The Strange Case of the Ego in the Night
The issue of artists and ego is a fascinating, complicated, and often prickly business. Ours is not a society that ostensibly values ego, and yet continually and explicitly rewards those who have it. Similarly, and based on nothing but personal experience, artists are almost always insecure – we suffer from a debilitating lack of self-esteem. Yet day after day, we have to create something and put it into the world assuming that it will be good enough to catch people’s attention; good enough to sell. And that is the paradox of every creator.
Until recently, I thought of myself as having low self-esteem. I agonize over my work. I consider every rejection a personal measuring (and finding wanting) of my worth as a writer. I am constantly pushing to improve, always embarrassed of what came before. I have a friend who reads (nay, devours) everything I write, and I tell her often (though I’m not sure she believes me) how invaluable her love of my writing is to me – she makes me believe when I lose faith. All of this sounds like pretty low self-esteem, doesn’t it? You can forgive me, I think, for tricking even myself.
The other day I was chatting with a fellow writer about a local short story contest we had both entered. I asked if he had submitted something and he said, “Oh, yeah, but it won’t win.” He went on to say something generic and disparaging about what he had chosen to submit, and I half-heartedly joined in about why I wasn’t sure that mine would win, either. But the truth was, even if I wasn’t sure I would win, I felt like I deserved to win.
And it hit me in this moment of utter clarity that maybe that’s what sets writers and would-be writers apart. Maybe somewhere, sometimes hidden deep inside, we all have staggeringly huge egos. You have to believe in yourself, after all, if you’re going to send out query letters and apply to contests. You have to be able to pump people up about your writing, to hawk your writing from street corners, to promise your readers ‘a dazzling thrill ride’ or ‘a surreal jump into a lake of adventure.’ But most importantly – you have to be able to survive the endless slog through rejection with something like faith in yourself.
So I guess I’m pretty much a paradox. I have low self-esteem. I spend an inordinate about of time worrying that I’ll never be what I dream I can. But I also believe that I can be; that I should be; and most days – even that I will be.
Oh, and that writing contest? I’ll let you know how it turns out.
