When you are trying to carve a career in the arts, it can feel like you are competing with everyone – especially since a lot of funding / career opportunities are literally competitions so, um, you sort of are. But, in truth, other artists can be the best friends you can have.

(Note, because writing and theatre are my lanes, this article will be tilted towards that, but I think it applies to most of the arts.)

One of the fastest ways to make yourself unhappy is to view yourself in competition with other writers / creatives for a slice of an increasingly small pie. Oh, it’s an obvious temptation. Leaving aside the natural tendency in any area of life to compare up rather than down – to think, ‘I’m hard done by because my house isn’t a mansion’ rather than ‘I’m lucky I don’t live in a shack’ – the creative industries are rife with the fuel for comparison and competition.

This is down to a whole raft of factors. An industry that fetishizes youth and the new and is always looking for the Next Cool Thing, meaning that even if you do make it, your moment in the sun can be fleeting. A job market flooded not just by experienced competitors but by plenty willing to work for free or next to nothing, with an ever-downward pressure on prices. A dwindling number of the kind of entry level jobs that used to see people get a toehold in the industry, and a decreasing number of full-time paid writing jobs. Increasing cost of living so that those without independent wealth don’t have a hope of making a living from the arts, where salaries have stagnated or even fallen. A publishing industry that still favours white, upper/middle class men and is increasingly dominated by celebrities cashing in on their names rather than a commitment to nurturing talent. And those are just the first things I thought of.

Why it’s getting worse

Well, I’d like to say you can sum it up as ‘the Tories’ and, let’s face it, that wouldn’t entirely be wrong. With a government seemingly intent on asset stripping the arts in the same way they are doing with the rest of the country, then salting the earth behind them, it’s easy to feel increasingly hopeless and resentful of the tiny few that seem to be thriving (emphasis on seem – I’ll come back to that).

There’s also a culture of entitlement that assumes all art should be free and doesn’t ask, then, how that art is paid for. I sometimes write for a publication that has a paywall, which is regularly greeted with outrage: ‘why can’t I read that for free?’ Um, the same reason you can’t walk out of a supermarket with a newspaper without paying – some shit costs money. If everyone has an adblocker and no-one buys print, how do you pay your writers? How can you complain that book series you like stopped publishing, when you only ever downloaded the PDF from a piracy site? And if you insist that everything is free, the only people who can afford to do it are rich people.

There’s also the growth of AI, where techbros are trying to convince us that human art can be replicated by an algorithm, devaluing creativity even further.

Then there’s the fact that many people – including those actually working in the arts – have no understanding of the realities of the financial side, so assume everyone is raking it in, and resent them for it. I’ve literally seen this in my own circles: the number of times I’ve been cornered at a family party by someone assuming that, because I have written 9 books, I’m rich nine times over. (And these are people who know how I live, so have seen concrete evidence to the contrary…)

You can see that in the reaction to the writers’ strikes right now. “You live a gilded life, writing for TV, you are so lucky, how dare you ask for more?!”, people are raging, to writers who can’t make their rent. A recent Bookseller article about the disappointments of a debut author was widely greeted with scorn: how dare someone so blessed not be grateful for an opportunity many would kill for? But gratitude doesn’t pay bills. And if you insist that everyone should be ‘grateful’ to be working in the arts, you contribute to a culture of overwork, underpay and toxic conditions that no one feels they have the right to complain about.

And, of course, this is part of a wider, toxic trend, where we are all kicking each other at the bottom rather than punching up to the top: asking ‘why should train drivers earn X when teachers only earn Y’ instead of asking, ‘why are nurses going to foodbanks when politicians are getting richer?’.

I’m not immune to this, by the way. I spent months envying a friend’s high-profile arts job – right until I discovered what it paid. An author acquaintance I had mentally filed as ‘wildly successful’ and far more a ‘proper’ author than me, until I found out she was just as worried about making sales as the rest of us. So I get it, I really do.

But… you can’t fix any of those things. At least not right now, at least not from where you are. And yes, I think you should advocate for fairness and access at every stage of your journey, not just if you are one of the few lucky enough to one day get a platform where your voice can effect real change. But you also can’t paralyze yourself with all the bad stuff to the extent you can’t see any of the good.

So, given that the world is terrible and the market is terrible and the industry is terrible and the economic outlook is terrible… doesn’t it make sense not to face it alone?

What can you do?

As I said, I am not averse to professional jealousy. I have been known to snarl angrily at the smug tweet from someone blessing their luck when they should be blessing their parents’ bank account or connections. I have felt the bitter sting of ‘but WHY are they successful when I am better?’ – sometimes when it’s not really true, which is bad, but it’s even worse when it genuinely is. But if there’s one thing that my career has taught me, over and over again, is the best thing you can do is remember that in the main, other writers are your team, not your competition.

Sometimes, this is true in the most literal sense. If you can and are eligible, join the relevant professional organisation for your role. This can be a ‘traditional’ union like the entertainment industry’s Bectu, The Writers Guild (which represents writers in the entertainment industry, including theatre, TV, radio and video games) or the National Industry of Journalists – organisations set up with the very purpose of defending the interests of their members. The Society of Authors offers a range of benefits such as contract vetting and discounts on professional insurance, but also lobbies on issues that affect authors and the publishing industry. It’s easy to think of writers as being isolated and individualistic – sometimes deliberately so – but in some ways this makes it more important, not less, that we have access to collective bargaining and lobbying.

There are also many smaller and / or more informal groups, some of which may be more specifically targeted to your niche or your needs, so it’s worth doing some research on what support is out there and available to you.

But if that’s the macro level, on a micro level, it’s important to see your fellow writers and creatives as on the same side and not as your competitors or, worse, your enemies. I’m not saying you have to like everyone (and I’m certainly not saying you should give people a free pass for bad behaviour), but in general, approach your relationships with other writers – whether in person or online, whether fleeting and casual or permanent and in-depth – as an alliance not a battle.

I’ve seen this time and again in my own life. Some of my biggest supporters – personally and professionally – are other writers. Sometimes this is hands on and direct; I have a select band of writer friends who will read my work and give me feedback, I have contacts who have commissioned or recommended me for gigs, or suggested that I apply for things. Sometimes, it’s more general – I find out about opportunities because someone is talking about them on Twitter, another writer shares or retweets a piece I wrote to their (often bigger) platform, or I even just find other writers to commiserate with when we are all feeling a bit down and frustrated.

There’s a wealth of resources out there for writers and freelancers – many of them coming from those in the same industry. This can range from mentorships to workshops to free feedback on grant applications (one thing I noticed during the pandemic was *lots* of creatives using their unwanted free time to give back and help others in the industry). The generosity out there is astonishing, and it’s everywhere if you look for it.

Caveat: Sometimes approach with caution

Of course, sometimes you need to view this support with caution. If you’re an attractive 20-year-old, maybe be wary of some middle-aged guy who private messages you with an offer of ‘professional support’. Be aware that some ‘unsolicited feedback’ is just thinly veiled jealousy or someone sticking their oar in for no reason. I once posted a picture of a final version of a book cover – ie, the cover that was already out in the world, so wasn’t going to be changed – and a young woman I didn’t know sent me a private message helpfully listing all the ways it didn’t work (which she knew because, she assured me, she was a ‘very visual person’). She then ended the message saying she admired me and one day hoped to write a book. Um, maybe start by not torpedoing potential professional relationships with emails like that?

As we’ve seen time and time and time again in the arts, there are plenty of people willing to exploit the myth of creative genius as an excuse to treat others badly (sometimes appallingly). Don’t let your ambitions or insecurities blind you to behaviour or relationships or situations that are toxic or unhealthy – and if you can, call them out when you see them.

But also, don’t be unnecessarily combative where you could be collaborative with much better results.

Reframing your perspective

Sometimes the best way to move forward involves a little reframing. I found my own professional envy much easier to deal with when I made the mental shift from ‘but WHY are all my friends more successful than me?’ to, ‘wow, look at me with all my cool successful friends!’ The world is full of people willing to commiserate in your misery but less happy to celebrate your success, which often can actually be lonelier. Why not be the person who gets called to crack open the champagne, not just the one to share the shit stuff with?

Now I get that, as someone who has been doing this a long time and is (generally) confident in my abilities, I am coming to it with a more settled perspective and less hungry ambition than someone starting out, so in some measure it’s easy for me to say this. But I realised a long time ago, surrounded by talented and successful people as I am, that if I allowed myself to resent rather than celebrate that talent and success, I was losing out on some of the best relationships my life could offer. I like my friends: why wouldn’t I be pleased for them? And why wouldn’t I, as a writer who enjoys good writing, not want to support the people who make it? I read more than I write, after all. Just makes sense to me…

Go, team! Ways to support other creatives

Join a formal organisation: Do your research, obviously, but it’s really worth finding out what the best org for your business is and joining if you can. Many will offer reduced / limited membership for students or emerging artists.

Find an informal group: This could just be a local writing group, a networking meet up or online chat, but building a support network is one of the best things you can do.

Don’t just big up your mates: Yes, support your friends – especially if you belong to under-represented groups that don’t have access to the same mainstream avenues of promotion others may have – but part of the problem with the creative industries is they are such cliques. Seek out and elevate voices from outside your circle.

Spend thoughtfully: Obviously, like what you like and enjoy what you enjoy – I have a fondness for crime series written by straight white guys that no commitment to diversity will ever shake – but it’s worth directing at least some of your spend where it will make some difference. Buy a book by an indie author or direct from an indie press or small, non-chain bookshop. Chuck a fiver in a KickStarter or buy someone a Ko-fi. Go see a play or a band you’ve never heard of or check out a smaller venue that supports new writing. Make a conscious effort to read outside your comfort zone – if nothing else, it’ll make you a better writer.

It’s not just about money: Maybe you can’t afford to buy that book or a ticket to that show or support that cause right now, but your retweet might get it in front of someone who can. That review you wrote on Goodreads or Amazon – even if it’s only a line long – might help an author sell more books. Telling your mates about a play you saw or a writer you like could do more good than any advertising campaign. Sharing the word about opportunities that don’t apply to you might expose them to someone who can benefit. I’m not saying turn your life or your social media into a platform for other people, but equally don’t underestimate how much such small supportive gestures can matter.

Tell people you like them! It’s a very rare artist who doesn’t enjoy praise for their work. OK, there are some, but the vast majority of creatives would be absolutely delighted to be tagged into praise for their work or receive a nice message. (Unless you are justifiably calling out egregious behaviour, don’t tag people into criticism, though; that’s just a dick move.)

Look for ways to help, not just benefit: Not a bad motto for life, not a bad motto for writing. And with a little thought, you might be surprised to see how you can use whatever influence you have to help others. Sure, you need to protect your own creative time, and sometimes that will mean being ‘selfish’ – I know authors who could spend their whole lives answering emails, and are asked to donate more books than they sell as ‘charity prizes’. But in the long-term, most of us can contribute something – no matter how small – to helping both other individuals and the wider creative industries as a whole.

I mean, I’m not remotely well-known or famous, but I have been doing this a long time, so I try to make myself available for chats or a coffee with newer writers who want to pick my brains, such as they are. I pass on professional contacts and opportunities (where appropriate). I’ve helped people rejig their CVs to make them more employable. I try to share other writers’ work on my social media, to read diversely and talk about authors I enjoy. In my role as a theatre critic, I’ve made an effort to seek out and review work that might not normally get a lot of exposure and been vocal in my praise when I liked it. It’s not a lot, but it’s what I can do, so I do it. Ask yourself where you can do the same.

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Rom-com with a dash of Northern charm: The Bridesmaid Blues

Paranormal adventure with snark and sexiness: Dark Dates: Cassandra Bick Chronicles: Volume 1

If you want to read something a bit darker, try my earlier novel Doll and my short stories No Love is This. 

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