The Curse of Ambition

A Confession

Photo by Mick Kirchman on Unsplash

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It’s true: I am very ambitious. Not a surprising nor shocking statement, and of course very common. White American Male: Big Ego. Desirous of success, fame and adoration.

I will say this: My ability to cold-email literary agents, famous authors, and random industry pros has, often, in myriad ways, helped my career. One lesson I have learned in life is this: If you don’t swing the bat you’ll never hit the ball.

However. My recent experiences have shown one can also go too far and piss people off.

A week or so ago I tried to rejoin Facebook—don’t ask me why—for the sole purpose of starting an Author Page. But my penchant for “friending” people I don’t actually know and have zero connection (in a fierce attempt to get more people to read my Substack and my books) backfired on me and Facebook said I violated their “community standards” and thus permanently disabled my account.

Fair enough.

Then it happened with Goodreads, too. Well, not exactly. After months of dropping my book link and a note about my writing into random book groups in which I joined for that sole purpose and in which I knew nobody, I received an email from Goodreads saying, basically, Stop being a dick. They said I’d been red-flagged and that if my spammy self-promo continues they’re going to ban me from the platform.

So…yeah.

What can I say, man? As much as I like to think of myself as a super “sincere” man—and in many ways I think I genuinely am—there’s also that other side of me that wants attention, notoriety, praise, etc. (All writers want to be praised, respected and read, do they not?)

When I look at my history I see the overarching pattern. Between 2011 and roughly 2021, when I was submitting several of my books to literary agents, I committed all the cliché, classic errors and did all the Don’t Do’s. I submitted to hundreds of agents, maybe upwards of 400-500 in all. I kid you not. Many agents got multiple queries for the same book after they’d already rejected said book. (I know. Bad.) I DM’d agents on social media. (Terrible.) I told literary magazines that I’d sent only to them (when this was required) when I’d actually sent a piece out to a dozen places or more.

Some of this was laziness, if you want the whole truth. Some of it was the hard fact that literary agents and magazines often took three, six, eight months or more to respond, if they ever did at all and so, wanting to succeed, I spread the net far and wide. Some of it was drive, ambition. Some of it was my youthful arrogance and important sense of self. And ego, of course; don’t forget that. I have always been so needy when it comes to writing, so hungry.

And yet, along the way I’ve also made some important literary friends, people I’ve cold-emailed and genuinely connected to who are still people I email with to this day. And I learned a lot doing things My Way, aka the Hard Way aka the Stubborn Way. I know I’ve been selfish. I know I’ve pissed people off. I know I’ve been annoying.

Yet it’s just this thing I’ve always had inside me.

All my life I’ve battled with this complex inner duality: Sincerity and genuine caring for others mixed in with my constant need to self-promote and “be known.”

It’s not my favorite aspect of myself. I admit that. One way of criticizing me here might be by saying that on a certain level I lack integrity, that I have a less-than-admirable character. And you know what: I think there’s some truth to that, honestly.

And yet: I also know that I am a good man. Of course I am. I have helped many people in various ways, both in the literary world and outside it. How many manuscripts of writer friends have I read for free and commented on? How many writers have I tried to connect to people I knew in the industry? How many new writers have I given advice to?

And then I’ve done the opposite of this, too, as I already said.

I’ve never been that highly structured, highly disciplined, highly humble man who helps people as often as he can, thinks more about others than about himself, and who respects people in my industry and makes sure he is scrupulous and diligent when it comes to messaging, emailing, submitting, connecting, etc. It’s just simply not in my nature. Never has been.

I possess a deep selfishness, even a lightweight narcissism. (I suppose I agree with the idea that selfishness and narcissism are on a spectrum of sorts, like most other things, so it’s not precisely a binary.) I am an only-child. I was born with a silver-spoon in my mouth. When it comes to the past—especially pre-sobriety—I have often treated people (especially women) more as pawns or objects and less as full complex human beings.

But.

In 2010, as you all know, I hit bottom and got sober. I got a sponsor and did all 12 steps. It’s not that I magically became a completely different person—I didn’t—but I did learn to think about other people more than I ever had before. For a while I sponsored some guys and took them through the 12 steps. For about six months I was one of many AA speakers at the Salvation Army in downtown Oakland. I sponsored guys there, too. (A rough crowd in and out of the criminal justice system with a high rate of relapse.) I made amends with my family and close friends. I did, in fact, change. I genuinely tried to think of other people and their needs more often.

And yet you never change absolutely. You never fully become a different person entirely. That intrinsic “you,” that eminent “Self” is always there, deep in your core, like a moon which sits fat and full and white in the cosmic sky that is your inner world. And it’s that old, eternal inner “me” which, even now, I’ve never been able to completely shake.

I have made a whole hell of a LOT of mistakes in my life. I’ve rarely done things the easy way, and most often don’t get things right the first time around. I’ve hurt humans around me endlessly, especially before I stopped drinking 14 years ago. I could blame genetics. I could blame other people. I could blame the distorted culture we inhabit. I could blame social media. Etc.

But in the end the obvious reality needs to be said out loud: It’s my responsibility.

And that’s OK. We all have our own private issues, problems, foibles, struggles, urges, compulsions, obsessions. It’s just the nature of being alive, being human. We’re weak and flawed; we suffer from human frailty, the human condition.

Over the years I have learned that things most often do not work out the way you want them to, the way you planned, the way you foresaw. Expectations breed resentments. In my experience the best things happen when you let go and are no longer paying attention. The harder you try to “get” something, the further away it seems to drift, always just out of your desperate grasp. This has been true in my life whether it’s something literary, whether it’s romantic love, whether it’s familial stability, whether it’s success, etc. When I try too hard, focus too much attention…whatever it is I’m chasing blows away.

This is life. We live in a time of mass delusion, really, where social media and iPhones have allowed us to trick ourselves and others into believing that we all have the “perfect” lives, that we’re all full of integrity, humility and good intentions. But the truth is much more nuanced than that, isn’t it? I know that. You know that, too, in your deepest heart.

It may sound like I’m doubling-back, trying to rationalize my semi-questionable behavior. I guess I am doing that. Because that’s another one of my defense mechanisms: Defending my “honor.” (There’s that ego again.)

But that’s fine. Because I’m just another bozo on the bus as they say. Just another frenetic meat-suit here for a short time. Just another American male needy for love and attention. Like all of us I want to be seen, heard, understood and respected.

Even with this post I want attention. I want to go viral. I want Substack to explode with my openness. (Listen to that neediness!) I want my books to sell out because so many suddenly feel compelled to purchase them. I want, I want, I want. (Me, me, me. )

I wonder: Will people by and large respect this confession? Will they praise its honesty and vulnerability? Or will people start unsubscribing because they don’t like the behavior I’ve discussed? (Probably it’ll be a mix of both.) Will people relate, or will they see me as a weirdo-outlier? Will it tap something deep inside some people, or will most shun me for exposing my weaknesses? Is it more popular in our times to tell the truth on yourself or to make the external “you” look as good and attractive as possible?

So that’s my admission, my confession. If I want those things, then I need to extend them more appropriately to others. I do this now, to an extent.

But I could do a whole lot better.