Attack of the Green-Eyed Monster

Jealousy is a fickle beast. It’s not an emotion I’ve experienced often in my life, like happiness or sadness (okay, mostly sadness). It comes and goes like the shifting of the tides, and usually, I can just brush it away after a few days like an annoying gnat that landed on my arm. (Alright, way too many nature metaphors right out of the box.)

The first time in my life I can remember being jealous—and I mean really jealous—was in elementary school. It was actually with one of my best friends, someone who I based a character on in my first two novels. While he wasn’t terribly bright, my friend could seemingly do anything: fifty sit-ups in a minute, make all the girls swoon, and have our teachers cracking up, so much so, they would overlook the inconvenient fact that he would sometimes skip homework. He was handsome and hilarious and had, what the kids now call, “ris.” (For more info on recent dialect, see my blog on Gen Z.)

One day, I was riding my bike around town with my friend (shades of Danger Peak right there), and we happened to run into a bunch of girls on their own bikes. They started following us, so we both peddled faster trying to get away in a kind of flirtatious chase. Eventually, I got tuckered out (I was a chubby kid; picture Vern from Stand By Me) and gave up.

“Okay,” I said, slowing down as the girls approached. “You got me.”

“Ew!” one cried as they all passed by me on their way to my friend. “We don’t want you, fatty!”

A year or so later, I heard my friend arguing with his Mom, not to their knowledge. (I was using their bathroom, and they were in the next room.) His Mom was upset over a bad grade on another one of his tests. She ended the argument by saying, “Why can’t you be more like Michael?” My heart immediately went out to him, and my jealousy was cured right then and there. After all, everyone is good at different things, right?

The next time I was jealous (say it with me now)—really jealous—was in college. There was a girl I was pining over for months. I finally worked up the courage to ask her out, and to my surprise and delight, she said, “Yes.” We only went on a few dates, and then she stopped returning my calls. I wondered why—until I saw her and a mutual acquaintance at a party. Apparently, she was auditioning both of us to be her next boyfriend, and he won. I actually got into a fight with the guy that night (sorry to disappoint my readers, but it wasn’t a physical altercation), and towards the end, we sort of hashed it out as guys do—okay, as bros do. Basically, I agreed that the “better man won”—not that he was a better man than I was but that he and the girl were a better match for each other. Looking back at our few dates, I realized we never really had that much in common anyway. Jealousy cured once again.

Decades later, I’m afraid the dreaded, green-eyed monster has struck again, and it’s ironic I say this because the object of my jealousy actually has green eyes—but that’s not the reason I’m jealous. I’m not going to get into too many specifics, but she’s a fellow local author who has exactly what I want: thousands of social media followers; a profile in Newsday, Long Island’s premier newspaper; a traditional, though small, publisher (not a hybrid); and regular book signings. In fact, she recently was the guest of honor at a private book club/signing, and literally almost 100 people showed up. She also gets recognized several times a month and even sold out a Barnes & Noble once. Meanwhile, I’ve been struggling to secure a single Barnes & Noble signing.

You might be thinking: “Authors like Stephen King have all that your friend has and more, plus millions of dollars. Why aren’t you jealous of them?” I don’t count huge authors like King because they’re on a level I’m never going to achieve (and deservedly so), and I’m fully comfortable with that. Up until recently, I thought my friend and I were basically on the same level. I was wrong.

Jealousy, I’ve come to discover, is a mixture of admiration and anger: admiration for the person who’s where you want to be—and anger at yourself for not being there. Sometimes that anger is misplaced on the object of your jealousy itself. You rationalize to yourself: “Well, they don’t really deserve all this success they’re having. I’ve been busting my hump for years and don’t have a fraction of what they have!” But in the end, you know the only person you’re fooling is yourself.

I’ve been searching for cures online (there are lots of listicles on the subject; apparently, I’m not the only one cursed by this disease), but they all sound like impractical bromides to me, e.g., “Just appreciate the stuff you already have.” Sure. Easier said than done. So I turned to other authors on Twitter (again, I refuse to call it “X,” Elon), wondering if they sometimes felt the same.

Turns out, we are legion.

As the old saying goes, “In life, there are always going to be people ahead of you, and there are always going to be people behind you.” And the older you get, the more you realize these sayings are centuries old because they’re true. Maybe impractical bromides aren’t so useless after all.

Several weeks ago, I was randomly contacted by a bestselling author because my profile caught her eye, and she likes to offer support to up-and-coming writers like myself. I was shocked she “slipped into my DMs” (again, as the kids say) because she’s so big, one of her books was actually adapted into a Netflix series. (I made sure to verify it was her—besides the infamous “blue checkmark”—and I’m not going to namecheck her here in case she gets bombarded by people asking for advice, not that this blog has a ton of followers.) After talking about how we got our start writing and her asking some really poignant questions, I asked her if she ever had a low turnout to a book signing before. I found her response so profoundly moving, I decided to inline the whole thing here:

I’ve definitely been there. Early on, I did signings where I barely sold a thing, awkward smiles, lots of people walking past. It’s disheartening, but totally normal. Every author has those slow starts. It is such a surreal feeling when people actually show up because they’ve read your work. But don’t underestimate yourself; every author starts somewhere, and the fact that you’re putting yourself out there is huge. The right readers will find you. Just keep writing, keep showing up, and that moment where someone says, “I came just for you” will happen.

From her typing fingers to Yahweh’s ears.

Thank you, famous author (again, no spoilers). Jealousy cured for a third time? Well, we’ll see…

MTP

P.S.: This was based on an Instagram post I made a few weeks ago, but since it didn’t get much attention, I decided to turn it into a full-fledged blog.

P.P.S.: If you’re wondering what the deal was with my two-sentence blog earlier this week when I answered the question how I balance home and work life (“I work from home”), I was simply answering a WordPress prompt and didn’t realize my answer was also going to be sent to all my blog subscribers. Oops. Sorry about that. Side note: This two-sentence “blog” currently has more “Like”s than anything else I’ve written on this site, so what does that say about my blog?

P.P.P.S.: Don’t forget the Danger Peak audiobook is finally here!

P.P.P.P.S.: The new edition of The Electric God and Other Shorts is available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble: