Over $600 From a Single Medium Story

It started as an ordinary morning, one of those moments where you hit “publish” on a story and expect a few claps, maybe a comment or two.

What unfolded later on was far from ordinary, it was extra-ordinary.

It was the kind of unexpected twist you don’t plan for, the type that leaves you staring at your screen, wondering if the universe just cracked a cosmic joke.

The story itself was harmless — at least, that’s how I saw it.

A candid reflection on the challenges new writers face when trying to join high-end publications. I mentioned Debra G. Harman, the editor of a hand full of such publications, as an example.

She had a reputation for rejecting and delaying new writer requests, which I noted in passing. No accusations, no malice — just facts. Or so I thought.

A screenshot of the narrative arc guidelines

What I didn’t anticipate was the storm that followed.

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The Comment That Sparked a Movement

Deb commented within hours. Her words carried the sharp edge of someone who felt cornered:

“Please stop bullying me. This is harassment and intimidation, and it’s not kind. Enough.”

Harassment? That word hit me, it stuck in my mind. My intention had never been to attack Deb. Truthfully, I just wanted her to read the story — a subtle nod to some old history she might not even remember.

But her reaction lit a fuse I hadn’t realized I’d ignited.

Suddenly, the story was everywhere.

Most readers weren’t on my side. They defended Deb with fervor, painting her as a gatekeeper of quality and a victim of my some kind of vendetta. Some questioned my ethics, others my motives.

The irony? These critics didn’t just read my story — they shared it.

And spoke to friends about it.

And asked them to come help comment it.

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The Unexpected Windfall

By the end of the first day, the story had more views than anything I’d ever written. My notifications weren’t flooded with claps, follows, no, nothing but angry comments, and even more silence reads from behind the curtains. I wasn’t making money from the defenders or the fence-sitters.

No, the money came from the curious.

As the controversy spread, a wave of curious readers joined the fray. They clicked through my profile, eager to understand the verdict.

Within 48 hours, I’d made over $600 — all because of a single comment from Deb.

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The Power of Bad Marketing

Here’s the thing about bad marketing, it works. Not in the way traditional advertising does, but in the way a train wreck captures your attention.

People are drawn to controversy, to stories that stir emotion.

Deb’s outrage wasn’t just a reaction; it was fuel.

Her defenders amplified my story far beyond what I could’ve achieved alone.

In their attempt to shield her from perceived harm, they inadvertently gave me a spotlight.

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Lessons from the Chaos

As the dust settled, I found myself reflecting on the chaos. What had I learned from this unintentional experiment in bad marketing?

1. Controversy Sells, But Intention Matters
   I didn’t write the story to provoke Deb or her followers, and maybe that’s why it resonated. People could sense the authenticity behind my words, even if they didn’t agree with my perspective.

2. Engaging Haters Can Be Profitable
   Haters aren’t just critics; they’re amplifiers. Their passion — whether positive or negative — draws attention. The trick is to stay grounded and let the storm run its course.

3. Curiosity is a Currency
   The defenders weren’t my audience, but their outrage created curiosity. And curiosity, in the digital age, is as good as gold.

4. Focus on the Bigger Picture
   At the end of the day, this wasn’t about Deb or our shared history. It was about the broader conversation — the challenges new writers face, the gatekeeping of certain publications, and the need for inclusivity in creative spaces.

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Moving Forward

I never planned to make money from this story.

In fact, I didn’t plan for much beyond wanting Deb to read it.

Whether she remembered our history or not, she played a role in sparking a conversation I didn’t even know needed to happen.

As for the $600? I’ll be honest — it’s a nice bonus.

But the real reward was seeing the power of words in action.

How a single story could ripple outward, touching lives in ways I hadn’t imagined.

The next time someone tells me bad marketing doesn’t work, I’ll smile and think of Deb.

Because sometimes, the best stories aren’t the ones we plan — they’re the ones we stumble upon.

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