I enjoy the messiness of Medium. I like the fact that the writing here is sometimes uneven, error prone, and half-baked. I block real world publications that are cross posting here. It’s not that I bear them any ill will, but none of that is exciting to me.
I used to spend a lot of time on the Gawker boards. Here is what I came to believe: the collective creative underclass is funnier than the pros. The funniest thing about Trump’s win in Nevada is going to be made by a security guard sitting in one of those little sheds. She is funny, maybe not all the time, maybe not half the time, but two or three times in her online life she will win the Internet.
Medium is like comments for writers. Let’s assume you have four great posts in you. They will never happen if you don’t hit publish.
I have read things on Medium that I think are perfect. I subscribe to the New Yorker. I love the New Yorker, but the corporateness of the New Yorker squeezes the soul out of the writers. For all their craft and intelligence, they are artificers of the human condition. Nothing on the New Yorker is perfect.
Here we have some straight dope. I’m holding my breathe until something ruins it.
This is it, man. The four minute post is the art form of our time. In twenty years we will all look back and say, “that was fucking great.”
That’s what I say about Livejournal from the early 2000s. There were people on there that lit the sun on fire. They are ghosted now. I could give you names: Spoonfeeding, Saltdog, Mergovian… you could go look them up. Their journals still hang in the ether, but they are mostly lost, grown up, or moved on.
Carpe Diem. Hit publish.