From Predator To Virtually Prey
By: P.G. Barnett
Tags: Writers On Medium, Medium Publications, Money, Dark Sides Writing, Scam

It’s been eleven days since I’ve posted a single thing on Medium. I probably wouldn’t even be writing this story right now if I wasn’t between freelance assignments with a newly acquired client. Over the last two business weeks, I’ve been lucky enough to secure writing work outside my creative niche which has actually paid me 50 times more in two weeks than I’ve ever made here in an entire month.

So why even spend my time writing this? Because I can, that’s why. I can and I will.

Am I concerned nobody’s going to read what I write? Shit folks, before choosing to step back I went from an average of 2 to 3 hundred reads a day, to 20. Yeah, you read that right, 20 reads a day. And that was before I chose to step away for a bit.

So, no. If you don’t read this, it means you won’t be reading this, so I guess I can tell you I don’t give a shit. I mean, because you aren’t reading this, right?

Besides my obvious lackadaisical attitude toward whether or not you read what I have to say, remember this. I pay my dues each month for the privilege to read and the privilege to write. I can write what I want to — read when I want to — and sometimes do neither whenever I want to.

Just like the last eleven days.

Which has been interesting, by the way. A few of you sent me emails trying to get a read on my absence wondering if I was “right with the world”. Of the 1.6K people following me, only three or four reached out to see what was going on and inquire as to why I wasn’t posting anymore.

For you that did, bless you and I love you for it.

For those that didn’t even realize I had backed away uh <fill in the blank with any expletive you wish> yourselves and the horse, you rode in on. Hell, I even backed away leaving a Henry James story right in the middle.

And nobody said a flipping word.

Nobody shot me an email bitching me out and telling me to finish what I started. No one complained. No one said a damned word. It was like with the exception of only a handful of people, everyone in this community turned their backs on me.

Maybe I deserved it, and then maybe I didn’t. But one thing this experience taught me. We’re all here thinking we’re kicking ass and taking names when we’re not.

We think we’re the predators in this game of words?

Oh, hell no. We’re the prey.

Every dime we shell out to Big Ev won’t come around to us, ever. Never the entire dime, just a few pennies. For a large percentage of us, that’s how it’s supposed to be. We’re the fodder, the prey that keeps the Ev boat sailing along.

We’re what feeds Ev’s monolith.

Think of us as tiny rodents scurrying from the protective shadows and Ev and his folks as a flock of wood hawks or night owls flying high in the night sky. They’re constantly circling, always looking for another of us rodents to come out from our hiding places and take another chance.

Patiently circling high above waiting.

Waiting for us to take another chance with the narcotic allure of this platform which we use to feed our ever-growing addiction.

And when we do, when we once again, score an eightball or a dime with a story or two, we start believing the euphoric dreams once again. We tell ourselves we might be able to make a little change with our writing on this platform.

And Big Ev and his flocks of predators simply smile at each and then draw straws to see which of them is going to get to take us out.

We may be writers and we may write every day on this platform, but most of us never intended to make a decent living here. In fact, Big Ev and his folks are counting on that fact. They’re making bank on the numbers of writers here who don’t give a shit whether they make any pocket change or not.

But whether you hope to start making some coin or you don’t to predators like Big Ev and his flocks, they don’t really care as long as you continue to pay your dues. This platform doesn’t care whether we want to make some dough or don’t give a shit that we do.

In the eyes of Big Ev and his birds, we’re all the same. This platform lets us drop this platform’s acid and trip euphorically thinking we’re the predator. All the while encouraging us to think we’re rocking it when in actuality we’re nothing but a food source for Ev’s success.

After three years of this addiction, and then spending two weeks getting sober (and making more with my writing than I ever did here) I’m learning to see things a little more clear. For so many years I had the blinders on, listening to the siren’s call, buying off on the bullshit, taking hits on Ev’s bong hoping to get a little higher.

Not any more.

Now when I come here to write, it won’t be because I’m trying to support my retirement check. It’ll be to say something when I have something to say. Or it will be to read some of the shit writers who think they’re so great on one of these cult-driven publications and laugh my ass off.

Hey, that’s entertainment in my book and it’s sure worth $5.00 bucks a month.

Thank you so much for reading. You didn’t have to, but I’m certainly glad you did.

Let’s keep in touch: paul@pgbarnett.com

© P.G. Barnett, 2020. All Rights Reserved.