Last month, for the first time ever, I made a decent amount of money on Medium. Not huge. Not enough to make me quit my day job. But reasonable. It was a breakthrough of sorts.
And now the pressure is mounting. Will I ever be able to repeat it? Or even increase it?
I feel somewhat paralyzed.
Because really, I’m not even a writer.
Writing was supposed to be a means to an end. It was my way to try and reach an audience that might be willing to accept that sex is not necessarily sexy.
My writing had a single purpose: to shine a light on a topic that is often left in a dark corner of people’s minds. And on the way send them to my website to turn them into potential (enlightened) customers.
Now it seems that writing has evolved from being a tool that I use, to my objective. A goal in and of itself. It’s a better source of income than my website.
Problem is, I have no clue what I’m doing. I am definitely not a writer.
Hence: dealing with imposter syndrome.
When I started writing on Medium three years ago, standards were minimal. Some of my articles that gained attention back then would not even get curated these days.
Publications that used to immediately publish my stories as soon as I sent them are now refusing my submissions left, right, and center. My writing is not good enough anymore.
And for a good reason. Now that Medium has so many talented writers in its ranks, my writing is not up to speed.
I never wanted to become a writer.
I don’t even have that much to say.
I have no clue why one story — one which I thought nothing of — garnered enough attention to earn me a nice income in December. And then another did the same in January.
It’s obvious that it won’t keep on happening.
My articles are not in the same league as the real writers. Those whom I follow. The ones that make me laugh and cry and appreciate the information they provide.
I don’t even enjoy writing, for crying out loud.
It’s not that I am dealing with imposter syndrome — I am a genuine fake.
Since English is not my first language, I make plenty of spelling and grammar mistakes.
My dear friend volunteered to help me edit my articles before I send them off for publication.
She reminded me how many writers would be jealous of the amount I earnt from writing last month.
So for the time being, this never-wanted-to-become-a-writer, only here-to-change-the-world person, is going to keep on writing.
Even though I’m not a writer.