Jennifer Sharp

Open Letter: BROO



Dear Broo Executives,

To be honest, I never thought I’d be writing an open letter to you. When I joined your site 5 years ago I was a plucky girl with a dream of becoming a writer. I wanted to make people laugh, network with other writers, and read well-written work; your site offered all of that and more.

Somewhere in the last few years, things went awry. People that I really admired started leaving, and the ones who stayed were writing less often. I also eventually left; some of it for personal reasons, but mostly because it stopped being a fun place to hang out.

Fast forward a couple of years, and a few dedicated friends (both old and new) were able to convince me to come back and write regularly. I was given my own column, and I was eager to take my writing more seriously. Then it all unraveled.


I started hearing murmurings of dissatisfaction with those running the site. At first they were about minor things- articles not being published on time, favoritism, and messages going unanswered. Then I started hearing accusations that were much more serious- censorship issues, personal attacks, and people being banned from the site for expressing their opinions.

I’m not a confrontational person, but I’m also not the type of person who stands idly by when I see a train wreck about to happen. So I voiced my concerns, and after a few escalated arguments, was told I was a “troll” and a “troublemaker.” Eventually, you threatened to ban me from the site.

I guess I misunderstood the Letter from the Editor which states, “It’s also a place to be open with the team behind Broo.” I’m not trying to be nitpicky, but don’t you think you should change that? It should actually say something along the lines of, “You don’t like it? Who cares! We’ll run this site the way we see fit, even if the direction we’re taking it is straight into the ground.” A little honesty goes a long way, and who knows, I may have stuck around with a shovel to help you dig your grave.

The problem really lies in the fact that you know nothing about this site and its writers. You know nothing of honesty and integrity. You know nothing of loyalty and community. You know nothing of Marketing and Social Media. You know nothing of transparency and a collaborative effort. You know nothing of the impact one writer’s resignation can make on everyone else who was already thinking about throwing in the towel.
I want you to know that Broo has not succeeded because of you, it has succeeded in spite of you. You were lucky enough to purchase a site which already had talented writers on it. Everyone knew the value of self-promotion as well as cross-promotion. They understood that it takes a village to raise a writer, and did everything they could to help a person find his/her voice. Everyone understood that success has way more to do with hard work than with an auto-tweet which is sandwiched between other auto-tweets.

I didn’t ask to have my account deleted from the site out of spite; in fact, the thought of no longer being a part of the “Broo family” saddened me. I weighed the pros and cons of staying, and decided that it was in my best interest to make my departure. Simply put, I cannot have my name as a writer associated with people whose practices are shady at best.

The thing I realized in all of this is that I have been writing the next chapter in my life for some time now. I have cultivated relationships with people from the site that have turned into full-fledged friendships. I built a blog which I’m confident will take me (and my writing) to the next level. I’ve been taking notes on the things I learn at work which can be adapted to help me as a writer. I have finally recognized that my writing is valuable to people outside of Broo.

There you have it, my final goodbye letter to you. I carry no grudge, and hope that you’re able to recruit new people who can rebuild everything you have managed to undo. It would be a shame if another plucky writer stumbled upon the site, and didn’t have the same opportunity to expose his/her work that I once did. I sincerely wish you the best luck in the future because, truthfully, you’re going to need it.

Sincerely,

The Tonic

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