The Jig Is Up

I have a perfect track record of making my dreams materialize—once I choose to. Otherwise, it’s maladaptive daydreaming. But I’ve never taken action and failed.

My self-awareness gives me confidence, and my confidence is my superpower. There’s nothing anyone can tell me about myself, negative or positive, because I know the truth. I cannot be love-bombed or deceived with flattery, nor can I be made to feel insecure.

I know a stranger’s perception of me and my art is a projection of their feelings about themselves. This allows me to creatively express ideas with wild abandon. There’s no pretensions to what I do, because I’m never trying to be “good enough.”

The creative process is something I’m merely a vessel for. It is magic.

People unable to harness magic have historically been threatened by those who can. Today, we have laws to protect individuals from persecution by those who are threatened by their power—but, only regarding physical death. Character assassination and cancel-culture is how people pick up their pitchforks digitally. Social media is weaponized against creators. Lynch mobs are formed behind screen names.

I used to fear this so much I wouldn’t submit my work to publications. I hid my talent within small circles online. I went viral anyways, and used it to my advantage temporarily. However, I’d always go into hiding afterwards. I’d delete everything, log out, and go back to life as usual.

I’m a hermit. I don’t love receiving attention. What scares me about being in print is how tangible and permanent it is. You can have things scrubbed from the internet, but we’re still reading and debating literature from centuries ago.

Yet, I’ve known since I was in preschool that I was meant to shine in the arts and entertainment realm. I’ve known it was my purpose I’m made for. To not fulfill that purpose is an overwhelming burden I can no longer live with.

I don’t get imposter syndrome, because I’ve been through absolute hell, and dragged myself out through the sheer belief that I deserve more. I’ve been through trauma so severe most people in my place would be nonfunctional—drugged out, mentally unstable, homeless, or dead. Numbers don’t lie. The statistics are out there for girls like me.

My love of art and my dark sense of humor are how I survived. My sense of self worth is why survival isn’t enough for me. I must thrive. I must be an example to others of the triumph of the human spirit over any adversity.

I’ve already had countless people reach out to me because my stories saved them. I’ve had people in tears, telling me to keep going. I’m just getting started.

Vocal was the final place I came to hide myself and my talent. I’m breaking this cycle of self-sabotage now.

I read through most of the submissions to the #200 challenge, and I couldn’t help but notice a pattern. The people who had such sweet, sanitized responses to the prompt are those who aren’t active on Vocal. They disappear for months at a time, and barely engage. They promised they would start. They said what the judges wanted to hear, because they wanted $2024. It read as disingenuous because it was.

All the creators who’ve actually contributed to this community are unhappy.

We may all be unhappy for different reasons, but nonetheless we’re fed up. And I loved the refreshing honesty and vulnerability of how that was expressed in those essays. I feel you. Even if you have animosity towards me because you think I’ve received more attention than I deserve, I feel you. Vocal isn’t giving what we need it to anymore. The jig is up.

I said it best here:

“Vocal is a social self-publishing platform with no readership, and no one publishing full length projects on it. It’s just a small group of writers competing for prizes partially funded by their paid memberships while comment swapping with one another. That’s not sustainable. It’s not rewarding. I want more.”

My mantra I tell myself—the one that has taken me this far:

“I deserve everything I have, and more and more and more

And I will always have more and more and more.”

That’s it. That’s what I believe.

There will always be people who don’t want to see you win; people who want to keep you stuck in misery alongside them, who will attempt to humble or humiliate you—sometimes in packs. But if you know deep in your soul that you deserve more, you will always have more. That’s what separates the haves from the have-nots, and how certain individuals are able to overcome anything.

Vocal has made it clear that they are unwilling to change. There’s a reason there’s so much tension and unfriendly competition here, and why even trying to uplift one another feels futile. It’s the same reason you don’t see anyone famous on Vocal, and won’t.

There are celebrities on X, Tik Tok, Instagram, YouTube, Medium, Patreon, and Substack. None on Vocal.

Established writers and podcasters would give credibility to this platform, and draw an audience. Vocal could have millions of readers, especially since there’s no paywall. But that would require Vocal to focus on talent, instead of focusing on the forced togetherness of “community.”

It’s the elephant in the room no one has wanted to talk about. No one except me. I’ve been speaking on it since February of last year. Vocal has become an extension of Facebook groups. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s a platform for those in the Facebook groups to comment swap on one another’s stories. And I don’t care who you are, or what you tell yourself—

That’s not rewarding.

None of you are satiated by that, nor should you be. Authors have a genuine readership. Not just friends showing support because that’s what friends do—but actual readers. Hundreds of thousands of readers. Millions of readers. You wouldn’t write if you didn’t believe you have something worth saying. Nothing worth saying belongs in an echo chamber.

So you’re rightfully frustrated with Vocal, a place where your stories go to die in a graveyard. What will you do about it? Keep hoping Vocal will change?

It won’t.

Vocal makes money off vulnerable people addicted to external validation. We’ve paid to collect likes, comments, Top Stories, and achievement badges if we’re lucky enough to place in challenges.

Been there, done that. I’ve got nothing to show for it. I’m no further along in my writing career than I was.

Well, it’s still early in the year. It’s not too late to change my aspirations. In fact, every time my life has had an impactful reconfiguration it’s because of a decision I’ve made in February. There’s something sacred about this month. I started publishing on Vocal last February. I needed to have this experience.

This is the year I stop hiding, and pursue traditional publishing with the same gusto I’ve pursued other dreams.

The first time I ever submitted to a literary magazine, the editor said it wasn’t right for that particular publication—but she loved my style. She’s a literary agent. She asked what else I had, and I told her I was working on a memoir-in-essays. She said to send it to her when I finished. That terrified me. I almost did what I’ve always done; almost hid myself. I thought about hiding my work here on Vocal. I said I would publish it to the Chapters community.

It felt so wrong. I had nightmares and unrest. My spirit wouldn’t allow me to self sabotage any longer.

I’m angry when I think about how Vocal commodifies us, and exploits our insecurities, and never promotes us. Vocal promotes their challenges. They even tried to get us creators to promote the 2023 VWA’s, in addition to begging us for community funding and asking for over $100 a year in membership fees. But they do not promote our writing, nor encourage us to promote it beyond the Facebook groups of other Vocal creators.

Anger is an indicator that boundaries have been crossed. I see a lot of anger here, much of it misplaced. I see creators criticizing one another. Self-reflection would reveal why they’re actually mad. Those of us who’ve invested so much of ourselves into this community are mad that we’ve wasted our energy.

It doesn’t matter how “kind” and “supportive” you are here. You’d be lucky to sell 30 copies of a self-published book to your Vocal friends. You will die having never accomplished your dream of being a writer with reach. You may be addicted to social media, and that dopamine hit of receiving notifications on Facebook/Vocal, but something remains missing from your life. You – and who you could be – are missing.

You can stay mad. I’m acknowledging my justifiable anger and asserting boundaries. I’m redirecting my energy.

External validation without valuing yourself is like fucking with clothes on. That dry humping isn’t for me. I’m ready to feel good inside.