I Am Not Your Enemy

Another author's success isn't your failure. And frankly, it's about time we stopped behaving as though it is.

There's a strange mentality within the writing community that I've never quite understood. We spend months, sometimes years, creating entire worlds, developing characters, constructing plots and desperately trying to convince people to read the results. We know how difficult it is. We know the work involved, the frustration, the self-doubt, the endless editing and the spectacularly unhelpful moments when a character decides they're going to do something entirely different from what we originally planned.

And yet, despite knowing all this, some authors seem to regard another writer's success as a personal insult.

Someone announces they've signed a publishing contract, and suddenly the congratulations become noticeably less enthusiastic. Another author reaches a bestseller list, and instead of celebrating their achievement, people start questioning how they got there. Someone releases three books in the time it takes another writer to finish their first draft, and apparently that must mean they're rushing, sacrificing quality or somehow cheating.

Because obviously, if someone else is doing well, there must be something suspicious going on.

It couldn't possibly be that they've worked their arse off.

Books Aren't a Finite Resource

Here's something that really shouldn't need explaining: a reader buying somebody else's book doesn't mean they've decided never to buy yours.

Books aren't houses. Most people don't buy one and then spend the next thirty years paying it off.

Readers collect books. They devour entire series, discover new authors, revisit old favourites and accumulate towering piles of unread paperbacks that threaten to become structural hazards.

One author selling a hundred copies doesn't remove a hundred potential customers from everybody else's audience.

In fact, a reader discovering a genre they love can be good news for every author writing within it.

Someone reads a dark romance, enjoys it and goes looking for another. Someone discovers a crime thriller and suddenly wants six more. Horror fans don't generally finish one zombie novel and decide they've fulfilled their lifetime allocation of fictional cannibalism.

They want more.

Yes, readers have limited money and time. Yes, books compete for attention, particularly in an overcrowded marketplace. I'm not suggesting competition doesn't exist in a commercial sense.

But there's a considerable difference between understanding that we operate within the same industry and treating every other author as a threat that needs eliminating.

Another author isn't stealing your readers. They're giving those readers another reason to keep reading.

Different Speeds Don't Mean Different Standards

One of the more ridiculous things I've encountered is the assumption that writing quickly automatically means writing badly. Apparently, there's an approved amount of time a manuscript must spend gestating before it becomes worthy of publication.

Finish a book in three months? Suspicious.

Publish several books in a year? Clearly cutting corners.

Take five years to write a novel? Now that's dedication.

Except writing speed tells you remarkably little about the quality of the finished product.

Some authors plan extensively before they begin. Others discover their stories as they write. Some can produce thousands of words in a sitting, while others work through a few hundred at a time. Some have professional editors. Others have trusted beta readers. Some revise as they go, and others produce an unholy mess of a first draft before turning it into something readable.

The finished book is what matters.

An author producing four books in a year isn't automatically more talented than someone producing one. Equally, the writer who takes five years isn't automatically more dedicated or artistically superior.

We all work differently.

And unless you've actually read the books in question, questioning their quality based entirely on how quickly they were written says considerably more about your assumptions than the author's abilities.

Support Isn't a Competition Either

Social media has made the situation particularly entertaining.

We're constantly encouraged to support other authors, which is a lovely sentiment until somebody starts treating that support like a contractual obligation.

Like my post. Share my announcement. Buy my book. Comment on my reel. Promote my release.

And if I do all those things for you, you'd better do them for me.

At that point, we've stopped talking about genuine support and started running a particularly inefficient exchange programme.

I enjoy supporting other writers. I love seeing people achieve something they've worked towards, whether that's finishing a first draft, publishing their debut novel or celebrating their hundredth sale.

But genuine support shouldn't come with an invoice.

Nor should anybody feel guilty because they haven't liked every post, shared every announcement or purchased every book written by somebody they happen to know.

We're authors, not members of a compulsory book-buying pyramid scheme.

Support people because you believe in what they're doing. Celebrate their achievements because you're happy for them. Recommend their work because you genuinely think somebody might enjoy it.

Not because you're keeping score.

Someone Else's Success Doesn't Diminish Yours

Comparison is an extraordinarily effective way of making yourself miserable.

There's always somebody publishing faster, selling more books, attracting more followers or producing the kind of beautiful special editions that make the rest of us question whether our covers were designed using crayons and blind optimism.

And if you spend enough time comparing your progress with theirs, you'll eventually convince yourself that you're failing. Even when you're not.

The problem is that we rarely see the complete picture. We see the release announcements, bestseller badges, glowing messages and impressive sales figures.

We don't necessarily see the money spent on advertising, the years spent building an audience, the unsuccessful launches, the rejected manuscripts or the personal circumstances behind their progress.

And even if somebody genuinely is achieving more than you, so what?

Their accomplishments haven't magically erased yours.

If you've finished your first novel, you've still finished your first novel. If you've sold twenty books, you've still persuaded twenty people to part with their money for something you created. If you've built a small but enthusiastic readership, those people don't suddenly become less valuable because another writer has ten thousand followers.

Your achievements don't stop counting when somebody else achieves something bigger.

Another author's success isn't evidence of your failure.

Criticism and Jealousy Aren't the Same Thing

Before somebody inevitably decides this means authors should never question anything another writer does, that's not what I'm saying.

There are legitimate discussions to be had about publishing practices, misleading marketing, professional conduct and the quality of books being sold.

Nobody should be immune from criticism simply because they've written a novel.

But there's a difference between raising a genuine concern and searching for reasons to discredit somebody because their success makes you uncomfortable.

If an author is misleading customers, discuss the evidence.

If a book contains genuine errors, those can be identified.

If somebody behaves unprofessionally, their conduct can be questioned.

What isn't particularly convincing is deciding that an author's achievements must be undeserved because you wouldn't have done things the same way. You don't need to like every author. You don't need to admire every book. You certainly don't need to applaud every publishing decision.

But somebody else's success isn't an invitation to invent reasons they don't deserve it.

There's Room for More Than One of Us

Perhaps the strangest part of this competitive mentality is how unnecessary much of it is.

Writers can share knowledge without giving away their own opportunities. We can recommend books without losing our own readers. We can celebrate someone else's publication without diminishing the work sitting on our own desks.

And we can acknowledge that another author might be more experienced, more commercially successful or simply better at certain aspects of the job without treating it as a personal catastrophe.

I don't need another writer to fail for my books to succeed. I don't need to believe their work is inferior to feel confident about mine. And I don't need to resent their achievements simply because I'm still working towards some of my own.

I'm far more interested in building a readership that enjoys my stories than spending my time worrying about how many books somebody else sold yesterday.

Because ultimately, that's why I'm doing this.

I have stories I want to tell, characters I want to unleash on unsuspecting readers, and a frankly unreasonable number of ideas demanding attention. Someone else's publishing schedule isn't going to change that. Their sales figures aren't going to change that. Their bestseller badge certainly isn't going to change that.

And if they write something brilliant, I might even buy the fucking book.

The writing community would be a considerably better place if we stopped treating success like a limited supply of oxygen.

There isn't one chair at the table.

And if there were, I'd suggest we build a bigger fucking table.