Envy

By Kim

When I was in graduate school, a little book called The Bridges of Madison County was huge, and trashing it was one of the most popular sports in the English department. Professors and creative writing students alike could not find a single thing to like about the plot, the writing, the characters, or even the setting which, seeing that the school was located less than an hour away from those famed ‘bridges,’ seemed odd.

As fifty million copies of this “pretentious fluff” (as professors repeatedly called it) sold, the nastiness escalated, and I began to dread going to class. I had picked up the novel the previous summer because it looked like an entertaining love story– something I was certain not to have time to read once I started school. I got exactly what I paid for–two hours of entertainment.

Kim and her mom at one of the "bridges" in 1994

I enjoyed the book. I even visited Madison County because I happen to like covered bridges. Clearly there was something wrong with me. Maybe I didn’t recognize good writing. Maybe I wasn’t smart enough to make it in academia. I sunk lower into my seat and kept my mouth shut, not wanting to announce my ignorance to the brilliant masses.

And then I realized something. The most vocal of my professors was an author, too. An author whose book didn’t sell so well. In fact, the only place it could be found (pre-amazon.com days) was at a local bookstore. I read it. I could not have named a single character or plot point a week later.

Those students who bashed Waller the most violently were the same ones who had nothing good to say about anyone else’s work in critique sessions. They read their own work aloud with a smirk, laughed at their own jokes and paused at key areas to make sure everyone listening had time to appreciate their clever turns of phrase. They ignored all feedback, so I never offered any.

I lacked the courage at twenty-one to speak up and say I thought the bashing stemmed from jealousy or insecurity, but I made up my mind not fall victim to that poison. I don’t bash. Not even among friends. Not even in my own mind.

The way I look at it, if a book has become a runaway bestseller, there must be a reason behind it. It may not be the writing. How many non-writers focus on that? The plot may have been done thousands of times before, but the formula clearly worked. Maybe there’s something in the story that hits an emotional chord with millions in 2001 but would mean little in 2011. I read those books writers love to hate, looking for that element that sets those stories apart from the crowd. Is it something that I can identify? Can I use it to make my own work more compelling?

Tearing another author down won’t make anyone a better writer. Learning from the mistakes and successes of others will. Envying another writer’s dream book deal (Julie Kibler!) won’t help anyone secure one of their own. Viewing that book deal as evidence that dreams can come true, even for debut authors? I call that motivation.

Envy as a Motivator

By Pamela

Sherry, Daphne, Debbie, Lori, Dana, Robin

When I was in seventh grade, I desperately wanted to be popular. I figured out the best strategy was to become a cheerleader. The fact that I could barely execute a cartwheel did nothing to deter me. I had my brother’s girlfriend teach me a cheer and practiced it continually until time for tryouts. Ready…okay! Clap, clap…

In fact, given a moment to meditate on it, I could probably perform that sucker today—if my life depended on it. Thank goodness it doesn’t.

That dream never came true…even having one of my favorite teachers on the judges’ panel didn’t help me. I was that bad. Instead, I ran track and played volleyball, my middle-school status never really reaching the cheerleading pinnacle of popularity. Aren’t we all surprised I survived?

Envy is a strange emotion and honestly, it’s not really a good look on anyone. The Bible tells us it’s not a likable trait in Proverbs 14:30: A tranquil spirit revives the body, but envy is rottenness to the bones.
Now, I’ve never let envy dig so deeply into my spirit that I felt rottenness to my bones, but I have felt its queasy crawl take over my gut. Thankfully, years of maturity later, I have a better handle on what I’m capable of.

Still…yesterday’s cheer-leading obsession is today’s publishing goal.

Last week, in the middle of typical midday distractedness, I looked at a writer’s website and felt a strange thump hit my lap. It was my jaw. Her publishing credits would reach up my stairs and back down again. Twice. Wow. That’s a lot of stuff of hers…out there…that people are reading…

I shook my head briskly a few times and commanded the green-eyed monster to crawl safely under my desk. I reminded myself that I, too, have publishing credits.  
Yeah, but she has more!
In fact, you now edit her stuff in your job.  
Yeah, but wow…look at how many times she’s been Chicken Souped.
Have you ever submitted to them?  
I think once, maybe, a really long time ago.
So, why not try again?
I do have that one piece I've been thinking about…

So I opened that file and decided it wasn’t necessarily Soup-worthy just yet. But I did write up a query to a national magazine to pitch an idea I’d been milling over. Then I made a list of other ideas and places that might be worth pursuing. After that, I opened up the book proposal I have due this week and got busy getting it polished up and ready to submit.

I took a deep breath and put my publishing goals in perspective. Ready…okay! Tap, tap...