The Mirage Offered by Publishing Platforms

Please, pardon my bleak views of publishing platforms' intent

Photo by Bank Phrom on Unsplash

These loose and rambling thoughts have come up as the result of several conversations I have had with writers. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe flat-out wrong about platforms and their leaders. But while my views about platforms might seem bleak, it should feel liberating and empowering for artists and writers. It is to me.

When I accept the objective of a platform is not to make sure I become rich off my writing, then I can be liberated from their approval and focus on the core of why I write. This has brought me back to my keyboard at five in the morning for the past eleven years, whether I'm on vacation, sick, being a father, a... you get the picture. I'm a lot of things, as I'm sure you are, too.

For the past two weeks, I have publicly journaled about my troubling feelings about scrolling, feeds, and algorithms--the social media part of all publishing platforms.

Talking openly about this topic feels somewhat scary because I don't know if I will be punished by the publishing gods for speaking against these practices.

Also, this is not a research-based psychological essay. The research is already out there, and very likely, you are already familiar with it. So I won't butcher it for you. It is just a bunch of rambling thoughts on the wearing effects the feed seems to have on my creativity and that of my friends.

There is so much burnout in what we do and even good writers who love what they are writing end up getting burned out. We have seen them come through platforms, leave and never come back.

We are all buying into this narrative from publishing platforms that they exist to promote good writing when, in reality, a company primarily exists to generate profits. That's a very reductionist view of it. But the truth nonetheless. We can't be upset at that. That's what they are; they are for-profit companies.

I think that without knowing (or maybe knowing), some very engaged, passionate editors like Thomas Gaudex have solved the problem of the algorithm or the boost. I don't know if this is the solution, but I think it might be. Maybe the antidote to the algorithm and the boost is a very engaged, active community.

Medium or any other publishing platform can only pay writers less than they bring in through subscriptions, minus operating costs, nice bonuses, nice offices, nice California employment perks, a big CEO salary, artisanal IPA beer in the break room, and so on.

Many of these platforms have an inherent design issue, and that is that it attracts more writers than readers. People come to read, but really, they come to write, hoping to make it as a writer by creating a community of readers.

As the company gets more writers, they will have to make the slices smaller because Medium has a pyramid scheme-like problem: if Medium were to not give all aspiring writers even a crumble of money, then those users would leave.

We have to take what we can from the platform, from all platforms. As artists, we have to keep approaching the difficult topics, salty topics, non-conforming topics, counter-cultural topics because if we chase the boost, then we will inevitably end where we were not too long ago, writing the same bland shit the algorithm wanted: listicles and other endless forms of "T: This is how I made this much money. S: You just need more people to read your articles about how much money you made."

Not getting boosted or promoted means, "Do this, or you won't get that." It's a form of control. It's an incredible form of creative control; why else would we spend so much time discussing what the algorithm does? How to get its money? How to please it?

The truth, the harsh truth, is that making money out of art is hard, and it has always been hard, and very few people really figure that pesky problem out.

Sure. Some megastars do. But most artists don't. And even these mega stars have been blessed with the support of large institutional players that can get their machinery behind them.

Platforms offer us a lie by pretending to be like what traditional publishing houses used to be. They act like they can solve all those problems for rising, starving artists, "Write with us and you will never know want," "Write with us and fame will precede you."

Until they get ahead, and the next board meeting comes, and the next capital raising comes, and the next round of cuts comes. Of course, we are not employees of these platforms, but they still cut us, they cut our profits, they cut our spread, and they suppress topics that don't talk about them in a good light or what they think their data scientists say we should be talking about. It is a truly soulless process that lacks artistry and taste.

So, the solution to this problem of engagement metrics is real friendships, real discussion, and real community.

And, of course, the ultimate solution is to keep creating art from the heart regardless of who is watching or paying for it.

We do have to face down the mirage of the platform and its myriad of money and fame promises. The artist's level of craft and its monetary rewards are not linked. An artist doesn't get rewarded just because their art is good. They require the artist to take a commercial approach that is often one that artists abhor. Platforms know that and take advantage of it, and that's why it is important not to count on them to make one's writing or art commercially successful.

I can go on and on, but I'll stop right here. Like I said, just a rambling man. Apparently, looking for trouble.

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