I don’t wanna read your stuff ’cause you read mine.

Is it rude of me not to care?

Photo by Dollar Gill on Unsplash

I take long absences at the worst of times, typically when I can least afford to. I’m unpleasant on purpose, and turn social customs on their head just to see how they spin. I’m sorry. I’m a hardball and a stubborn b**ch who won’t play by the rules, ’cause the rules are f — d.

I could censor about half this piece, have it be all *** and — — . Be about the same result, but let’s try it nicely first. See? I can play nice and not bite the hand that feeds.

Lately, which is to say the last six months or so, I’ve grown disenchanted with Medium. I used to enjoy it a lot, but it did some stuff to its algo I suppose, which seems to make reaching new readers very hard.

I’m told — predictably — it’s not the platform, but me. I’m the one who won’t indulge the networking rules. If I only set aside the time a day, the hour to read other people’s stuff, comment, be nice, tip my hat, then maybe readers would come.

Armed with what? A sense of obligation? Two more minutes of their own tepid hour on the clock, scanning my latest diagonally for one, two, six seemingly cute phrases to highlight and comment on? Just so we can keep the quid pro quo going?