The Art (or Not) of Competition

Mozart and I have been discussing the competition that Emperor Joseph II arranged between Muzio Clementi and himself on Christmas Eve, 1781, and it’s started me thinking about the value (or not) of competition.

WAM: That evening will live on forever in my memory. How good it felt to put that imposter in his place.

MM:  Imposter?  Clementi was an accomplished pianist and composer, as were…er, ARE…you.

WAM: Yes, he enjoyed that reputation, my dear, and he certainly did have some technical proficiency, particularly in his right hand, but his lack of sensitivity – I believe your generation would call it “soul” – was evident.  His playing was fiery, but mechanical.  And that is why the Emperor proclaimed me the winner and awarded me 50 ducats.

MM:  So I take it that you consider competition to be healthy.

WAM:  In my case, Madame, there was no competition. I was simply the best.

MM:  Okay, Amadé, I’m not going to argue that point. But I’m referring today to competition in writing.  Specifically in fiction. I recently returned from Malice Domestic, a conference of mystery writers and their fans.

WAM: I was there, remember? I thought the chicken at the banquet was a bit rubbery.

MM:  The banquet, yes, where they presented the Agatha Awards in categories like Best First Mystery, Best Mystery Novel of the year, Best Nonfiction Mystery, etc.

I was catching up on my reading over the weekend, and managed to consume several books. I have a favorite, one I could not put down until I’d finished it—

WAM: Care to share the title?

MM: Not just now, I’m thinking of writing a review of it in a future blog. My point here is, though, that what I couldn’t put down, someone else might not have been able to finish.  She might not have been as engaged in the story as I was. Reading is so personal.

WAM: As is music.  But, of course, everyone loves mine!

MM: Yes, but the point I’m trying to get to here is, that trying to compete with a fellow writer is futile. The writer’s voice is personal. And if a writer strives to compete with another, she might just alter her voice, and thus do her own work a disservice.

My late, brilliant husband used to say, “Don’t compete with anyone else.  Compete with yourself.”  I think Alan was right.

WAM:  Ergo, strive to make the next work outshine the last one. Yes, Madame, that was always the driving force behind my own compositions.  After all, who could compete with me but Mois?

MALICE AND MOZART AND MURDER, OH MY!

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart here, reporting in after an extended absence. Mme. Moreno and I have recently returned home from a delightful weekend in the company of people who commit murder for a living.

MM:  You may wish to clarify that, Amadé, lest readers get the wrong impression.

WAM:  From what I could gather, between visits to the lobby bar, my dear, Malice Domestic is an annual gathering of writers dedicated to partying and creating general mayhem, am I not correct?

MM:  Maybe I'd better take over from here.

WAM:  Please!  Must you always interrupt me?  You are not the only writer in the room, Madame!

MM:  True, but I'm the writer who purchased this computer, so I'll interrupt as I see fit, especially when I catch you straying from the truth, Amadé.  Malice Domestic is an annual event that celebrates the traditional mystery,  and it brings together both the authors and their fans.

WAM:  Now, fans are something I understand, although in my day we referred to them as audiences. Thousands of people from all over the Continent celebrated my music and attended my concerts and operas.

MM:  They still do today, and their numbers have swelled to millions. I am, perhaps, your biggest fan, Amadé, striving as I am to bring you into the 21st Century with your very own series of murder mysteries.

WAM:  Merci, Madame.  I am looking forward to that event with great anticipation.

MM:  So that's why I decided to attend my first Malice and get a better grasp of how this business works.



On the social side, I got to spend quality brainstorming time with my fabulous agent, Christine Witthohn, and to party with her extraordinary group of writers whom I'd previously met only online - Liz Lipperman, Kari Lee Townsend, Joni Sauer-Folger and Barbie Mahoney.





In a surprising moment of synchronicity, I sat next to a New York neighbor and multi-published author, Elizabeth Zelvin, at Saturday morning's Sisters In Crime breakfast.

I got to meet published authors whose work I've admired for years - Harlan Coben, Hank Phillippi Ryan, Louise Penny. (Why didn't I think to get my picture taken with them??? Oh, well, maybe next year.)

I attended panels on how to negotiate the rocky road to joining their ranks. And I got to meet editors who may or may not publish our book one day.

WAM:  Brava!

MM:  But best of all, I came home fired up with enthusiasm, full of ideas for new projects, and renewed commitment to daily writing.

WAM:  If you do not mind my asking, what was the most important thing you learned?

MM:  I learned from Harlan Coben that even multi-published, successful authors are terrified of not being able to produce another book.  And that the only way to overcome this fear is to sit down and write!  So that's where I'm headed now.  Back to MS Word to work on the new novel.

WAM:  Mind if I tag along?

MM:  I wouldn't have it any other way!