Outside my bubble

[Akuma]

This post is more for me than for you. I need to get my feelings down, so it won't be very coherent. But I plan to include you in it and ask your opinion. We'll get to that, of course. Be aware while reading this that you might be reminded of a sopa opera--I am in highschool after all.

Here's my background, not necessary but I will share it as it has some standing. Be prepared for a tangent, skip it if you like:
I'm not a very intelligent or athletic kid. I hardly know anything about the world, long for it though I do in this sheltered and wealthy town of mine. I have no motivation for grades or work; my parents give me everything I want so what reason to I have to do anything. I'll remark now that I hate this. I love to work with my hands, get dirty, and earn my keep and meet real people.
But I fear I cannot change this. My parents, who are good and kind, don't know me very well, and me them. Talking about serious matters with them is difficult and asking them to stop pampering me is also difficult. I tried that once but they went on pampering after one week. I suppose it is my fault for giving up after that, but I have never been strong in character and will.
There are only two things in which I have found comfort and purpose: leading a life of simplicity and kindness, and writing.
I find myself incapable of the first except on mission trips, which I join for my own selfish gain. I can't very well move away at 16 years old, with my utter ignorance of the world, so I am kept here in this town.
Writing, however, is where I am in control. I have been doing it ever since I can remember and it's the only thing I'm somewhat good at. I love it nonetheless.

The actual situation:
In my Spanish class, there are two other boys that are also aspiring to be writers as well. The class found out and everyone was awed that they could write well, and write much. One of the boy's record was 160 pages (something I have far surpassed in the past, may I humbly add) and when I discovered this, I was struck by a fit of jealousy, even anger.
Here were two other boys with straight A's that had also invaded the craft of which I had labored over for years.
It felt like they were taking something from me. Why couldn't they be content with their intelligence, content with a successful life soon to come? Why did they have to claim the only thing dear to me?
May I add, though I have met writers before, I have never treated other writers with such secret vehemence and rivalry. Though I find the skill of writing shared with the youth more than expected, I still had and have a concept of superiority. Maybe, being able to write at my age, I was fated for greatness? Perhaps having been once offered publication, I am some kind of prodigy?
But this appears not to be. It appears that even with countless stories and half-finished novels, thousands of pages and trillions of words, hours spent long reading and studying my craft, I am nothing but common and below-average. Perhaps all I am is that faceless soldier sent to the frontlines to die, while the hero rushes past to really save the day.
Of course this is all exaggerated and romantic--that's the kind of writer I am. I'll stop now before I kill you with my pointless complaints.

I suppose I shall include you by asking these mediocre questions:
Have you ever felt this way? Or am I merely overreacting?
What happens when you're humbled? What happens when you meet the possibility that you may not be as grand as past illusions have suggested?

And that's all I have to say about that, I suppose. Sorry for any mistakes, I don't feel much like revising.

[erinbee]

I'm usually a lurker around here, but something in your post reminded me of myself about 8-10 years ago (I'm a 25-year-old freelance writer and novelist).

You ask what to do when you're humbled, when you realize that you are, so to speak, a little fish in a big pond.

I think that almost everyone with a particular talent bumps up against humility at some point in his or her career. It's a necessary lesson - if we were all overwhelmed by our own greatness and blinded by our own grandiosity, how could we produce work that is enjoyable to others? How could we step back to edit and assess our own work? How could we benefit from the feedback and input of others who bring their different perspectives and strengths to bear on our writing?

During the past few years, I have learned that talent and love of writing is no match for simple hard work. Unrealized talent is worthless.

If I were you, I would start to ask myself why I write and for whom I write. Everyone experiences feelings of jealousy and inadequacy, but the facts are simple - writing ain't easy, and success in writing is even harder.

The only way I have found to tackle my own feelings of worthlessness in the face of others' success is to write. The only way I have found to affirm my status as a writer is to write. Let other people deal with whether my work is great, noble, worthy or different. My job is to write.

[Cathy C]

I suppose I shall include you by asking these mediocre questions:
Have you ever felt this way? Or am I merely overreacting?
What happens when you're humbled? What happens when you meet the possibility that you may not be as grand as past illusions have suggested?


All of these questions give me the impression that you're starting to look within yourself for the reasons why you write. If you're writing to be "unique" among your peers, then you're probably doomed to be angry. You're at an age when all things are possible, and yet nothing appears likely. Yes, you're probably overreacting, but no more so than being angry that someone made a sports team because their siblings were on the team last year, or chosen to be lead chair in the band or choir when it doesn't appear that the person can carry a note in a bucket.

Life isn't fair. It sucks big slimy river rocks.

Are the others better writers than you? Can they string sentences together better? Can they plot a world, or create a rich, believable character? Intelligence doesn't always imply that they can create. It merely means they can write. I know. I can write -- but I have a co-author because creation is beyond my grasp. Give me a plot and the people and I can write seamless, thrilling books. But I am humbled every day by my co-author's ability to dream of worlds I can't -- CANNOT -- see. She is likewise frustrated and humbled by my ability to write a whole book that is seamless in plot and structure, in one pass.

The ability to write doesn't make me a better author. Nor does the ability to dream make her one. It's all hard work to fill in the gaps in our abilities, to constantly struggle against the pressures of the job of writing.

If you're not as grand as you thought, then specialize. Become EXCEPTIONAL at one thing that people will remember you for. Become the next rising star of plot, or characters or vivid, moving language.

You don't have to be perfect at everything. You just have to find your strength and hone it; focus it until it's your trademark. Then there will be no reason to be angry or frustrated, because you'll be BETTER than anyone else at your one skill.

Just my .02!

[DamaNegra]

Yes, I tend to feel the same way too, especially when my friends decide they can write too. However, what keeps me going and what keeps me feeling special is the knowledge that, although there may be other writers, my ideas are my own and no one else has thought about them before. That sets me apart from them.

And I can also identify with the situation with your parents, I have the same situation going on. My parents pamper me too much and give me everything I want, so I've never needed to do anything. Plus, I've got a brother with a mental illness, and I feel I can't compete. So I've got my writing, but my parents feel that I just do it to spend my time, they don't consider me serious about it, and I am.

Maybe it's something about the age, but I feel the need to excell. But be sure of this: you will NEVER, EVER be a faceless soldier sent to the frontlines to die. It's your ideas and every single word you've written that set you apart from the rest of the population, and even from the other writers. :)

[stormie]

Hi Akuma. Many writers, in fact people in just about any profession, at times feel they're not good enough; that someone else is far better. Why should they even bother?

And that's when you square your shoulders, pick up your head, and keep on writing. Even if you think it's garbage (which, on that particular day, it just might be). You work hard on your craft and you read. A lot. And you keep on writing. If that's where your heart is at, then you do it.

There will always be the critics trying to knock you down. Believe it or not, listen to them but take what helps you be a better writer, then toss the rest of the negativity away. And as I said, there will be days when you'll be your own worst critic. It happens.

If this is your dream, go for it. Someday it will be a reality.

[Jamesaritchie]

In the westen genre, they say "There's always a faster gun." In writing, there's always a better writer. The good news is that you don't have to be the best. A faster gun can kill you, but a better writer can only teach you. And teh world has room for many writers, not just teh few who are great.

You aren't supposed to know much about the world at your age. That's what experience and age are for.

As for your parents, and motivation to get good grades and to work hard, well, I never had rich parents, and I was on my own at fourteen, which meant I learned all about the world much earlier than I should have, but I did have a couple of very rich friends when I was young. Or at least friends from very rich families. Vandebilt rich, and Hilton rich, which was good, since his last name was Vandebilt, and her last name was Hilton.

One of them said something I'd completely forgotten until I read your post. I can't remember the exact words, but it was this: "No matter how rich your parents are, there are two things they can never give you: Callouses and character."

I'd go one step further. The only way to build character is to first build callouses. I say quit worrying about what your parents do or don't do, how much money they have or have not, and worry about yourself. Forget those others writers. Delusions of grandeur are common, and always false.

Build some real callouses through hard work, get good grades through hard work, learn to write better through hard work. Do the things no one else can do for you, including your parents, and somewhere along the line you'll find you've built character, learned all about the world, and become a better writer because of it.

Don't blame your parents, don't blame the other writers. As Shakespeare wrote, "The fault, dear Brutus, lies not in our stars but in ourselves."

[scribbler1382]

What James said. But before you work your way through the feelings you're having...remember them. Write down everything you're feeling. Explore each pang and every stitch. And then let them go, knowing that some day you'll make use of those observations. You've added a ring to your tree of life. And there's many more rings to go. While you're not done by any means, you have grown. Maybe in a few more rings, you'll be able to make your parents understand who you are...or at least, understand who they want you to be and why that doesn't matter.