This Might Be My ‘Worst’ Month Ever on Medium, But It’s Certainly Not Without Rewards

Musing on success other than financial

Photo by Marcos Paulo Prado on Unsplash

It might be my lowest earning month, but I don’t regard it as any kind of failure. Couldn’t be happier actually. There are plenty of other meaningful metrics showing an upward arrow.

I’m writing what I like, across as many subjects as I like, and if the algorithm is confused by it (which I suspect is the case), that’s OK, I don’t expect my meagre efforts to alter anything.

I should also add, though I love the implied romance of the image above, I don’t write with a pen, and can only wish I looked half as gorgeous.

So April is a slow month. Not sure why. I think I am writing reasonably well, getting my thoughts down cogently, have written a few snappy headlines and am enjoying the process.

Thankfully, one can find profit using any number of metrics.

On the credit side of the ledger, I’ve received dozens of supportive and heartwarming responses to some of my new pieces. These are my treasures. I am frequently moved someone has taken the trouble to read, then reach out with what is frequently, a wonderfully articulate response. I have a bunch of new readers, additionally, there has been considerable help and guidance offered from several talented editors, and I’ve picked up some new skills by reading and observing the excellent work of others.

So I judge this as a particularly rewarding month, even though my numbers might argue otherwise.

It’s OK, I know the truth.

Algorithms adore consistency. They prefer to put you in a little niche and, I guess, reward you for staying there and doing work of similar ilk.

But this is not for me. I lack conformity, steadiness, and am attracted to diversity, ambiguity and contradictions. Inconsistency is writ large everywhere in my life, but never more evident than in my writing.

I compose a bit of poetry, write a little romance, pen tru-life pieces about my gender transition, the occasional memoir, oped, even music criticism, and I’m working on a novel. Some of it’s half-way decent, a little is above par, and some is frankly just a wee bit indulgent.

I’m not an overachiever; I enjoy the act of writing and am lucky enough not to have to temper my extensive range of interests for the sake of making a few extra bucks or chasing the mythical boost. Oooh, wait, need to write that down, slaying the mythical boost, could be a fun idea for another day.

Let’s be clear, I would love a boost every once in a while. I had too many when I started, and it’s like never being given chocolate again after being allowed to eat an entire block.

That aside, over the past couple of years, I like to think I’ve grown as a writer. Now it’s what I do and helps define me.

I write all the time, and when I’m not, I think about plot lines, subject and wordplay. My brilliant colleague Grace Ann Hansen recently mentioned how she sits at stoplights reconfiguring sentences on monotropism. I love that. I sometimes record dialogue about sex into my phone while attempting to drive. Neither of these are sensible or safe practices, but we do it because we are compelled.

I’ve found the emotional catharsis that drove much of my early writing has lessened, replaced by a broader need to express myself creatively. It is a great help to work my way through my own feelings and isolate what matters, as a way of understanding myself with greater clarity.

I believe we are all multitudes, so it seems fitting to be able to shed a little light across our broadly varied characteristics. Large and small, seen and un, worthy and lesser. Sometimes by story, occasionally by inference or simply by telling the truth.

Beyond understanding, writing has also taken me on a journey of expanded technique. It will be no surprise to some readers to understand how much I have come to love writing dialogue. It features heavily in many of my new pieces, and seems to offer an extended palette of colours as I dive into the personalities of my characters. There’s something so wonderfully alive about the back and forth of human conversation. One can be explicit and still leave room for ambiguity. Small wonder I enjoy it.

In fact I love it all, even the days when I feel a bit numb and hopelessly disengaged with my words. There’s always a way forward, even if it means just going for a walk to mull things over. I had a few days away from writing while attending a wedding in the country. I think it was healthy to divert my focus, but couldn’t wait to get back.

Unless I write the equivalent of a hit in the next few days, this will be my least financially rewarding month since I started posting on Medium.

But there’s something about the joy I get from banging away at the laptop, making deeper connections with my characters, hearing from those who have become more than friends, that is so deeply satisfying, I don’t care about the money — well, not as much.

Maybe next month will be a different story. Did I mention about me being inconsistent?