I saw the Facebook post through a rising haze of green. Not the bright leafy green of a fresh spring day, but the dull kind that reeks of sludge. I peered at the words on the screen. It sang of a book acceptance from a publisher I coveted, represented by an agent I had solicited. A debut collection of short stories, with one published in a literary magazine I had pitched. All had rejected me. But there was the post, oozing with excitement from a new author that had once shared a stage with me at a literary event.
At first, I wallowed in a pool of resentment, sinking lower and lower, within inches of drowning. That low feeling we all get when we are overlooked and let our minds wander to that place of internal misery. Then came the sulking and self-pity.
It was all too easy to stay in that swamp. To conjure up reasons as to why this happened to her and not me. Find ways to diminish the accomplishment through discredit.
The reaction lasted a few minutes. Then I shook myself. I wasn’t that woman.
Internalization has a place. So, I went there. How many times did I find myself giddy after an accomplishment, only to find ‘friend’ support sliding downwards and skepticism flying high? What about the time I launched my first book and ‘friends’ set up their own dinner event in competition? I couldn’t transfer that experience onto someone else.
Instead, I started doing some online research, curious about the author. She was much younger than me and I realized I could have been that woman many years ago. I should have been that woman. I was writing for as long as I could remember. Sitting alone in my room as a child, crafting stories that were good, according to my teachers, my friends. How did I let so many years pass by without honing that craft?
She was focused. She had spent the last few years working on her MFA in Creative Writing and she was co-host of a monthly literary event. One of her stories was published in a literary magazine and won an award. The reviews indicated compelling tales. What was it about her writing, her stories that intrigued the agent and the publisher? I wanted to know. More importantly, I wanted to read the stories that garnered such accolades.
Finding a new perspective
I reached out to her. ‘Congratulations’, I wrote. ‘I would love to read the story. Where can I find it?’
She responded quickly. It was forthcoming in her book of short stories. I’ll buy a copy, I said. Her message was kind, grateful, and at once I felt a pang of guilt at my initial reaction when I read her news. Then revelation. For those two minutes in time, I nearly became that woman I hated. That woman that nearly took my issue and transferred it to someone else who did nothing to deserve it.
I decided to tell her how I felt. My feelings of envy that she received what I sought – the admiration, and acceptance from the very same publisher and agent that had not long ago, gave me the big, ‘thanks but no thanks.’
Once again, her response was quick. She understood, and admitted to having the same feelings in the past. We all do in fact. It’s what makes us human. The desire to be better, the desire to win, the fire that makes us compete.
But I always shied away from competition, happy to stand back in the shadows and let someone else take the microphone. The idea of working to beat someone else, to get ahead of them made me uncomfortable. But when I saw the author’s success and felt that surprising stab of disappointment, I realized what healthy competition actually meant. It wasn’t about dragging down another woman because I was not the winner. Those feelings would only make me bitter, angry, closed to my own success.
It was at that moment when I checked my own envy and knew I had a choice. I could focus my energy on her – giving her the cold shoulder at literary events, gossiping to others about what she didn’t have, looking for other ways to discredit. It would take time, plotting, hordes of bitterness and lots of brainpower.
Or I could take that energy and focus on myself. I could simply work harder.
In the weeks that followed, I read her story, and many others from authors I admired, from others who were new and emerging, and I wrote. Soon, my own short story emerged and was finally ready for submission. I chose to let her success inspire me.
Priya Ramsingh
