At This Rate, I’ll Be Rich in 37 Years: My Delusional Plan to Make Money on Vocal

When I found out Vocal+ pays $6 per 1,000 views, I did what any completely rational person would do: I made a spreadsheet, declared myself a professional writer, and told three people that I was “basically going to be rich now.”

It started off slow. A few cents here. A dollar there. But the math kept mathing in my head:

If I write something that goes viral, I’ll be sipping lattes on a Tuesday afternoon while casually checking my dashboard like it’s my stock portfolio. I could smell the financial freedom—and maybe even afford name-brand cereal again.

So I created a plan. A very serious one.

Step One: Convince Myself I’m a Literary Genius

Naturally, I started by hyping myself up. I stood in the mirror and gave myself a TED Talk. “You’re not just a mom who’s tired and confused—you’re a writer. You’ve lived. You’ve seen things. You once fed three kids off one can of SpaghettiOs and a prayer.”

Clearly, I had the range.

Step Two: Write the Kind of Stories That Scream ‘CLICK ME’

I wasn’t going to write boring listicles. No, no. I wanted drama. Relatability. Slight trauma but with a punchline. Things like:

• “Why My Toddler Is My Birth Control”

• “An Open Letter to the Cereal Aisle That Made Me Cry Today”

• “My Son’s Tooth Fell Out and So Did My Will to Parent”

I knew I had something. So I hit publish.

Step Three: Hustle Like I Owe Myself Rent

This is where things got serious. I posted my story on Facebook with a caption so emotionally manipulative I scared myself. “Every view helps. Even if you don’t read it. Even if you hate me. Please. Just click.”

I texted relatives I hadn’t spoken to in years.

I told my friends, “If you love me, you’ll click this story 12 times.”

I even asked my toddler to watch it on the iPad. He responded by licking the screen. Close enough.

Step Four: Check My Earnings Like a Madwoman

I refreshed my Vocal dashboard more than I check my bank account. Every 10 minutes. Maybe five. Just in case the algorithm decided to bless me suddenly.

First day? 42 views.

Second day? 9 views.

Third day? I got excited because I saw a spike—turned out it was just me accidentally clicking my own link 17 times.

At one point, I earned $0.84 in a single day and screamed. I ran into the kitchen and yelled, “I’m making money off my brain!” My child clapped. He didn’t know why.

Step Five: Have a Quarter-Life Crisis at 2 a.m.

I started questioning everything. Should I be writing think-pieces instead? Do people want recipes? Should I invent fake drama with a fictional ex-boyfriend and call it “The Toxic Man Who Made Me a Better Mother”?

Then came the self-doubt. “Maybe I’m not funny.” “Maybe I should go back to couponing.” “Maybe I need to write about conspiracy theories or make up a scandal.”

But just as fast as I spiraled, I bounced back. Because someone commented on my story and said, “I laughed so hard I snorted.” That was my fuel. I didn’t need $6—I needed snorts.

Step Six: Embrace the Chaos

I’ve accepted that I’m probably not getting rich quick. At this rate, I’ll earn enough for a Starbucks drink sometime around 2061.

But I’m not quitting. Writing on Vocal is cheaper than therapy and more satisfying than arguing with strangers online. It gives me an excuse to turn my chaotic life into content. And if I can make one exhausted mom laugh—or one stranger feel seen—then maybe I’m already kind of successful.

And if not? At least I’m finally using my oversharing habit for something productive.

Final Thoughts (Because I’m Nothing If Not Hopeful)

Will I be buying a beach house off my Vocal earnings? No.

Will I keep checking my stats like they determine my worth? Absolutely.

Am I still telling people “I’m a writer now”? Every chance I get.

So if you’re out there wondering whether your stories matter—write them anyway. Post them. Promote them. Believe in them even if your views look like a sad gas station receipt.

And if you ever feel discouraged, just know there’s a tired woman somewhere refreshing her Vocal dashboard in Target’s parking lot… rooting for both of us.