Confessions of a Jealous Writer

[rockinlibrarian]

Over the weekend people on my Twitter feed kept Tweeting and Retweeting links to a blog post-- on LiveJournal, even, so you can't blame format-- someone had written on the socioeconomic downside of insisting that Print is Dead, accompanied by notes about how this was Very Important and Genius and Whatnot-- also, the original post had five pages of comments-- and of course I agreed perfectly. After all, I'd said as much myself last winter in my series on electronic media. But instead of being all, "Yes, go people, get the word out!" ... I found myself pouting in adolescent snittiness. I SAID IT LAST WINTER. But nobody LISTENS to ME.

WHY DOES NOBODY LISTEN TO ME? NOBODY LOVES ME! I'M NOT TALKING TO YOU! I AM GOING TO BLAST DEPRESSING MUSIC AND NOT COME OUT OF MY ROOM, EVER, unless I get hungry. WHY IS THERE NEVER ANYTHING GOOD TO EAT IN THIS HOUSE? YOU ARE TRYING TO STARVE ME, AREN'T YOU.

Now I admit I was more than a bit PMSy this weekend, which you might have gathered had you bravely read my last entry. I am aware that raging hormones cancel out all logical ability. I work in the Teen Room of a public library after all. I know, with the cortex of my brain, that the stuff I say on my blog has very little impact on the Internet at Large. I'm an unknown, without a gimmick, a focus, or any authority whatsoever. Why SHOULD anything I have written make any sort of wave? But my amygdala (appropriate name, there) starts up with its panicky "But wait! What about ME? Doesn't anybody love ME? I FIND THE LACK OF ME-CENTERED-NESS DISTURBING!" and the jealousy begins. Why aren't people rebroadcasting MY brilliant wisdom and charming wit all over the Internet? ...probably because I don't often say anything really, truly original. Mostly I'm just ranting, reviewing books that have already been out for, you know, MONTHS, or... well, dudes, seriously, if OTHER people are writing long theses on why Martin Freeman is actually their Imaginary Husband, that would just be frightening. Those people might actually have to be hunted down and exterminated. So anyway, when I AM truly original, it's probably best I remain that way, and it's really not necessary to rebroadcast me all over the Internet. BUT SOMETIMES I'm clever and original and worth sharing, right? Maybe? And maybe I can get credit for it sometimes?

But I know it's all silliness, and I shake my head condescendingly at myself.


But I reassure myself: I have grown over the course of my life. I hear talk of what jealous people writers can be, jealous of other people's sales and successes. And I used to be very possessive of my Writer status, as a child. I was the resident WRITER of the school. Maybe other people liked writing, but I was the one who was going to grow up to be a Proper Author. I pouted when others scored higher on writing assignments than me. I pouted when others got PRAISED for writing. Heck, I even still had a problem when ANGIE came along, Angie whose brilliant stories and poems I read over and over fanatically of my own free will, Angie my first true critique partner. Somehow, in the back of my head, I thought, Okay, I guess I can allow Angie to be a great POET, maybe. But I'm going to write the BOOKS.

I don't do that anymore. Well for one thing there's that problem with, you know, NOT WRITING ANYTHING PROPER LATELY IN THE FIRST PLACE. But it's also because I've accepted that everyone's outlook is UNIQUE, and there's no such thing as too many writers. Now when I find out someone writes, I'm excited, because I CAN'T WAIT TO READ WHAT THEY'VE WRITTEN. (With some exceptions. Girl from my hometown came out with a YA book the other year. Got good reviews. Made the BBYA list. I ordered it for our library. Girl's older brother was in my class. He was a complete psychopath. Book involves main character's complete psychopath older brother. I cannot read this book). How can I possibly be against MORE GREAT STORIES BEING PUT INTO THE WORLD?!

So I've grown. I'm not a selfish I-Am-The-Writer anymore. I'm all for cheering on everybody else, too.

...it's just the green-eyed monster has snuck off to chew on OTHER issues. Like writers who are somehow able to write productively even though they have small children (I'm sorry, elouise82. I know you are totally one of these people, and I love you dearly. BUT HOW DO YOU DO THAT?!). And the ones who say, "I couldn't have done it without my super-supportive and totally understanding spouse, who is either a wonderful first reader or at least makes a big effort to make sure I get ample writing time to myself!" I glower at you all.

Kiersten White is totally one of those writers. She's drafted three whole novels this year even with two small children, and she even wants another, and she's got lovey-dovey odes to her husband all over the place. I should hate her, except a) she's too freaking hilarious to hate, and b) she wrote this absolutely perfect post the other day describing exactly the sort of thing I'm talking about. We all get a little dumb about stuff and people on the Internet sometimes. So I'm sorry. Have a unicorn.

Except I don't like unicorns. Flowers. I'll be the flower person. You can have lots and lots of flowers.

Comments

[sal_amanda]

I wonder at the way blogs become famous enough that someone is actually able to write books off of them. And I read many of those (though I have yet to buy a blog related book), but it truly does amaze me. And I wonder at what the magic formula is. But there probably isn't really one other than sheer dumb luck.

[rockinlibrarian.livejournal.com]

I think blogs that are likely to turn into BOOKS are also far more likely to stick to one subject or theme than I am. HAH. One-subject blogs are so overrated! I say that because I stubbornly refuse to ever have one. So many of my friends who used to keep livejournals have decided they are going to have PROPER one-subject blogs elsewhere, but I admit I don't see the appeal!

[elouise82.livejournal.com]

Um, my brief spurts of writing productivity is mostly caused by ignoring things like sweeping my floors and washing my dishes, barrel-loads of guilt, and then resentment, toward my family, and plenty of whiny phone calls to my mother about how much of a better writer I would be if I weren't also wife and mother, and gee, what kind of a horrible person am I to think things like this?

Only that stuff doesn't make it onto the blog. It used to, on my old blog, but then I felt like I was being depressing and repetitive, and just started to focus on the writing blog instead.

But trust me, there is nothing here to be jealous of. Just another person floundering in the dark, wishing she could balance it all, and hating the fact that to focus on the children means my writing gets neglected, and to focus on my writing means I ignore my husband and kids. These things really do suck.

[rockinlibrarian.livejournal.com]

It always seems greener on the other side, doesn't it?

I think my problem is I'm so worried about neglecting one part of my life or another that I can't FOCUS on ANY part of it, so end up accomplishing many different things mediocre-ly. So instead of feeling like a failure at one thing because I'm busy focusing on something else, I'm feeling like a failure at EVERYTHING because I can't concentrate on any one thing!

[elouise82.livejournal.com]

Yeah. I do that sometimes, too. Which then leads me to conclude that pretty much, for anyone who has ambition, this stage of life is just going to be painful. And crappy.