Member-only story
Adrift as a Writer: The Waning Promise of Medium
Once, I was a Friend of Medium, not just a member. Fifteen a month I paid for a small but steady tide, and my words floated high, catching the light. I made a hundred-forty one month, a sum that felt like proof, like a warm hand on my back whispering, keep going. Now, I let five dollars trickle out monthly, with my earnings having sunk below the payout line, not even ten a month to show for all these musings I send out like flares.
Still, my stories linger. They are solid, and I’ve amassed quite a few. My stories like gems scattered in the vast ocean, sparkling when the sun, or the algorithm, catches them just right. Readers drift by, sometimes stopping, sometimes skimming the surface, sometimes diving deep. I wonder if they know I am still here, treading water, watching the lifeboat grow smaller in the distance.
I tell myself that words are more than currency, that the sea remembers every ripple, that even in the quiet, a voice remains. But some days, I just wish the tide would turn.
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