Anthologize This

A couple facts about writers:

1. Most of them aren’t as good as they think they are.

2. You have to tell yourself you’re an excellent writer in order to make it.

I am not that great of a writer and I know that. I’m not even good enough to impress myself — and I’m pretty biased in my favor. When I was in grade school, middle school and high school, I was always the best writer in my class. My English teachers all liked me and I’ve gotten a lot of unsolicited compliments about my writing. But that was in school. I’m an adult now and there is simply and abundance of extremely talented writers out there. The pool is bigger and I’m just not that good anymore.

I remember the paradigm shift from being the best anyone’s every seen to run-of-the-mill wannabe. I would look up the credentials of my professors only to find they’ve published their novels through small, independent presses, or have only been anthologized in small journals. Amateurs, I thought, wafflers. Still I would have to take their classes or attend their workshops because I no other choice. Of course, I would find that these writers were outstandingly talented and full of helpful insight and passion for their craft. In turn, I learned a lot from them.

Hell, even during class workshops, I would read someone’s work judgingly and looked down upon them. I gave them my feedback and when it came time for them to give me their feedback, I would have to begrudgingly admit to myself that the writer I found “below” my level gave me excellent advice and had good insight on my writing. Damn.

Not to mention the times I was “forced” to do a writing exercise that I thought was dumb. Something I was convinced I would get nothing out of. But I played along with my instructor, only to find that yes, I got something great out of the exercise, something useful, unexpected and something I would have never made up on my own. Damn again.

And so, time after time, I have learned to take every writer — small-time and wannabe alike — seriously. And I am all the better for it. I feel like I have a better perspective on my own work. I feel grounded and I feel more responsive to constructive criticism. I feel like I’m learning more. Letting my ego go is one of the most important things I’ve learned as a writer. It’s something that I think has improved me as a person and allowed me to get the most out of my interactions with others.

So it’s a balance. Yes, you have to convince yourself that you’re good. Actually you have to convince yourself that you are absolutely exceptional, because the field is too ruthless to let the humble in. But that’s not enough. You respect anyone who is kind enough to read your amateurish chicken scratches, think about it, and help you improve yourself. There aren’t that many people who will that for you. It’s precious. It’s a treasure.