"When You Are Content Not To Compare or Compete..."

What matters in writing? Does one genre have more value than another?

I was recently on a writer’s retreat, and one of the awesome women attending was well-versed in non-fiction. Writing and marketing a non-fiction title is very different from the fiction process, so I was interested to hear how she and her team go about it.

After one of our break discussions, I was sitting around procrastinating — ahem, sometimes it’s hard to drag yourself from fascinating conversations back to the page, and it’s better to do some work instead of staring out the window at the gorgeous scenery, so that’s why I was writing a blog instead of my book — but I digress. I was really more thinking than procrastinating, and the most wonderful idea came to me. 

What if *I* wrote non-fiction? 

Photo by J.T. Ellison, September 2023, Library of Trinity College, Dublin

I scuttled the thought almost immediately. My friend is exceptionally intuitive, and her non-fiction work is fascinating. But So. Much. Work. Blogging is about as far into non-fiction as I’ve been comfortable going. Many of the essays I write are just for fun, or my own edification, or yours, or just free journaling. I find writing about writing and the thought process behind it helps me clarify my fiction in ways nothing else can. And some of these clarifications I believe can actually help new writers on their journey, and so I may, one of these days, compile the ones I feel are worthy into a book. My craft series, 22 Steps, is the most likely path to this endeavor. And yes, obviously, that does qualify as writing non-fiction. 

But what cracked me up was the thought that I defaulted to immediately: Writing fiction is easy and writing non-fiction is hard.

Guess what? That’s just not true.

I have some more brilliant friends who write fiction that fall into the category of books that I feel matter. They matter to society in general; they matter to the readers who learn from them. Some are literary, but most are from the historical fiction realm—and let me tell you, that sort of fiction is not easy. It takes years and grit and passion. It’s not simply entertainment; it’s resurrection. They’re bringing people from the past back to life. I find this fascinating in too many ways to explain properly.

Cecelia Tichi was the first historical writer I met during my journeys. She was in my first critique group. The work she put into her books was staggering. Then I met Ariel Lawhon, and Patti Callahan Henry, and lived through a few books with them, too. I stand in awe of their devotion to a single topic or person for years at a time. It blows my mind as much as writing the kind of narrative non-fiction from some of my favorites: Erik Larsen, David Grann, Joan Didion, Anne Bogel, Robert Kolker, Cal Newport, Mary Beard, Karen Armstrong. Such dedication. Such immersion.

Writing mysteries and thrillers and suspense also takes brains, and grit, and passion. There is almost always a deeper message to the stories; the reader is taken along on explorations of darkness and confusion that shed light on the whys of our psychology. It is a vital source of reasoning. These stories show the myriad ways we reconcile our humanity with the horrors that happen to us. They matter, too, just as much as resurrecting a forgotten hero or inspiring scientific discovery. That they don’t take as long to write isn’t a function of their worth, simply their need for a snappy pace to keep the reader engaged.

And fantasy, especially science fiction…the value of a book that gets in your head by creating an entirely new world, brings a longing for an epic romance, even gives scientists ideas on how to change the world—those stories matter. Romance matters. It’s important for young readers to get a realistic view of the world, but oh, to have the sublime ideal of a pure romance to disappear into? Not all of us are so lucky in our real lives to find our fated mates. There’s no reason not to find them in books.

I’ve always said our job as novelists is to set the cultural commentary. Think of Jane Austen, Daphne Du Maurier, Agatha Christie. We adore these stories because we’re able to experience the worlds we don’t know or understand, right? Some stand up to modern commentary better than others, but we need the slice of history that they share to know what mistakes to avoid in the future.

As artists, as writers, as creatives, as people, I think we all have our own strengths and naturally gravitate toward them—some people are brilliant novelists but crappy screenwriters, some people can paint but can’t carry a tune in a bucket. Some can do math, some can thread a needle in one go, some have dry wit, and others generous hearts. Some of us are business-oriented, and some have their heads in the clouds. I have yet to meet an artist who doesn’t see another’s strength without at least a momentary thought of — I wish I could do that. 

I’ve thought about it at least five times this week alone. I wish I could sing. I wish I could relax and go with the flow. I wish I would listen more and talk less. I wish I could write something so special and dear that people around the world fall in love with it. I wish I was a runner. I wish I had this glorious kitchen I’m sitting in. I wish…. On, and on, and on.

“Comparison is the thief of joy,” Roosevelt said.

Lao Tzu has another gem: “When you are content not to compare or compete, everyone will respect you.”

But isn’t it simply human nature to compare? And also to feel the urge to compete? It’s why we interrupt when people speak, and why we try new things. Why we stop and have conversations with ourselves about things we’d like to do, places we’d like to be, behaviors we’d like to imitate. Isn’t comparison, in all its guises, a kinder companion than competitiveness? How else will we grow and change if not by listening and comparing when others speak about their experiences? To assimilate their words into our own frame of reference and come out the other side thinking–

I wish…

Because you know where I wish leads? To the finest spark known to creative kind…. 

What if…

Do you compare yourself to others? Does it drive you to greatness and to try new things? Or does it rob you of your joy and make you feel like you’re doing everything wrong?