I’m what you might call an “experienced writer,” and sometimes Medium pisses me off. There I said it.
I can assure you I have a legitimate reason, but first things first. Who the hell am I, and why the F should you care?
Here’s the highlight reel: While in J school at Syracuse in ’03, I saw the journalism industry sinking into digital quicksand and jumped straight to the dark side: marketing and public relations. I spent the next decade and a half bastardizing my writing in the service of corporate interests — not infrequently in hostile and toxic work environments. I learned how to massage a company narrative, shape public reputation in the media and infuse every kind of corporate copy with humanity and effective storytelling. I also learned how to shit eat, navigate sociopathic politics and medicate my misery with vodka.
By 30, I’d parlayed my writing skills into editing, strategy and account leadership roles. With a reputation for stellar execution, working around the clock and, most of all, a complete lack of personal boundaries, I made senior vice president at an early age. I ran external communications accounts at the biggest agencies for Fortune 500 companies. My billable rate was laughably high, and my salary substantive.
Was it a sacrifice of ethics, morals and the fidelity of my craft for money, title and perceived self-importance? You’re right in the strike zone.
It was worse than that though. I had sacrificed my personal life to climb that corporate ladder. Slowly but surely more and more of my life was consumed my work. As a result, my days filled with storm clouds of misery, which I, out of desperation, progressively channeled into self-destructive behaviors.
But who cares about all of that…Let’s go back to my statement.
Why did Medium piss me off?
Because crap writing can get a lot of play on Medium. Because empty listicles riddled with hyperbole and get-rich-quick “formulas” tend to lure the masses. Because well-thought out, painstakingly researched, creatively crafted pieces can vanish into digital ether without a single echo.
This is not an algorithm rant. Others have beat that horse to death already. It has just frustrated the hell out of me to see poor writing rewarded — writing that would never pass my quality check, writing I’d never allow to be sent to a client.
I view writing as an art. I do not use and will never support headline generators, auto-grammar tools or formulaic, paint-by-numbers story structures. I just don’t. They are weak, cheap tricks that smell like the flop sweat of a used car salesman.
They are an admission that you believe writing is a transaction. In this model, writing is nothing more than a robotic exchange, and the reader is a receptacle or, in this case, a garbage bin. I chalk it up to all of the “expert” writing guidance that pollutes this platform. Sure, sometimes tech can enhance what we do, but it is not a rip-and-replace for foundational skill and talent.
The ability to Frankenstein together hyperbolic statements in paragraph form beneath an emotionally manipulative headline that tests the boundaries of algorithmic clickbait screening does not a writer make.
Now don’t get me wrong…Dan Robbins, inventor of paint-by-numbers, engaged a shit ton of people in art. More power to him. And if the masses benefited from his democratization of art, then more power to them too.
But for me, the “hacked” together listicles, top tips, shock-and-awe subheads, terabytes of “expert advice” is not writing.
When I’m reading a story, I’m not “consuming content.” I’m not just trying to extract insights and information as quickly as possible.
I am paying attention to how the author tells a story. I’m listening to the flow of the narrative. I’m carefully considering word choice. I’m absorbing the passion. I’m visualizing metaphors. I’m nodding along with vulnerable statements and admissions of existential angst.
I want the writer to take me on a journey where I lose myself and, for a few minutes, see the world through someone else’s eyes.
So, why does that matter?
Did you hear the ego just now? The force is strong in this one.
Why should I give two shits what other people write? Medium is just a platform. Anyone can use it however they damn-well please. If another writer wants to churn out transactional robotic copy, then that is completely up to them. If people choose to read said “content,” that too is completely up to them.
A lot of this frustration comes from the act of comparison. People like me get pissed off because…I’m not in the top 100 writers or I don’t have tens of thousands of followers or I’m not making thousands a month. Or a laundry list of other comparative ego jabs.
It’s a little thing called the “tyranny of the shoulds.” Some of us think: I have experience. I know I’m a good writer. I have proven myself time and time again. I’ve faced deadline pressure that others couldn’t even imagine. Others pay me handsomely for my writing in professional contexts. And, because of all that, “I should be killing it.’
Well, nothing “should” ever happen. The world and everyone in it care not for any of our pesky expectations. What little control any of us have on this tiny blue marble hurling through space applies exclusively to ourselves, our actions and our reactions.
I have no illusions. I know it takes hard work, the ability to connect with an audience, a content style matched to the medium and consistent publishing to build a substantive and loyal following. If I had the time and wasn’t pursuing a double masters and juggling nonprofit consulting work, maybe I would try to boost my metrics.
But for me, it’s not about any of that. I’m not here to pander to the masses or generate revenue. I’m here for authentic creative expression. I’m here to channel my emotions into colorful stories. I’m here to share stories of lived experience that excavate the demons of my past and perhaps help someone else along the way. I’m here for the craft.
For me, my annoyance is about respect.
It can be painful to see others with minimal experience, zero credentials and a penchant for self-aggrandizement give misguided advice that bastardizes a craft you honed through sweat, tears and unmanageable pressure.
Some of us slaved away in the salt mines of corporate environments where writers are viewed as commodity producers…surrounded by swarms of “marketing experts” with fancy titles, high salaries and complete editorial ineptitude. The extent of their writing ability is rage-tinged emails that bludgeon others into giving them what they want when they want it.
These “marketing experts,” who were often only glorified project managers with no discernible skills, would chase us day and night to deliver their bylines, blog posts, fact sheets, FAQs, holding statements, releases, web copy, marketing decks, digital content strategies, etc. They’d never consider what went into high quality work — definitely not the time nor the research required. They just wanted the work so they could run off to meetings and show executives what great work “they’d done.” And if you made the mistake of enabling them to look good to their bosses, then you were squeezed and squeezed for more, faster.
This, of course, is not the experience of everyone. Professional journalists, in particular, face their own unmanageable pressures. As media went digital, advertising models broke, jobs vanished, the news cycle became nonstop and immediate, beat reporters suddenly needed to cover five industries at once and story demands climbed through the roof alongside publisher expectations for self-promotion via social channels.
While the details for all of us are different, the point is that many writers who “made it” did so through perseverance and grit. Not by Frankensteining bullshit listicles together. Not with cheap and easy tricks. Not by being their own hype man. Not by churning out bland, cardboard-flavored “content.”
So, when we see writers do that, frankly, it is just offensive.
But it’s just a distraction
None of that matters. Good writers aren’t exclusive to journalists, agencies or any other professional setting. Readers can and will read whatever they want to read.
If readers are desperate for money and want to buy into the “get-rich-quick” fantasy sold the snake-oil salesmen of Medium, then so be it. They are just taking advantage of people who are down on their economic luck, and they are doing so for the sole benefit of boosting their own metrics. Add the “expert” courses they sell, and it’s basically a multi-level marketing scam.
Maybe it makes me sick and fills me with existential rage, but, ultimately, all of their choices ain’t got shit to do with me. There’s really only one solution: I just need to stop thinking about them. It’s just that simple. If this anger is constantly gnawing away at me on the inside, there’s no way in hell that I’ll be able tell authentic stories and create good work.
Sure, having a chip on your shoulder can generate motivation, but, as my friends in the recovery community say, a resentment is like lighting yourself on fire and hoping someone else chokes on the smoke.
Whether the frustration results from comparison, the perversion of your craft, disbelief of readers interests, feeling disrespected or some combination of the above, all of these motivators are reactive and self-focused. Ultimately, at their core, these reasons are all ego driven. Even with the perversion of craft, whose craft is it really? Writing belongs to no one.
Worse than the self-centered nature of these reasons, however, is this inconvenient reality: By getting so annoyed and frustrated, we are actually giving that which annoys us more power over ourselves. That’s why getting angry about something we have no control over is like lighting yourself on fire. It’s a completely self-destructive and self-sabotaging act.
When one writes from the place of a wounded, disrespected or frustrated ego, they might add a little fire and fury to their words, but they’ll be controlled by insecurities and negative emotions. And whether they realize it or not, the focus and authenticity of word and topic choice will be skewed in the service of ego repair, of getting back at the source of the slight, of restoring the balance one believes they rightfully deserve.
It’s like when a competitor gets in your head or a bully intimidates you. Sure, you can get back at them and make them look stupid, but that only distracts you from what you were doing in the first place.
Letting go is the only answer. Let the snake oil salesmen sell their snake oil. Let the used car salesmen teach others how to sell used cars. Eventually, their readers will wise up and realize their words are nothing more than a raging dumpster fire of the vanities. Besides, it’s only a matter of time until the harsh realities of life crush their ability to self-aggrandize.
The best thing we all can do is keep patiently honing our craft, telling authentic stories, exposing our hidden vulnerabilities and sharing our raw emotions. The real readers, the ones looking for meaning and connection, will take notice. A single connection with one of them is worth more to me than a chorus of empty applause. For me, quality will always trump quantity.
