I’ve been a writer for fifteen years. And while there have been trials, it’s been good to me, mostly. I’ve even made some decent money at it. And while I haven’t always been happy with it, I was at least content.

That all changed the day I signed up to be a writer on Medium.

My early forays into writings were of the memoir genre. I got some memories and stories out on paper and they were quite satisfying. I then moved into fiction for a while, and though a lot of fun, I didn’t see much potential for making money.

Finally, I settled into writing non-fiction articles, and that’s where I hit my stride. I have cranked out somewhere north of a thousand pieces over the years and have sold about 80% of them. The work was easy, if not a bit boring, and the profits were decent, if not stellar.

Sometimes, I had to do a little research or dig for attribution, but mostly I wrote off the top of my head. A sort of stream of consciousness that just flowed until I covered the subject. Then a quick edit, submit and wait for the money. Most of the time, these articles ran 400–600 words and took me all of twenty minutes to knock out; thirty tops.

But I couldn’t leave well enough alone. I heard about this site, Medium, and heard it was the place to be. The place to write and be read. The place to make a buck.

So I joined up.

And that’s when the money train ran off the tracks.

First, I read a lot of articles already on Medium and discovered a disturbing truth.

These guys were good.

I mean, some were really good. They wrote from the heart and soul. And most disturbing of all, they wrote well. Every damn one of them.

First, I thought I would bring over some of my other stuff. Articles that either hadn’t sold or had sold for onetime rights. I grabbed a few and opened them up to read and polish before I submitted them to Medium.

But they didn’t need polish.

They needed the paint stripped off; the body refinished and the whole thing repainted. And then they would need polish.

In short, the only thing I could salvage was the title.

Then I read more about Medium and discovered even those weren’t salvageable.

I had to start from scratch and write all new content. And I had to raise my game so it could compete in this new arena.

So I started over and began writing a new article, determined to make this new opportunity work for me. I put in my usual twenty minutes.

And I almost finished with the title. Or the sub-title. I hadn’t quite nailed that down yet.

Two hours later, I finished the first draft. Sure, the writing was a lot better. I had something I would be proud to share with the world, but come on. Two to three hours each? I hoped it would be worth it.

And after spending another week and a half writing another six articles, I wound up my first month with a buck forty-three in my pocket. Now, two months later, I have almost one hundred articles in my Medium portfolio and going broke having the time of my life.

I hate Medium.

If it’s not too late, run away.

Once you get started here, you’ll never be the same.

If you liked this one, check out: