Artists Aren’t Lottery Tickets

I have spent much of today trying to publish a single article.

I have edited it, revised it, corrected transcription errors, adjusted the formatting, and submitted it repeatedly. I have tried to work out why a platform keeps rejecting my submission without clearly identifying the specific passage, link, or other element that needs attention.

After hours of guessing, I am exhausted.

And the irony is difficult to ignore: the article I have been trying to publish is about the invisible labour of creating work, the financial uncertainty artists face, and the amount of unpaid effort required to make a living from our creative practices.

Publishing the article has become another example of exactly what I am writing about.

This experience has prompted me to consider not only the economics of writing platforms, but also the relationship between creators and the systems that distribute our work.

I want to discuss two things: Medium’s recent change to its paywall requirements and my experience trying to publish on Vocal.

Both raise questions about how independent creators are expected to sustain their work.

Medium: paying for the possibility of earning

Recently, Medium informed me that an active membership is now required to put new stories behind its paywall.

At the time of writing, I have published approximately 172 articles over 20 months and earned roughly $10 USD.

I previously paid for a Medium membership during my first year. The financial return did not justify continuing, so I stopped paying. I was still able to place new stories behind the paywall and earn at a lower rate.

Under the new requirement, I would need to pay approximately $50 USD for another membership to monetize future stories.

I am not doing that right now.

This is not a declaration that my work lacks value. Nor do I believe that platforms should provide their services without compensation. Platforms have operating costs, and I understand the need for sustainable business models.

My concern is the financial risk placed on the creator.

I supply the writing, research, editing, experience, and creative labour. I spend time building an audience and promoting my work. I invest in the possibility that my efforts might generate income.

But when the cost of participating exceeds the return, I must decide whether another investment makes financial sense.

I cannot keep paying for the privilege of hoping somebody will eventually recognize the value of my work.

My existing paywalled stories will remain available under Medium’s current terms, and I appreciate everyone who has read, shared, and supported them. However, I have decided not to pay for a membership to monetize new writing at this time.

That decision is about sustainability, not a lack of commitment to my work.

The invisible labour is still labour

I have been an artist for approximately 30 years. I have made hundreds of artworks, produced films, exhibited, built websites, written extensively, and pursued opportunities across several creative disciplines.

I have worked part-time jobs, including as a barista. I have applied for grants and exhibitions, written proposals, prepared installations, marketed my work, and managed the administration required to maintain an independent practice.

I have spent decades funding my own creative work while navigating financial insecurity and the ordinary demands of maintaining a life.

Every project involves more than the finished product.

There is research, planning, experimentation, production, editing, documentation, promotion, installation, administration, and the time required to recover and replenish the energy needed to create again.

There are materials, equipment, insurance, studio space, application fees, website costs, and countless hours spent pursuing opportunities that may never generate income.

Exhibition and festival applications can require substantial preparation and fees. Rejections may arrive months later with little explanation and no refund. Larger proposals can take hours or days to complete. Some opportunities require an established exhibition history before an artist is eligible to apply.

All of this is labour.

The invisible labour is still labour, even when nobody sees it or pays for it.

I loathe the suggestion that artists should simply get a conventional job and make their art on the side, as though creating meaningful work requires nothing more than a few spare hours.

Art draws on technical skill, research, lived experience, observation, imagination, and the whole human being. Whether I am writing, painting, making films, or developing installations, the work requires concentration, time, and the conditions necessary to do it well.

I want to produce thoughtful, high-quality work. I want to take care of myself, develop larger projects, and build a sustainable practice.

I do not want to burn myself out producing an endless stream of content simply to remain visible.

That takes resources.

My hours are not free simply because I care about what I am making.

My house was a gallery. The artists supplied the experience.

I recently completed my second Sunshine Coast Art Crawl, opening my home and studio to the public for three days.

I spent approximately $1,000 CAD preparing for the event, including participation fees, insurance, decorations, and other expenses. Some of the work on display took years to develop. Preparing the space required months of thought, planning, and effort.

Then I opened the doors, turned on the lights and heat, and welcomed visitors into my home. I managed the experience myself.

I enjoyed it. I do not regret participating.

I am genuinely grateful to everyone who visited, including people who travelled from near and far. Visitors engaged with my paintings, taxidermy, installations, films, and writing. The conversations mattered, and I value the opportunity to share my work with a community.

I do not measure every human interaction in dollars.

But the event is free to the public, not free for the artists.

We pay to participate, prepare our spaces, provide the work, host visitors, and absorb the associated expenses. The financial return is uncertain.

I appreciate the opportunity and the exposure the Art Crawl provides. Community arts events have value, and organizers have their own costs to manage.

Nevertheless, there is an economic imbalance when artists must make substantial financial investments to create an experience for the public without any reliable return.

If artists could not afford to create, maintain their studios, or open their doors, there would be no Art Crawl to visit.

We celebrate the value of art, but we do not always account for the resources required to make it available.

I wish I could give my art away for free. I wish everyone could create, publish, paint, sing, and share their work without worrying about whether they could afford to eat afterward.

But we live in a world where housing, food, electricity, insurance, materials, equipment, and studio space cost money.

I have shared my work generously for years. My websites and social media contain an extensive archive of writing, images, prints, videos, and films. Some of my work has been circulating online since 2007.

I value the opportunities that sharing provides. I appreciate the people who discover my work and the conversations that follow.

But exposure does not pay the rent.

When publishing becomes another unpaid job

My experience with Vocal has brought another part of this problem into focus.

I have been trying to publish an article and have received repeated rejections accompanied by general warnings about spammy language or potentially problematic links.

I have tried to identify what might be causing the problem. I have revised the text, removed links, adjusted wording, and resubmitted the story.

I still do not know precisely what triggered the rejections.

I understand why a publishing platform needs moderation policies. I understand that spam, misleading promotions, and harmful content need to be addressed.

My concern is not that every submission must be accepted. My concern is that creators need meaningful feedback if they are expected to correct problems.

If a particular link violates a rule, identify it where possible. If a passage triggers a filter, point to the passage. If a promotional practice is not permitted, explain which rule applies and how the creator can comply.

A general warning may communicate that something is wrong, but it does not necessarily provide enough information to fix it.

Without actionable feedback, the creator is left to guess, edit, resubmit, wait, and guess again.

That process consumes time without necessarily bringing the creator any closer to understanding the problem.

I have spent hours trying to publish one article. Those are hours I could have spent writing, painting, maintaining my business, or resting.

This is another form of invisible labour: the work required to navigate the systems through which our work is distributed.

Clear feedback is not special treatment. It is a practical tool that helps creators comply with the rules.

Creators need a workable way to reach their audiences

Independent creators are encouraged to build audiences, publish regularly, share their work, and promote their projects.

We invest in websites, equipment, materials, and platforms. We spend hours producing content and then spend additional hours helping people discover it.

For many of us, promotion is not separate from our business. It is part of the work required to sustain it.

Readers may want to explore an artist’s paintings, films, publications, or other projects. Creators need reasonable ways to make those connections and, where permitted, direct interested readers towards their wider work.

I recognize that platforms can set limits on external links and promotional material. I am not arguing that every link must be allowed in every context.

But when creators receive unclear rejection notices, it becomes difficult to distinguish between a legitimate policy restriction and a problem with the automated review process.

The result is uncertainty, additional unpaid work, and less time available for creating.

I want to publish work that people find meaningful. I want to reach readers, participate in conversations, and earn an income from my creative practice.

I need to be able to understand the rules of the platforms I use and make informed decisions about where my work belongs.

I cannot build a sustainable creative business by guessing what I am permitted to do.

I want to thrive, not just survive

I am profoundly grateful to the clients, collectors, and supporters who have invested in my work throughout my career. Every purchase, commission, and opportunity to share my art has meant something to me. Those investments make a tangible difference, and I never take them for granted.

I work independently, without staff, a team, professional representation, or outside financial backing. I have spent decades building my portfolio, pursuing opportunities, and developing my practice while navigating the realities of making a living as an artist.

I want to make more art, more films, and larger installations. I want to develop projects that require collaboration, equipment, space, and other forms of support.

I want to take care of myself and make excellent work without treating exhaustion and financial deprivation as the price of admission.

I am not asking every reader to purchase everything I make. I understand that people have their own bills, limitations, and financial struggles. I also recognize that platforms need viable business models.

This is not an argument that everything should be free.

It is an argument that the people producing creative work need a reasonable opportunity to sustain themselves.

The starving-artist archetype is not an obligation. Artists should not have to accept permanent financial insecurity as proof of their commitment.

I do not consent to a lifetime of poverty as the price of being an artist.

I need resources. I need time. I need the opportunity to thrive.

That is how I can sustain my work and contribute meaningfully to the world.

I am grateful for Vocal’s readers. I need to consolidate my work.

I want to acknowledge the people who have read my work on Vocal.

Even a small community matters. The comments, conversations, encouragement, and contributions I have received have helped me feel that my work reaches people and that what I write can inspire a response.

Building a readership takes time. I know how much effort goes into creating a community, and I do not take that investment lightly.

I am grateful to the people who have spent time with my writing here. I would prefer not to lose those connections.

But I also have to consider what is sustainable for me.

Maintaining several publishing platforms requires additional time and administration. Each platform has its own systems, formatting requirements, policies, and ways of reaching readers. Managing them all can become another job in itself.

I need to consolidate my writing and focus my efforts.

For now, I am moving my new writing to The Honed Crone on Substack, where readers can access free posts, subscribe, comment, and join the conversation.

I will continue exploring ways to publish and distribute my work sustainably. If that arrangement stops working for me, I will reassess my options. I am not committed to any one platform at the expense of my ability to keep creating.

I will continue looking for places that support independent writers, value meaningful work, communicate their policies clearly, and offer a workable path towards earning an income.

I would welcome recommendations from other creators, particularly those building an audience without substantial financial backing or an established following.

Which platforms have worked for you? Where have you found a good balance between reaching readers, retaining control of your work, and earning a fair return?

I would genuinely appreciate hearing about your experiences.

The work continues

I am an artist, writer, and filmmaker. I have spent decades turning experience into creative work, sharing ideas, and exploring the questions that matter to me.

I want to keep writing. I want to make bigger projects, tell difficult stories, make people laugh, and contribute something meaningful.

But I need resources to do that.

I cannot spend every day producing work, promoting it, navigating publishing systems, and trying to determine whether another investment might eventually pay for itself.

I want to spend more time creating and less time rebuilding the infrastructure around my work.

Independent creators need readers, but we also need a sustainable way to live. I do not believe I must remain poor to serve humanity, nor do I believe that caring deeply about my work means I should accept endless unpaid labour.

I am grateful to everyone who has read, shared, commented on, purchased, commissioned, or otherwise supported my work. Your time and investment have mattered.

I am not giving up on creating. I am looking for a better way to continue.

I’ll be over here making things.

Probably eating sardines.

Possibly cheese in the dark.

And perhaps, eventually, finding a publishing process that lets me spend more time writing the stories than trying to get them published.