You don’t pick the audience. The audience picks you.
I think I read that quote on the cover of some inspirational self-help book. Or maybe it was on a fortune cookie fortune. I can’t really remember. Wherever it came from, it absolutely pegged my Medium existence.
When I first started tossing content up on the platform I wrote about travel and beer and some basic life experiences.
Chances are you didn’t read those posts. Don’t worry, I’m not accusing you of anything. Nobody read those posts.
Slowly but surely, I started adding more of myself into my content. My chest pumped directly onto the page, emotions dripping through words as if I’d dipped my fingers into the past. At times it took me back into memories I’d long since pushed aside. Not forgotten, but more like that closet door you avoid at home. The one you have to press your shoulder against just to close.
I wrote about family. The passing of my dad. Relationships. Much of what I wrote about happened years earlier, and yet writing about it made those experiences feel all too real. There were days I’d cry while writing. Days the tears wouldn’t stop until well after I’d finished. I wasn’t just ripping off scabs. I was digging fingers into the wounds, searching for emotional shrapnel in need of removal.
But it was my post about what you learn after divorce that opened me up to the real world of Medium. It’s when I went from trying to find an audience to an audience finding me.
And so I continued writing about the subject. About my failed marriage. Relationships. Life. I continued to probe what I’d been through, to not only share with you but to connect with you. Because while our experiences differ, our feelings are very much shared.
And then, I wrote a story that changed everything. If you’ve been with me for long enough maybe you know it. Perhaps you read it. “I Asked My Wife If I Could Date Her Sister.”
I’d previously written about my five-week honeymoon from hell. I included further details about it in a travel book I wrote as well. But this particular article centered on a very specific moment in time during the honeymoon. When my wife and I were playing a game of theoretical outcomes. We both knew deep down our relationship wouldn’t last. So I decided to ask an immature question. A question I knew would hurt her. I asked her what she’d do if I dated her sister when our marriage ended.
In reality, it was never about the question. It was about the intent of the question. The intent to cause her grief. I wanted the story to focus on what people do when they are at the end of a crumbling, poisonous relationship.
The article exploded. P.S. I Love You pimped it out in all of its emails. Medium itself pimped it out as well. Outside news agencies picked it up. One morning a friend I hadn’t talked to in 15 years messaged me on Facebook, asking if I knew my face was on the front page of Daily Mail (I didn’t).
The article hit a quarter of a million views. I thought that was a good thing for everyone. Apparently, I thought wrong.
The following week I received a phone call. P.S. I Love You told me I couldn’t write about the raw, emotional topics any longer. Some people complained. And instead of telling the complainers, “you’re free to read whatever you like. You didn’t have to read that entire article.” They tossed me under the bus. I brought Medium tens of thousands of new visitors from MSN, news agencies in Australia, and the UK. Canada and South Africa. But they wanted nothing to do with me. P.S. I Love You essentially blackballed me. They actually created very specific “Greyson” guidelines for what I could publish through them verse other writers. One of the main editors won’t read or publish anything I send through.
You may have noticed I’ve written a number of “6 Scientific Reasons,” or “5 Signs You’re With,” stories. I hate those. Those aren’t the kind of stories I want to write. Truthfully they aren’t stories at all. But they were the only kinds of content I was allowed to write.
Whenever I attempted to write something personal, I was told I had to hold your hand, dumb it down, and explain how you should connect to the story. Again, I hate that. You know if you connect with a story or not, you don’t need the author to tell you that you should. Rembrandt didn’t include Cliff Notes with his paintings. Either someone connects and likes it or they don’t.
One of the final straws came recently. I wrote what I believe is one of the more intimate stories I’ve offered up. About the last Valentine’s Day I spent with my wife. It was rejected by an editor I’ve long believed to have it out for me. So I held off and resubmitted it when I knew another editor would receive it. It’s now scheduled to come out in another week or so (but don’t worry, I’ll give it to you in advance).
All of this is on top of the changes going on with Medium. I have followers who say they don’t know when I publish something new, and it’s even more difficult for new readers to discover me. Add in the income drop and it’s just an entire mess.
I’m not making any money off of this Substack subscriptions currently. I want to keep much of it free, and then maybe offer some subscription features, such as stories performed, maybe ASMR readings (because I find those to be soothing), special access to a book of mine that will be published in the latter half of the year, and a bunch of other goodies.
But for the regular blog posts, I want to keep those free. I’ll still post to Medium, but I’ll have the unfiltered versions here. And whenever possible I’ll have them posted here early.
Also, don’t worry about me flooding your email address. Once I fully figure out how to work this system I’ll keep the newsletter to a weekly thing or so.
For now, I’m just thrilled to have you as a follower and a subscriber here. You guys really make all this worth it. Some of the posts and comments you have shared have made all the difference. So please, feel free to comment, send me an email, suggest a topic, or just say hi.
I look forward to what the future has in store.
Your friend,
Greyson
You are one of my favorites, Greyson. Your words have repeatedly touched my heart and I hate knowing that your honesty and candor are being squashed. Thank you for allowing us to follow you here and I'm in admiration of you for not allowing yourself to be stifled. I look forward to seeing you through your work again real soon!
I so appreciate the honesty of what got you in trouble. I want to be a writer but never will. I love those who actually get it done. Men, people do what you did. My ex, everyone’s ex has done far worse. I think this is what the reaction is. No one wants to think about this stuff so you got punished. My most recent humiliation w/an ex was his carrying on w/the person we sold our house to. The lawyer made a huge deal about not having contact w/her. I sat in a room separate from the Zoom call while closing on the house. He felt none of this applied to him and got her digits, continues to text her. It was/is humiliating & hurts past the ink drying on the divorce papers. This is what you are being punished for, the humiliations caused by all of the spouses that a have done creepy, unnecessarily hurtful things on the way out. I consider myself too lenient, not discerning enough when it comes to accepting the unacceptable for way too long. Maybe we all do this to save relationships that were better off terminated before they were so we stay and hurt each other in new & creative ways. What you did seemed pretty mild compared to a lot of the stuff I have dealt with. I’m sure if you knew the inner workings of the people who wanted you gone, you would see this is true for them also. I wish you the best & look foreword to your continued scab picking. Hopefully you can find a process to get to the goods w/out it being quite so painful. I believe this is true. It sounds like the more you write, the more you heal and progress to your true self. Sometimes these things are a blessing in disguise. I hope that’s true for you.