There you go again, putting your finger right on the twisted heart of all of this. I’m a wildly unsuccessful writer, and yet here I am. I write to please myself. But the truth is, I wouldn’t write this much if Medium didn’t create pressure to produce regularly. And I know my articles would be better if I spent more time on them.

I’ll write without readers. I have for years. But once in a while, someone connects with something I write in a meaningful way. That’s what keeps me publishing, not the insignificant money or the illusory promise of a fame that, as you rightly point out, I probably wouldn’t want even if it was on the table. Which it emphatically isn’t.

I struggle with these questions every day. My daemon keeps growling, and the worst part of my ego keeps looking for love in the wrong place. One day, I’ll stop.

Just not today.

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