As many of you know, and some of you may not, I am a fully credentialed creator with the Creator Accountability Network.
What is CAN, you ask?
That's a fair question, especially since their work tends to happen quietly, behind the scenes, and it's not really anything flashy.
The Creator Accountability Network is, at its core, an anchor point in a typically chaotic space. It was built for artists, writers, streamers, podcasters, really anyone who shares pieces of themselves with an audience, and for the people who interact with those creators in online and in person spaces. CAN exists in that space between community and responsibility, offering clarity where the larger industry usually offers none.
They have a very deliberate structure to their work in approaching the needs of this space. With a trained team of advocates and mediators, they handle concerns with patience and precision, ensuring that ethics reports don’t disappear into a void or explode into public spectacle. Instead, they’re guided through a restorative justice process. One centered on truth, accountability, and the long, quiet work of repairing harm. No public shaming. No mob justice. Just a steady commitment to doing what’s right, even when it’s difficult.
For creators, the path into CAN isn’t a quick certification or a decorative badge given with a rubber stamp. It begins with hours of training, real conversations about ethics, power dynamics, community care, and the ways we can unintentionally cause harm in the relation between creator and fan. From there comes a three-month provisional period, a time to live out those principles under the transparency of a public database. Only after clearing that stage, with no outstanding concerns, does a creator become fully credentialed.
It’s a process with weight behind it.
A structure with intention.
And for those of us who care deeply about the spaces we build and the people who place their trust in us, it offers something rare: a framework built not just to protect creators, but to protect the communities that make our work possible.
For me, the importance of CAN comes down to something simple: independent creators, especially indie authors like myself, don’t get an HR department. There’s no backstage safety net, no neutral third party making sure lines aren’t crossed or harm isn’t minimized if we overstep our bounds with the public. We meet readers in bookstores, convention halls, hotel lobbies, crowded signing lines, quiet DMs. We shake hands, take photos, listen to stories, share pieces of ourselves, and in all of that closeness there is trust. Real, vulnerable trust.
And without structure, that trust can be exploited. Not just by the villains people whisper about, but by creators who never meant to do harm and never learned where the boundaries should be. I’ve watched situations in the author world escalate because there was no process, no accountability, no framework for handling concerns before they grew teeth. Even now, accusations can flare up around giants in the field who overstepped clear ethical boundaries. This serves as reminders that fame doesn’t come with a built-in compass, and the industry rarely steps in until damage has already been done.
That’s why CAN matters to me.
They provide what the creative world has never really had: a place where expectations are clear, where creators are educated on power dynamics, and where audiences have a way to speak up without fear. It’s the closest thing we have to an HR department. Someone to step in when something feels wrong, someone to help repair harm, someone to make sure we don’t cross lines with parasocial relationships and uneven power.
When I chose to become credentialed, it wasn’t out of fear or obligation. It was because I wanted the people who pick up my books, who stop by my table, who write to me, to know that I take their safety seriously. That I’m willing to be held to a higher standard, not because I expect to stumble, but because everyone deserves a safeguard.
Most creators in CAN come from podcasts or YouTube spaces where parasocial connections can grow quickly and intensely. Authors' relationships with readers can be just as intimate, just as charged, just as potentially complicated. Becoming credentialed made me realize how rare it is for writers to have this kind of structure. At the moment, I believe I'm the only author in the network. That isn’t a point of pride so much as a sign of how deeply this gap runs in our industry.
I stepped into that space because I believe readers deserve better. And I believe creators do too.
If any of this resonates with you, whether you’re a creator, a reader, or someone who believes the creative world can and should be safer, there are a few ways you can join me in supporting CAN’s work.
If you're a creator yourself, I encourage you to consider going through CAN’s credentialing process. It isn’t performative. It isn’t a badge to toss on a profile. It’s a commitment to learning, to being better for the people who trust you, and to building a community where harm isn’t ignored or minimized. The training alone reshapes how you think about your role and the weight your work carries. And being part of a network that values accountability as much as creativity is a rare kind of grounding.
For those who don’t create but want to help keep this framework alive, CAN operates as a nonprofit. Every training session, every mediated report, every victim advocate cannot continue without funding. Donations keep the structure standing so creators and audiences have a place to turn when they need it most. Even small contributions help CAN continue the work most people never see but everyone benefits from.
As a thank-you to anyone who donates during this fundraiser and sends me proof, I’d like to offer something in return. You can choose two short stories, either PDF or EPUB, from any of my published pieces in The Albatross (with the exception of One Mile Home or Down From the Mountain), or select an unpublished story from one of four categories: science fiction, steampunk, fantasy, or horror. If you prefer something longer, you can opt for one of my published novels instead: To Tread the Narrow Path (fantasy) or Into the Sove (horror fantasy).
It’s my way of showing gratitude for supporting accountability, for believing this work matters, and for helping build a creative community we can all move through with a little more trust and a little more safety.
If you're interested in donating to CAN, you can visit the donation page on their website.
If you're interested in becoming a credentialed creator, you can take a look at the credentialing page.
I am CAN credentialed creator, which means you can report instances of harassment, abuse, or other harm on their hotline at (617) 249-4255, or on their website at creatoraccountabilitynetwork.org.
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