Well, howdy! Fancy meeting you here!
Hey there! Welcome back to another installment of God’s favorite mistake, Am I the Literary Asshole? It’s a folksy advice column with a hefty splash of spirits. I’m your host, Kristen Arnett, and I’m currently mulling over the best way to add a beer-dispensing unit to my writing room. Can you imagine how productive I’d be with draft beer on tap day and night? Likely not as much as you’d hope!
Perhaps we should take a little summer fruit break and enjoy a refreshing sangria. We’ll beat the heat while slyly warding off scurvy. Two birds, one stone, no inhibitions.
I’ll pour you a glass, I’ll pour myself one, and then we’ll dive into the questions.
Cheers!
1) I juggle two jobs, one in fiction editing, and someone I’ve been collaborating with for years who is absolutely phenomenal. They’ve got a devoted fanbase, churn out amazing stories quickly, and consistently outdo everyone’s expectations. The snag is… I’m jealous. I’ve slogged through school and training, but they’ve always seemed ahead from the start.
I wish I had their skill or talent, but every piece I’ve written has been form-rejected, including by places I’ve worked for. And while my friend insists it’s just impostor syndrome and I could do the same, they don’t have much time to spare to coach me. The distance between us keeps widening, and I’m not sure how to cope. Am I a terrible person, someone who should push harder, or a fool who should stop chasing shadows?
Hello, friend. Thanks for writing in with this one.
It is incredibly hard to sit with feelings like the ones you’re describing. Part of that discomfort comes from a stubborn streak inside you that doesn’t want to let negativity touch your sense of worth or your art. You like this person, you admire their work, and you don’t want to feel compelled to compete with them. Yet, sometimes our feelings take us in directions we didn’t intend, despite our best intentions.
It’s completely normal to feel this way. The fact that you can name what’s going on is a very good sign. It means you understand the dynamics at play. This person has real talent, and seeing their success makes you question your own work. But is that doubt truly about you? I’m inclined to doubt it. It’s all too easy to measure ourselves against others when they’re hitting milestones we long for. But writing isn’t a sport of competition. It isn’t a race. It’s art, and every artist has a different path. The fact that your path hasn’t mirrored theirs doesn’t reflect a lack of talent on your part.
Believe me when I say this person has their own hidden struggles with their craft. Secret pains, pressures you know nothing about. We all carry those things. It’s tempting to compare, but the harder move is to allow yourself space to try again and again. I’d encourage you to treat your work with kindness. Give yourself permission to create what you’re drawn to, regardless of how you fear others might receive it. The kinder you are to yourself, the gentler the journey will feel. There isn’t a fracture between you two. You’re both moving at your own pace, making your own art. And that’s a good thing.
Now, shall I top off your glass as we move to the next question?
2) Hey there! Not sure how much of a literary jerk this makes me, but I’ve been recovering from burnout and trying to re-enter writing. My past work—which feels livelier and more alive when I revisit it—seems better than what I’ve produced lately… and it freezes me up when I try to write now. Honestly, I’m neurotic to a fault, so it wouldn’t surprise me if I’m overthinking. But my worry about my current quality is hindering me from simply telling a story. Do you have any tips on not being a literary jerk to yourself when returning after burnout? XD
Oh buddy! Yes, I do!
The simplest answer is this: Give yourself a break. Take some downtime. Be gentle with yourself, my friend.
When burnout hits and you force yourself to conjure something magical and flawless, you’ll often get the opposite result. Your brain says no, you produce stuff you don’t care about, and you end up feeling lousy for not delivering the perfect outcome.
Whenever I’m feeling burnt out (because, yes, it happens), I allow myself to engage with something that feels good and still sparks creativity. I’ll reread favorite books. I’ll rewatch beloved shows and films. I’m a big advocate for revisiting art that we already love. There’s a lot we can mine from what first drew us to make art in the first place.
Let your brain wander. Take walks. Be in nature. Visit museums. See plays. Do things that nudge you toward creativity. Sometimes our wells run a tad dry, and that’s the cue to refill them with all sorts of beauty. You’ll write again, and it’ll be fun. I promise!
Are there any orange slices left in this sangria? We’re guarding against scurvy, so let’s pour out the last bit and tackle our final question:
3) A good friend of mine just told me she’s thinking about opening a bookstore. I’m at a loss for how to tell her that this is a bad idea. First, she doesn’t have much money. And we’re in a recession. Then there’s the fact that she isn’t what I’d call business-minded. I know I’ll end up hearing about how she goes bankrupt on this, and I’ll want to say I told you so. She hasn’t asked for my opinion. But should I just tell her that now and save us all the trouble?
This is another one that’s easy to answer!
She hasn’t asked for your opinion, so just keep your thoughts to yourself for the time being.
We can’t know whether she’ll actually go through with this. Maybe it’s a passing fancy, or something she’s been considering far longer than you realize. Maybe not. It might even end in bankruptcy. But she didn’t invite your input, and unless you anticipate she’ll be asking for money soon, I’d let her make her own choices.
And hey, we don’t always have to say I told you so (even if we really want to).
And that’s all the time we have for today! Join me next time when I answer more of your anonymous questions (send them HERE, friends) and I’ll likely still be scavenging leftover fruit from the sangria pitcher like a lazy pirate.
Ahoy mateys, Dad
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Are you worried you’re the literary asshole? Ask Kristen via email at AskKristen@lithub.com, or anonymously here.
