Member-only story
I’ll Do You if You Do Me
Flailing on the hook in the Red Light District
The same day my house burned to the ground and I literally lost everything, Medium changed its algorithm. My income dropped from a couple of hundred bucks a month to barely enough pocket change to get me two hours on a parking meter.
Since then, I’ve been floundering on a slippery deck, a hook still caught in my mouth. I can’t breathe, can’t shake the feeling that the thing I loved — the thing that gave me purpose — reeled me in, only to leave me thrashing naked in the open air.
Still, I write. I pour my heart out, tossing words into the wind, hoping a few kindred spirits might engage. But apparently, they’re flipping and flopping around too — getting heated, bruised, and defeated in the process.
Oh yes, I’m on Substack, writing from the ashes with my blog, which has attracted 20 subscribers in four months. Whoopie! Twenty non-paying subscribers. In four months. I’ve posted once a week, so that’s twenty-ish stories for twenty non-paying subscribers — none of whom, I might add, are family. No, these are strangers. And I picture them — maybe five are bots, three are former Medium writers, and the rest? Probably people who forgot to unsubscribe.
Substack likes to say “own your audience.” But let’s be real — I don’t own…
