Don’t chop yourself to bits but…
On Tuesday nights I watch The Biggest Loser and then switch to Food Network and watch Chopped. The incongruity of this pairing is not lost on me, not to worry.
On Chopped, four chefs each have a basket of secret ingredients and are challenged to make an appetizer in 20 minutes, using all the ingredients. The judges taste, and then CHOP, one of the chefs. The remaining three chefs get a basket of secret ingredients and 30 minutes to prepare an entire. Then the judges CHOP one chef. The remaining two chefs have 30 minutes to create a dessert out of equally odd and secret ingredients.
A key element in this show is the feedback from the judges. They’re understanding of the strange parameters but they are tough on the chefs. The participants are professionals working mostly in high-end restaurants and catering businesses. They know their stuff. They know they’re good. And they’re there to win the title of Chopped Champion and $10,000.
On this week’s episode one of the four chefs had quite an attitude. It was something I’d never seen before. And by the look on judge Alex Guarnaschelli’s face, it was something she’d not seen a lot either.
This chef-who-shall-remain-nameless was not confident, he was boastful. He degraded the dishes of his fellow Chopped contestants and he belittled the validity of the feedback of the judges. When the judges chopped this chef – based on his lack of culinary finesse as compared to the other chefs – and offered him suggestions, he lashed out, crossed his arms, rolled his eyes. The judges still said their piece and then said he needed a special ingredient for all his dishes.
Humility.
His response was something akin to “I’m a good chef and you can’t tell me I’m not and I don’t cook for you so f-off.” He stomped out of the studio mumbling.
I was glad to see him go.
Which brings me to writing of course.
Where is the line between loving the product you put your heart and soul into and humility? How do you strike a balance between confident enthusiasm and thinking you are all that and a bag of chips?
We must be our own cheerleaders, we must believe in our work, we must promote ourselves and our writing, we must convince agents, editors and readers that our words are worth their money and time.
I’ve seen writers who fall to two extremes – those who do nothing to help themselves and have little confidence or expectations for their work to those who use megaphones and balloons and have huge medical-grade egos. I react poorly to both. I want writers to offer their words and themselves but to do so with genuine modesty, with a realization that anything pumped up too much deflates quickly.
I tend to think that while being your own cheerleader is necessary in this business — if you’re the loudest one in the room — anything you say is really hard to swallow.
This is a VERY good point about the two extremes. I get tired of the people who can’t seem to talk about anything other than their writing. That’s great & I’m all for self-promotion, but give it a rest. I worry I’m more in the other category — I HATE marketing myself — but if I ever get to the point where my success depends on it (getting published) I’ll do it.
I hope I’m in the middle – a happy medium. I know that I tend to downplay my writing talent, especially to others, and I have a feeling I’ll have a hard time with self-promotion, too.
Like Melissa, I hope I am in the middle. It’s funny, whenever I get a particularly painful rejection (not mean, but from an agent I really wanted) I find myself thinking, “I’m a damn good writer and they are crazy!” But the minute my mother or my sister or a friend says the same thing, or makes a comment that the agent is stupid or an @ss, I immediately defend the agent. I know my family means well, and truthfully, they don’t have to have thick skins, or the ability to processes contructive criticism, they are not writers. So as a rule, before I blog, tweet or facebook about a rejection, I let it sit for a few days, think about what was said and then I process it, so I don’t let my bruised ego say something that I can’t take back. I don’t ever want to be the type to take my toys and leave the sandbox pouting and stomping.
Wow . . . great post. I think it has to be about self-honesty, and be in tune to those doubts you KNOW have a reason for being there. But fine-tuning that? It’s a lifelong journey (hence I often blog about the link I see between Buddhism and writing).
Like so much else in life, moderation seems to be the key. A little cheering, a little discretion, with just the right amount of ambition to keep moving forward