Summary

Joe Guay, an actor and voiceover artist, overcame fear, pride, and frugality to embrace his identity as a writer on Medium, where he now contributes personal essays and reflections.

Abstract

Joe Guay, despite being recognized for his writing skills in personal communications, initially resisted the idea of writing professionally, feeling intimidated by renowned authors and unsure about the feasibility of earning a living from his writing. His discovery of personal essayists like David Sedaris and Samantha Irby helped him realize that his writing had a place in the literary world. After 18 months of hesitation, he overcame his reservations about Medium's subscription model and joined the platform, finding it to be a valuable investment in his personal growth and a community where he could share his insights and experiences. Embracing writing as both a passion and a profession, Joe now sees it as a fulfilling endeavor that allows him to connect with others and share his authentic self.

Opinions

The author initially doubted his writing abilities, comparing himself unfavorably to famous novelists and questioning the validity of non-traditional writing forms as a career path.
Despite receiving compliments for his writing, Joe did not consider himself a "real" writer until he found a genre that resonated with his personal style and experiences.
The idea of making readers pay to access his work on Medium initially conflicted with his values, but he eventually recognized the platform's potential for growth and connection.
Joe's writing is driven by a desire to overcome perfectionism, share genuine reflections, and possibly provide comfort or laughter to his readers.
The author believes that writing should feel like play, and that it's never too late to pursue a fulfilling passion that aligns with one's identity.
Joe's partner, Ed, acknowledges the importance of Joe's writing, reinforcing Joe's belief that writing is a fundamental part of his identity and purpose.

WRITING | GROWTH | INSPIRATION

I Resisted Medium for 18 Months

Fear, pride, and being a cheap-ass

Imagine you’re gainfully employed. You aren’t paid to write — writing isn’t specifically in your job description — but for years the same comment emerges, unprompted — “You’re such a great writer.”

A compliment, sure, but you don’t ever take it to heart, because to you it wasn’t really writing.

They weren’t referring to a short story, novel or magazine article. Instead, they were responding to a personal, well-worded text you sent during a difficult moment in their lives, a handwritten card or encouraging letter, an e-mail of compliments, reflection or deep insight.

Maybe it was a frank and very vulnerable Facebook post where you shared an unexpected mental health struggle with details and clarity.

And again, it comes up.

“You really had me the whole way through; you’re such a great writer.”

But you pooh-pooh it.

It’s not really writing, you say. You’re no John Grisham or James Patterson. You can’t channel Toni Morrison or Harper Lee.

You’re a prolific reader who loves time with books the way most peers crave looking at their phones. You’re in awe of the achingly beautiful sentences novelists create.

John Irving. Ann Tyler. Tom Robbins. Elizabeth Strout. Philip Roth.

These fiction authors, though brilliant, make you want to hurl the book against the wall in despair and cry, “Who am I kidding? I’m no writer.”

And even if you do move people with your personal writing, there’s no way to get paid for it, so it doesn’t feel… well, you know, real.

This was my story. I was an actor and voiceover artist who knew I could kinda-sorta write, but the brilliance of “true” authors made me question, where was my place, really?

Then I discovered that special breed: the personal essay writers.

Those with the inane stories or perspectives that make you laugh — the David Sedarises and Erma Bombecks of the world. Or alternatively, Roxane Gay, Augusten Burroughs and others, who perhaps over-share the terrible, now laugh-out-loud-yet-still-disturbing events in their how-can-this-all-happen-to-one-person? existences.

And my new favorite, Ms. Samantha Irby — the living definition of TMI.

Ding, ding ding!! This is the genre where my musings, my writing, belongs.

To live life, ponder and reflect, and share it. To finally claim being a writer, with the goal to fight perfectionism at every turn and to fail, tinker, grow and improve, even blossom. (Do guys blossom??)

Two friends suggested I check out Medium

I’d never even heard of it.

But hopping on the site, I couldn’t quite get it.

Wait, people have to pay to read what I’ve written? Who would do that? I don’t want to force my friends and supporters to pay to read my stuff.

Talk about limiting beliefs.

Oh, really, Joe? You’re going to write just for your friends, the people who will pat you on the back and say you’re good no matter what, encouraging your “little hobby” from afar?

My even more illogical thought: but how will I perfectly time the submission of that one earth-shattering-zeitgeist-changing essay?? What if I don’t have enough followers when it drops?

Eighteen months of no action.

Seriously?

I was intrigued for sure and wanted to study up on these amazing writers, but again and again, INDIGNATION! — I have to pay to see the rest of this article?!? Is it worth $5 a month? Aren’t subscriptions and streaming services killing us softly already?

Two weeks in, it’s the best (and cheapest) investment in myself I’ve ever made.

On Medium I’m interacting with amazing talent, soaking in their writing styles, honing in on topics I care about. And since I love reading, score! — a treasure-trove of stunning authors and much-needed topics.

Overcoming some major life hurdles in the recent past has led to a new-found sense of authenticity that I must share with the world, to add reflection, insight, perhaps laughs.

I have finally become a writer who must write. Yet this feels like play.

Can you relate? What made YOU finally state proudly, “I’m a writer”?

Your voice. Your perspective. It may just change someone’s thinking, change your thinking, or help someone get through yet another rough day, month or year.

Other people reading your stuff is just icing on the cake. This can be 100 percent an experience of gleefully spilling into what you should be doing, what you probably should’ve been doing for years, but alas, were too focused on your other, not-fulfilling work.

As my partner Ed said recently:

“You need to put it into words, because that’s what you do.”

Yeah, I’ll keep him.

Other pieces you may enjoy by this author:

Hate Ageism, You Say?

Hmmm, you’re still being kinda sorta ageist yourself…

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Attenti al Gatto

The Cats of Italy — wait, are they judging me?

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