They Laughed When I Started Writing Online — Until They Saw the Results

When I first told people I wanted to write online, they laughed.

Not in a malicious way—more like the polite chuckle you give when someone tells you they're going to be the next viral sensation or quit their job to become a TikTok chef.

“Writing? Online?” my cousin scoffed. “You mean like those people who blog about their cats?”

“I mean, good luck,” a friend said with an eyebrow raised. “But isn’t that super saturated? Nobody reads anymore.”

They weren’t trying to crush my dreams. They were just echoing what most people believe: writing online doesn’t pay, and it certainly doesn’t matter.

But they didn’t know what I knew.

I had stories to tell—real ones. I wasn’t interested in chasing trends or gaming the algorithm. I wanted to speak, and I hoped someone, somewhere, might want to listen.

It started with a single post. One night, I sat on my couch, cracked open my laptop, and poured out a story I had carried in my chest for years. It was about the first time I failed publicly, the embarrassment, the pain—and how it eventually led to growth. I submitted it to a platform I had stumbled upon called Vocal Media.

To my surprise, people read it.

Not just one or two, but hundreds within the first few days. Some commented, others shared, and a few even tipped me.

That night, I earned $2.37.

To most people, that’s a cup of gas station coffee. To me, it was confirmation that maybe—just maybe—this could work.

I kept going. I wrote about my struggles with confidence, the weird jobs I took in college, the time I accidentally went viral for a Twitter thread on surviving job interviews. I didn’t try to be perfect; I just tried to be honest.

Little by little, something started to change.

I found my rhythm. I began to study what worked and what didn’t. I tried new communities within Vocal—Motivation, Lifehack, Journal, and even Fiction. I entered challenges. I posted twice a week. I wrote in the morning before work and late at night when the house was quiet.

The tips increased. The reads multiplied. My earnings started to creep into three figures monthly. Then four.

Then I won a writing challenge.

That changed everything.

It wasn’t just the prize money—though that certainly helped. It was the recognition. Suddenly, the people who once laughed were asking questions.

“Wait… you’re making how much from writing?”

“Can you help me get started?”

“How did you build an audience?”

It was strange at first. The same people who dismissed my writing were now cheering me on. But I didn’t mind. Their doubt had fueled my drive. Their laughter had echoed in my mind every time I felt like quitting.

Writing online taught me more than just storytelling. It taught me discipline, resilience, marketing, community-building, and personal branding. I learned how to pitch, how to optimize headlines, how to keep readers engaged.

More importantly, I found my voice.

One of the most unexpected joys was connecting with other creators. Through the Vocal Creators Lounge on Facebook and comment threads on articles, I met people from around the world—each with unique stories, struggles, and triumphs. We encouraged each other, celebrated wins, and learned from losses.

In time, writing wasn’t just a hobby. It became a side hustle, then a second income stream. Eventually, it opened doors to freelance work, ghostwriting gigs, and content consulting.

And all because I refused to let someone else’s laughter define my limits.

Today, I write full-time. I publish on Vocal, Medium, my own blog, and for clients across industries. I’ve been featured in newsletters, podcasts, and online publications. My words have reached millions.

But the moment that still stands out the most?

It was when my mother called and said, “I read your piece about Grandpa. It made me cry—in a good way.”

That meant more than any paycheck.

To anyone reading this who feels uncertain, who has a dream that others mock or dismiss, let me tell you this: they will laugh. That’s what people do when they don’t understand something.

Let them laugh.

And then let your results speak.