Here’s something I’ve had on my annual goal list for the last few years: Stop comparing myself to others.
It starts early, out of necessity, because we look at other writers and their careers for clues about how the business works and how to break in. We ask for advice from writers who’ve been there and follow their leads. But that also gives us a way to gauge our progress. And as the saying goes, there’s always someone doing better than you.
Comparing ourselves to others is so easy to do, especially when it’s so hard to judge your progress in the publishing business. But we have numbers. What’s your print run? What are your sales numbers? How does your advance stack up? We’re trained from early on to compare ourselves to others: Who gets picked first for the dodgeball team? (Although I hear schools avoid that sort of thing these days.) Test scores are so easy to compare, and to use to arrange us into neat little grids and graphs.
Writers’ blogs make it way too easy to compare on a day-to-day basis. Writers post daily word counts — and it seems like they’re always more than mine. (I figure if anyone is writing less they’re too embarrassed to post. I don’t post because I’m too embarrassed by my low numbers. And I’ve found that the more I focus on daily word counts, the less productive I am.)
Publishing is an industry that has lots of awards, lots of bestseller lists, lots of rankings, everything from the number of stars on an Amazon review on up to the Nobel Prize for literature. We all want those gold stars.
We have a “grass is always greener” mentality. I have writer friends who get a ton of critical recognition and are constantly nominated for awards. I celebrate their successes, and I’m secretly a little bit envious. Which is tough, because I know they look at my career and the New York Times bestseller label and feel exactly the same way. Interestingly enough, our problems — worrying about sales numbers, deadlines, self-promotion, publicity, etc. — are the same. All those extraneous measurements of success are just that — extra. They ultimately don’t mean much. But that’s what we focus on.
I haven’t figured out how to overcome this all-too-human impulse, which is why I’m still putting it on my goal list. I try to focus on my own work and doing the best I can — writing the books I want to write, telling my own stories, and celebrating both my successes and those of my friends. I remind myself: This is not a race. There’s no finish line and no big trophy. And we’re all in this together.
