Ever look at your peers’ work and think, “Mine’s doo-doo?”

I have. I too often look at others’ writing and praise its merits at the expense of denigrating my own work. What is it that makes me see every good piece of writing as a judgment on my own?

This past spring I took a novel-writing class at the small college where my husband works. We were workshopping our long synopses and first chapters, and as I read through my classmates’ work, I noticed what wonderful voices my classmates’ characters had. Unique and engaging characters, from conspiring 10-year-olds at summer camp to percussionists with the rage of Achilles, leapt off the page. Sure, the plot lines still needed work, but with such wonderful characters, I could see the potential each story had.

But as I continued to read their packets, a worm gnawed its way into my mind and asked, “Do you have good voice?”

I dug to the bottom of the pile and pulled out my own packet. And read.

“NO!” My heart sunk. “BORING!” the pages screamed.

The worm sidled further in. “And they’re going to notice how boring it is. They’re going to judge you. Yours was not the best. Unlike them, you have no voice. Yours isn’t perfect.”

Then, just to twist the knife a bit more, the worm added, “It’s just like the time when…” and he reminded me of a painful, anxious experience in the past when I was subject to some negative judgment.

I started hyperventilating and crying. My pregnancy hormones (I am expecting Baby #2) kicked into overdrive. Mine was garbage! My classmates would see that it was garbage! I was supposed to be better than this!

Over and over the negative thoughts ran through my head. I tried to fight them with rational argument, but panic was winning the day.

After some effort, I admitted to myself that I needed to talk to someone. I was stuck in my head and couldn’t get out. As Alcoholics Anonymous puts it, “Stinking thinking leads to drinking”, and, oh boy, I was drunk on my own writer’s anxiety.

I called my writing friend Colleen. No answer. I plopped my son in his stroller and walked a few blocks to another friend’s house. No one answered the doorbell. Then I walked to the college, hoping to catch my husband in his office. He wasn’t there.

Finally, I ascended the elevator, protesting two-year-old in tow, to the English department, where our class’ teaching assistant, Sarah, was in her office.

Sarah listened as I spilled my concerns and fears, my judgments both positive and negative. I cried. She offered words of comfort. When I left, I was not quite convinced that I wouldn’t be the laughingstock of ENG 354, but at least I was calmer and less depressed.

Colleen called me back the next day. Funny, just the week before she had been going through a similar situation, and I had been the one to offer advice to her. Now, she was there for me.

“What you just said reminded me of something Brene Brown wrote,” Colleen said after listening to my confession. “Hold on, let me find it.”

I could hear her digging through stuff as her kids, high on Easter candy, whooped in the background.

She hopped back on the phone. “Here it is.” She read:

Creativity, which is the expression of our originality, helps us stay mindful that what we bring to the world is completely original and cannot be compared. And, without comparison, concepts like ahead or behind or best or worst lose their meaning (Brene Brown, The Art of Imperfection).

As she read, honesty set in. I was comparing my work to others’ because I wanted to “beat” my classmates. I was devoted not merely to my own improvement, though I was, and not merely to doing the very best job I could, though I did, but to being better than everyone else. I was less interested in their feedback than I was in blowing their socks off.

This desire nearly killed my creativity.

The fact is, while we can all learn by studying other people’s writing, both great and shoddy, we can also strangle our own muse by merely seeing our work in the light of comparison. As Colleen reminded me, only I can bring my stories into existence, in the way that only I can do it. If I mire myself in the pit of comparison, I will sink my story.

I soon after received an email from Sarah, in which she wrote:

“After talking today, I really wanted to read your packet. You seriously have nothing to worry about! I really enjoyed reading your chapter and getting into the life of Mila.”

And then she asked if I wanted to write and edit together this summer.

So, there we go. Not doo-doo. Just… death by comparison.

(Hmm. Death by Comparison. That would make a good mystery title. I wonder who the protagonist would be…)

 

Rhonda Ortiz writes from home with laundry and macaroni-and-cheese underfoot. She’s trying to finish her first novel. Follow her at www.rhondaortiz.com.

10 Replies to “Comparison is the Death of Creativity by Rhonda Ortiz”

  1. Rhonda, I’m late in seeing your post and commenting, but it could not have come at a better time! I’m on the short list for a major award for unpublished authors, and having trouble motivating myself to write an acceptance speech. The reason? I’m convinced everyone else’s work is soooooo much better than mine that I don’t need to bother. But for me, competition (and winning) isn’t the point. The point is to do the best I can with what I have.

    Just a comment about Carolyn A’s reference regarding pregnancy hormones and critique: Personally, I don’t need the addition of any hormones to enhance how bad I feel when I’m the recipient of cruel…ahem…probably fair-if-unkindly-worded critique. It has taken me months, on occasion, to get to a point where I can understand what the critiquer was trying to say. The biggest obstacle is, as Barbara Hosbach said, my ego. I’m getting better at it, but that’s part and parcel of becoming a better author. Besides, it’s great practice for working with an editor!

    Thanks for the humorous and timely post.

    Smiles,
    Leslie

    1. Leslie, thank you for the kind comment. I agree, my ego is also bad enough without the hormones! Thank God, He finds ways of showing me how great He is through my inflated bumbling. 🙂

      Congratulations on the award!

  2. Don’t underestimate how much those hormones factor into your reaction! I received some rather harsh writing criticism last fall while I was pregnant. I was repeatedly reduced to tears when I looked at it. I couldn’t even look at my work for weeks. I took a look at the criticism again postpartum and while it was rather harsh in spots, there was valuable help there, too, and I was able to take it without blubbering about it.

    1. Looking back, I was 8 or 9 weeks pregnant at the time – at the peak of pregnancy hormones! They were definitely a factor. Who would have thought writing while pregnant should come with a warning label? 😉

  3. Thanks so much for sharing this! Comparing my writing to that of others back in high school kept me from writing for 40 years! As you said, no one else can share our God-given creativity with the world in just our way. When we focus on saying what we have to say without making it a contest that feeds or threatens ego, we are free to go where our creative juices take us.

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