I know I’m not the only one who has gone through this. We all want to believe we came up with something completely new, entirely different, utterly original. When that big idea comes, it fills you up and feels so undeniable, like you’ve tapped into something so unique and special that even The Muse Herself is gasping in awe. As creators, we can be narcissistic like that, and we can’t see the forest for the trees (that’s an accurate usage of that adage, right? Just checking).
That feeling can be what drives us and motivates us to make the idea become something real. Now I know I just lumped all creators into a basket of narcissism, which is super unfair, so I’ll kick everyone else out of that basket now and say that in my own experience, when that big idea comes and I get super pumped about it and am able to see it through to completion, I have a tendency to operate with blinders firmly applied, blocking out practically everything else. It might be the ADHD, but I also think that’s a common thing for creative people in general.
When the thing is finished (usually a written thing, because
that’s my primary form of self-expression), the insatiable need to share it
with others takes over, which kind of sucks because I have this thing where I
don’t like to bother people, so, you know. This blog post isn’t really about that
specifically, but it does live in the same neighborhood.
Yesterday when I was brainstorming ideas for sharing my
newly released “thing” (Maladaptive! Now available on a whole bunch of online
retail sites including Amazon, check it out!), I thought it might be cool to
show the progress of retail locations populating on my wide distribution universal
book link through Books2Read. But I mistyped the URL from memory, and what did
I find, but another book with the exact same title.
So then I went to Amazon and typed in my book title, to find
MORE books with the same title. And it would be a lie to say that I was, like,
perfectly fine with that. I may have had a bit of an internal meltdown,
actually, for a little while.
I’m okay now, but I’m a little embarrassed at my reaction. How territorial I felt, like the idea is mine, the title is mine, it’s all mine because I remember the moment when the idea came to me and I was daydreaming instead of sleeping one night, and unless someone else was in my head with me, I was the originator. I. Me. Mine. (With some indirect credit to The Beatles because they’ve influenced practically everything In My Life… I’m on a roll, somebody stop me…)
What was I saying? Right. I’m ashamed of my territorial
reaction, because after perusing the other books, and finding that some of them
were, indeed, similar in nature to mine, they aren’t exactly the same. They are
all unique, all original, and all part of something profoundly human that many
of us have in common.
It’s not that I’m not special or unique, and it’s not that my
book is not special or unique. We all are, and all of our stories are. This is
a community, and I’m part of it, and I want to be someone who supports other
members of that community, not feels threatened by them.
It’s been said billions of times in millions of ways, that
even if it’s all been done before, you should do it anyway, because no one can
say it, write it, paint it, play it, sing it, or make it the way YOU can. I’m
heartened by that perspective and even though I knew it somewhere inside me
already, I needed to confront it head on.
It brought me back to my creative writing program in college, so many years ago. A room full of hopeful student writers with variations on the same dream. And when our instructors gave us a writing prompt, we didn’t turn out 20 identical stories. We all came up with something unique (but maybe not special, because, you know, that takes practice).
The thing about creative narcissism (and what I mean isn’t
the clinical definition of narcissistic personality disorder, I just mean the
tendency that some… not all… creatives have to believe we’ve originated
something groundbreaking because it feels that way to us, because it makes so
much sense to us that our egos take the wheel) is that there is the inevitable
flipside to that.
There are a lot of moments in our process where the opposite
thinking takes over, like when something didn’t come together the way we
envisioned it and the “OMG I’m not a genius, I actually suck” narrative begins
to play. Or when impostor syndrome kicks in and we’re looking around, waiting
and wondering when the Art Police will arrest us for… what? I don’t even know.
Existing, maybe.
I’m generalizing again, of course. Maybe not everyone feels
this way. But bear with me, because like I said, this is a community. This is a
“we” thing, not a “me” thing. I’m not alone. Recognizing my own creativity and my own self-doubt
means recognizing our collective creativity and self-doubt, and cheerleading for others who
told their story in the way only they can, regardless of where or how much we
overlap.
So, humbly, cheers to you, to me, to all of us, and our special and unique minds.












