“I am fueled by jealousy and spite,” Victoria Aveyard once laughed on her podcast, Plot Twist. As the author of the Red Queen and the Realm Breaker series, as well as the upcoming novel Tempest, it’s safe to say that her accolades make her pretty legit. And if Victoria Aveyard was confident enough to utter these taboo words into existence, I think little old me can admit them too.
I’m the first to say I am PROUD of my author friends who have big things happen for them. Because the likelihood that things happened by accident is relatively low compared to the hours they work, the content they produce, and the borderline unhealthy dedication they possess. (Seriously. In an industry with a success rate as low as ours, we all must be possessed to keep reaching for the stars. Or the NYT bestseller list.)
I mean it wholeheartedly when I say, “I just want my friends to be widely read and received with praise.” Being a part of a writing community (shameless plug for Hot Girls Who Write) has made that tight-knit-family-style-fabled-support-system both tangible, real, and something I hold so dear.
But at the same time, with every win, there’s a little voice that says:
“Why not me?”
And it’s bigger, more aggressive sister saying:
“Well now I gotta try harder.”
Friendly competition can be a big motivator. Keeping up with the trends is one thing. But keeping up with your friends that can churn out 2500 words in one sitting is both inspiring… and crippling.
It’s a universal fear of being left behind.
Maybe it’s an innate characteristic of ourselves as writers that we all have this insatiable drive to keep reaching for the next big thing. (Seriously though. When my entire group chat realizes we are all Enneagram Type 3: The Achievers, maybe there’s a theme).
I’m not proud of this revelation. It’s something I’m scared to type even now. But we aren’t always main character energies or superhero warriors or protagonists on a hero’s journey with epic conquests. Sometimes we are beautifully, messily human. And it’s not always pretty being human.
Which brings us to something else not so pretty: Imposter Syndrome.
Every writer knows the feeling. According to Psychology Today, those who experience imposter syndrome feel “that they aren’t as competent or intelligent as others might think–and that soon enough, people will discover the truth about them.” (Faking it, am I right?)
Maybe this deep, dark fear is the root cause of the little, green monster that sits on our shoulders, telling us to be sad that you’ll never be like them.
Maybe jealousy isn’t the problem, but rather a product of the irrational mindset that you don’t belong because the next person did it BIGGER or better.
And who can blame us? We write words that we’ve cut from our soul and bled on the page and are expected to keep our chin high and eyes dry when a Goodreads review comes in at one star. (So much for reaching for them.)
In an era that dons highlight reels like armor, I’m peeling back my cloak to admit it is hard. It is hard to stay in your lane with your blinders on and write the damn book when the roar of applause next door keeps pulling the focus away from YOUR words on YOUR page.
But two things can be true. You can be happy for the wins in your circle AND motivated to keep running towards your own finish line. I don’t think there should be shame in admitting that.
And when I think of the kid I used to be, with her the teal and green 5 subject notebook and a collection of fancy ballpoint pens that each correlate to a different story idea, I think she would be proud of the two book babies I get to hold in my hands and call mine.
It’s all about perspective.
(But it’s okay to keep reaching, too.)
Sources:
Meg Rosenthal 
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