often we write for Medium, how we write, and what subjects to address. Relational engagement and at least a sliver of self-promotion are needed to boost our quality pieces. But, regardless, within two weeks of submitting to the larger, heel-dragging publications, and often within twenty-four hours with smaller publications, our stories are published. We can point to those pieces and say, “Someone other than my Mom or my creepy Creative Lit professor thought my writing was good enough to publish!”The above example is genuinely the only win we are entitled to, and in all honesty, some of us are not great writers, but we’re still gifted an audience. If we submitted to an off-platform publication, we might wait three months for a form email just stating, “Thanks for sharing this. Unfortunately, we’re going to have to pass.” But inevitably, our newbie Medium excitement wears off as we become more seasoned.Perhaps we see months where our pieces soar — and t

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hey’re often not the heart-wrenching, soul-digging essays or stories we’ve written, but more likely are the stories we spent half an hour on and didn’t even bother revising. Maybe we start to make actual, livable wages — we forget we came to the platform without that benefit or with little to no previous professional writing experience. And so when the money wanes, we write a masturbatory piece about how Medium is failing because we’re only earning 10k per month.Or, we may put in the exerted effort and never see the results we’d hoped for — should we write a million stories on Why Medium is Garbage as a result? Nope. The only audience we’d have with some of our Medium stories would be our pets and loved ones in pre-internet days. And let’s face it — our dogs would grow easily bored with our essays on relationships and begin licking their butts.We need to remember that while the scales may feel unfairly balanced, we get to publish even if our pieces are terrible, rancid garbage. And we’ll probably still pick up a few fans along the way.We may also see our stories fade into the Medium netherworld even though we’re the next J.D. Salinger, Dave Eggers, John Krakauer, J.K. Rowling, etc. Confidence and frustration are both valid reactions to our experiences, but not everyone needs to read our reactions, and we are not entitled…to anything.Is there any edification to be gleaned from this rant o’ spewdom?I’m not just ranting because it feels good — although, damn, it feels good to be a ranter. But, I’m writing this as a reminder to myself and others — we don’t get to kick and scream and whine because a multi-million dollar writing platform makes rules or hosts contests we don’t like. Even if we get to a point where we earn an income here or draw significant numbers of followers and readers — so what? It could all go away tomorrow with or without our consent.We didn’t apply to write here — we didn’t even have to show proof of writing experience. If we find ourselves whining or bragging here more than pursuing the endeavor for which we came to Medium, perhaps it’s time for some soul-penetrating self-reflection. If Medium doesn’t serve the needs we’ve placed for ourselves; maybe we should move on.Or, if we hit a roadblock to our goals, we can correct our strategies and writings accordingly. We can spend less time writing on Medium or posting in a group about writing on Medium. Or stop writing articles about writing in groups about writing on Medium.Medium still brings me joy, and the kick-ass writers and humans I’ve met here are worth all else for me. But the comparisons and negative “Medium never does anything right” inundations suck my joy and make it feel overwhelming. Let’s continually remember why we’ve stayed, joined, or continue on the journey here. And let’s not forget that Medium doesn’t owe us anything they haven’t already given.</article></body>

Shocking News: This Platform Doesn’t Owe Us Anything

Spoiler alert: This is a rant

I’ll be the first to admit — I have felt bitter from time to time here. After countless published pieces, inconsistent months of “livable” money earned, and significant time spent on the platform, a sense of entitlement creeps in.

I’m inclined to work my ass off in whatever endeavor I get involved in and, I fantasize about a world where Medium is my sole source of income. Unwittingly, I start to think the time I put into writing, editing, and polishing a story should mean a financial reward.

When Medium sent its “baseline pay invitations,” and people in writers’ groups posted about them matter-of-factly, it stung. I work hard to publish quality pieces — sometimes I fail miserably, as I’m a human — and I’ve gained a decent following. I’ve received some perks throughout my time here. And, I earn adequate money.

So, I searched in vain for an invite, and it never came. I felt excluded. Feelings of suckage and self-doubt enveloped me.

I had to re-plug into and reflect on why I’m here in the first place. In doing so, my focus shifted. I had an anvil of realization slam into my head. Medium. Does. Not. Owe. Us. Anything. An unpopular opinion, but unrelentingly true as well. I’ll restate for effect: Medium doesn’t owe us anything.

It’s a blessing to have a space where we can voice dissenting opinions on inner-platform workings and just about every other imaginable subject. It’s a gift to find like-minded writers who encourage and support us on our varied paths. For those of us who toil away at our keyboards day in and day out, it’s nice to have a reprieve from a lonely vortex of our own thoughts and words.

But — and I include myself here to a certain extent — too many of us begin to see real money and then feel as if we are owed financial gain. Cockiness wraps its insidious claws around our perspective. We start to think if readers have arbitrarily spent time on our Medium posts, then indeed, we are in the upper echelon of writers everywhere. We forget we are big fish in a pretty damned small pond.

We begin to depend on said money. We write off-putting tweets or Facebook posts about how we’re absolutely the best writers on Medium — forgetting that this came as an unexpected, exhilarating surprise for us. Or, we watch our best pieces fall to obscurity while we see writers recycle content and then complain about only earning a few thousand dollars per month. We feel bitterness creep in, and we begrudge the success of others.

From an outsider’s perspective, what exactly is Medium? So what, if anything, should we do to change our Medium story? How should we view our on-platform writing space?

The Breakdown

Medium is a place where readers can peruse thousands of articles a day on almost any subject. It’s a place where writers can grow their skills and their followings. Generated member read time earns us money — anywhere from $.001 to thousands we didn’t have before hitting the “publish” button. Other writing platforms try to compete with Medium but have nowhere near the pull or interface ease or the actual editors and publishers (with real-world experience! Sometimes decades’ worth!).

We pay the equivalent of the monthly basic fee of Hulu for the gift of getting published. Many of us submit a plethora of stories off-platform and receive a plethora of rejections. Some rejections come laced with encouraging notes; some come via a form letter. But to break through the publication world outside of Medium is a notoriously difficult endeavor. And, for each $500 article or short story published, a writer has twenty more locked up in a laptop’s rejections folder.

Perhaps we’re here to build our writing platform and grow our writing skills. Maybe we hope to eke out a living stripped of us in other fields or dream of building enough virality to quit our day jobs. Maybe writing is our hobby, and we’re here in hopes of even a few eyes of encouragement.

If we crack through to the “upper echelons” of Medium writers and begin to gain sizable earnings — part of this is luck, and a smaller portion comes from quality and distinctive voice. But even then, if our earnings dropped by 97%, Medium would owe us neither an explanation nor lost wages.

We didn’t have to apply to become writers here. We choose how often we write for Medium, how we write, and what subjects to address. Relational engagement and at least a sliver of self-promotion are needed to boost our quality pieces. But, regardless, within two weeks of submitting to the larger, heel-dragging publications, and often within twenty-four hours with smaller publications, our stories are published. We can point to those pieces and say, “Someone other than my Mom or my creepy Creative Lit professor thought my writing was good enough to publish!”

The above example is genuinely the only win we are entitled to, and in all honesty, some of us are not great writers, but we’re still gifted an audience. If we submitted to an off-platform publication, we might wait three months for a form email just stating, “Thanks for sharing this. Unfortunately, we’re going to have to pass.” But inevitably, our newbie Medium excitement wears off as we become more seasoned.

Perhaps we see months where our pieces soar — and they’re often not the heart-wrenching, soul-digging essays or stories we’ve written, but more likely are the stories we spent half an hour on and didn’t even bother revising. Maybe we start to make actual, livable wages — we forget we came to the platform without that benefit or with little to no previous professional writing experience. And so when the money wanes, we write a masturbatory piece about how Medium is failing because we’re only earning 10k per month.

Or, we may put in the exerted effort and never see the results we’d hoped for — should we write a million stories on Why Medium is Garbage as a result? Nope. The only audience we’d have with some of our Medium stories would be our pets and loved ones in pre-internet days. And let’s face it — our dogs would grow easily bored with our essays on relationships and begin licking their butts.

We need to remember that while the scales may feel unfairly balanced, we get to publish even if our pieces are terrible, rancid garbage. And we’ll probably still pick up a few fans along the way.

We may also see our stories fade into the Medium netherworld even though we’re the next J.D. Salinger, Dave Eggers, John Krakauer, J.K. Rowling, etc. Confidence and frustration are both valid reactions to our experiences, but not everyone needs to read our reactions, and we are not entitled…to anything.

Is there any edification to be gleaned from this rant o’ spewdom?

I’m not just ranting because it feels good — although, damn, it feels good to be a ranter. But, I’m writing this as a reminder to myself and others — we don’t get to kick and scream and whine because a multi-million dollar writing platform makes rules or hosts contests we don’t like. Even if we get to a point where we earn an income here or draw significant numbers of followers and readers — so what? It could all go away tomorrow with or without our consent.

We didn’t apply to write here — we didn’t even have to show proof of writing experience. If we find ourselves whining or bragging here more than pursuing the endeavor for which we came to Medium, perhaps it’s time for some soul-penetrating self-reflection. If Medium doesn’t serve the needs we’ve placed for ourselves; maybe we should move on.

Or, if we hit a roadblock to our goals, we can correct our strategies and writings accordingly. We can spend less time writing on Medium or posting in a group about writing on Medium. Or stop writing articles about writing in groups about writing on Medium.

Medium still brings me joy, and the kick-ass writers and humans I’ve met here are worth all else for me. But the comparisons and negative “Medium never does anything right” inundations suck my joy and make it feel overwhelming. Let’s continually remember why we’ve stayed, joined, or continue on the journey here. And let’s not forget that Medium doesn’t owe us anything they haven’t already given.