There's a thief among us in the writing community: this thief is insidious, harmful, and causing an enormous amount of heartache, pain, and angst. And worst of all, this thief is stealing writers' ability to write. What is this thief?
The compulsion to compare oneself to others. I write, but they write better. I have completed a manuscript, but they have an agent. I have an agent, but they have a publishing deal. I have a publishing deal, but they have marketing. I have marketing, but they have a publicist. I have...but they have. I have...but they have. I have...but they have.... Where does it stop? It has to stop with the writer who decides not to play the game. It has to stop with the writer who decides to trust themselves and their decisions. It has to stop with the writer who decides to turn off the noise. It has to stop with the writer who is able to say, "The only writer to whom I should be comparing myself is the writer I was yesterday." The cost of the obsessive, high-stakes "I have...but they have" game is just too great: Creativity is floundering. Craft is being overlooked. Imagination is impotent. Dreams are being derailed.
I suppose there is such a thing as "healthy comparison," but I don't know anyone who's healthy enough to master such a thing--is anyone really that healthy? Theodore Roosevelt cautioned, "Comparison is the thief of joy," and I think we must take heed. We must, as a community, be diligent protecting ourselves from such a thief. We must recommit to nurturing and nourishing something extremely delicate and precious--the artist's craft, the artist's imagination, the artist's vision, the artist's dream. Something extremely delicate and precious...and incomparable. And if you find yourself being dealt a hand in the "I have...but they have" game? Fold, walk away, and go back to that place that matters most: your writing. There's nothing in the world worth putting that in jeopardy.
(c) emma d dryden, drydenbks llc