Medium, Creative Writing and The Bookmaker
Medium is one of the last places where we still have freedom of expression. There are others but I will talk about Medium.
For a fiver a month anyone with an internet connection and a laptop can express themselves in any way they like. Here are people with various political ideologies and people without them. Old-school leftists and right-wingers. Sex freaks and people of God. Jewish scholars and Imams of peace. Anarchists and communists. Ex-cons and ex-police. Vaxxers, anti-vaxxers and people of between these opposing worlds.
The platform with its writers/readers has been helping me to develop as a writer. It’s an endless road of improvement. Writing helps me to untangle thoughts and ideas floating in my mind. During the week I write numerous and monotonous emails. It’s soul-killing writing.
Hi,
Can I book a truck for so and so, The job details are attached for you…Bla Bla Bla
Thank you.
Creative writing is something different. An effort is needed to find words and join them in sentences. Clear sentences mean clear thoughts.
I noticed something fascinating.
I write a story or an opinion piece, I think I know what I want to say but readers understand the story in a totally different way. Who is wrong and who is right? Is it me who can’t express myself in a clear and understanding way or is it a reader with already preconceived ideas in his/her head?
The Medium community is a polite and respectful one. Not many assholes lurking around. I noticed that one of the weapons to fight asshole-ness is being polite. What I am trying to say is that it’s not a fucking Twitter or FB.
Thanks to the internet and its social media politeness became a lost art. No one is afraid to say the nastiest things to each other. Do you know why? They forgot how embarrassing is to look someone in the eye and tell nasty things to them. Or they forgot how blood tastes in their mouths after someone slaps them.
Our world, our reality is becoming so complex that we won’t be able to untangle the issues facing us. Secretly we know that we reached the end of the cul-de-sac. We can’t go back, we think that going back is a regression and no one wants to lose the conveniences we have. My wife’s granddad walked from Hungary to Paris to become a bookmaker. He fucking walked it! Who would do that, today?
Where am I going with this? I am not too sure. Dead-end. Cul-de-sac.
That's why I like Medium.
Viso Gero!
