A number of decades ago, I had an interaction with a new person in our writers’ group. We had posted a notice in the library announcing our group and welcoming interested writers to join. One person answered the call — a writer who had a monthly column in the local paper.
We greeted him warmly, and made him feel welcome by giving him the floor to give us a brief rundown of who he was. Twenty minutes later, we knew we were in trouble.
The guy talked. A lot. Worse, he used the tone that says “I’m important and you are not” when addressing us. He was a published writer, and he put off the vibe that he was doing us a favor by being there. He read snippets of his columns to us, pointing out his more clever phrasing. (This is a guy who wrote a monthly fishing column, and was paid $30 a month for it. How do I know? Because I worked for the same paper and know what we correspondents were paid.)
Since he’d taken so much time talking about himself, there was only time for one of the remaining three of us to read our work. By luck, it was my turn to go first.
The two-page essay took probably three minutes to read. But the new guy took the remaining 25 minutes of our meeting time to shred the essay verbally. Every sentence was rewritten from his perspective. I was used to constructive critique, but this wasn’t constructive. It was insulting. He questioned every verb, every statement, even the entire essay premise, telling me I should have chosen this topic instead of the one I had. It ended when he got to the last sentence and said “You need to rewrite this to read….” and I responded, “Well actually, I like that sentence the way it is.”
And he threw his hands in the air (literally) and rolled his eyes. “I was only trying to help!”
No, no you weren’t. You were only trying to make yourself feel important.
The experience was wholly unpleasant, but it was made more so by what he did after the meeting.
Fast forward two hours. I get a call. It’s this guy (who had to look up my phone number because no, I didn’t give it to him). Did I have a fax machine? Yes, I did.
Ten minutes later, my fax machine cranks out six pages.
He had taken the liberty of rewriting my two-page story, and he included another four pages of detailed criticism of what I did wrong, along with his direction on what I should have done instead. I read it (because I was curious). Nothing useful. At all. Just a lot of chest-thumping.
According to the assessment of the other members of the group, he was exhibiting classic signs of jealousy. It was obvious he wanted us to believe he was the best writer in the room, and that nothing any of us would have read him would be acceptable. All but one was a published writer, but he never knew that because he was busy inflating his ego to fill the air in the room. Wouldn’t have mattered, I suspect, as he was reacting to my working at the same newspaper he did (and getting more assignments, which may have been his trigger).
Unfortunately for him, he lost the opportunity to learn from some of the smartest writers I knew.
Are you losing the same opportunity?
I tell this story because it’s an important one about jealousy and how it can hamper your efforts as a writer.
I’ve seen people destroy themselves or their careers over jealousy or trying to outdo another writer. I’ve seen online battles, people in other writers’ groups sniping at each other, and competition that makes zero sense. All because these writers have forgotten a fundamental fact:
[bctt tweet=”Competition in #freelancewriting is of your own making.” username=”LoriWidmer”]
The angst you get from competing with another writer or writers is self-inflicted. No one made you feel like less of a writer because another writer does what you do. You did that. And if they tried to, who are they to call the shots like that? And why are you letting it dictate your actions?
That angst is also counterproductive. If you focus your energy on making sure you outdo that writer you perceive as competition, how are you growing a business?
You’re not. You’re waging a silent, one-sided battle for no purpose other than to show up another writer.
The reason this comes up is I’m facing that very situation right now. Someone I know is prone to competition, and now I know that this writer is dipping a toe into my specialty.
And I don’t care. That writer may care all day long. But to me, it’s just one more person to bounce ideas off of and to share referrals with.
Where it becomes ridiculous is when jealousy causes writers to be harsh with each other. In the past, I’ve let jealousy change my direction — I stopped writing in a certain area because I was exhausted from fending off the snide comments and the put-downs.
But no more.
So what do you do when another writer’s jealousy starts to impact you? Here’s what I do:
- Ignore it.
- Address it privately.
- Decide how much energy to devote to it (hint: none).
- If all else fails, confront.
Ignoring it is usually my favorite option, particularly if it’s showing up in front of other people. Look, I could get upset and wage war and get snide right back, but what does that do to me? That takes my focus away from what’s important — improving my work.
If jealousy is getting in the way, I talk to the person in private. You have to, really. Otherwise, you’re going to obsess about it, which again, takes the attention off what you’re doing.
And taking a page from Anne Wayman (who I think is a master of de-escalating a situation), I decide what level of energy this issue deserves. None. I give it none. I don’t want to waste my energy worrying about someone else, preparing for an onslaught of emotional games, or changing a single thing about what I do. I don’t want that stuff in my life, so I won’t let it in anymore.
Oh yes, I made the mistake in the past of wallowing in it, obsessing over it, bitching about it, and venting all over everyone but the one causing the problem. No more.
But sometimes, it just gets in your face too much. That’s when you confront. I’d still keep it private, but the offender is going to know in no uncertain terms what I think of the jealousy (immature) and what I require from them (leave my orbit).
If you’re the writer who’s jealous and busy chasing another writer’s tail because dammit, you know you’re better than they are …. ask yourself why it matters. Why does someone else’s success bother you so much? What inside you is feeling inferior? Then shift the focus to something much, much more important:
Perfecting your craft.
If another writer is trying to suck you into a duel stemming from their own jealousy, remember: you cannot control another writer’s jealousy. You can control only your own reaction. The best reaction, in my opinion, is the one that frees you of the burden of someone else’s issue.
Writers, how has jealousy impeded your progress, either as someone who’s been jealous or is the recipient?
How has jealousy shown up in your own professional life?
How did you handle it?
3 responses to “Professional Jealousy and the Freelance Writer”
When I first started out, I literally counted how many bylines I had in a business trade I wrote for — as well as how many bylines the other contributors had. I did it for a bit of self-motivation. I wanted to be the contributor with the most bylines. Silly, I know. When one of the other writers, who I hadn’t met at that time, began catching up I started feeling jealous. That’s when I knew I had to stop obsessing over who had the most bylines. The editors of that publication assigned ideas to the writers they felt were a good fit, and who had time for the assignments. I probably just had fewer clients at the time.
The best part? That other writer is now one of my closest writing pals. Just the other day she sent me a story idea she thought one of the places I write for might like!
Paula, it sounds like you motivated yourself through jealousy — I kind of love it. 🙂
I’ll admit I’ve been a tad jealous when my stories, which I thought were cover stories, weren’t. Or when someone writes the very story I was about to pitch. 😉 Some jealousy is normal, I guess.
When it becomes the very thing that drives you, that changes who you are and how you conduct business, that’s a problem, in my opinion. If a writer is reacting all the time, they’re not creating their own unique path.
In one particular case where jealousy was aimed at me, I had another person point out that yes, this writer was clearly gunning for me. I knew it, but you just try to ignore it. But others were seeing it. I removed myself from the situation. Seemed the best solution as I wasn’t really enjoying the interactions anyway.
There’s another long-time contributor to one of the places I write for, and whenever the editor says someone else already pitched an idea I send, I know it’s probably her. We are usually on the same wavelength. And a few times I’ll see her stories and say, “Why didn’t I think of that one?”