Turning a Writer's Worst Fear into an Opportunity for Connection

Scarcity vs. Collaboration and Mutual Support

I don’t remember when my editor told me about the two wildfire memoirs coming out this spring and summer, but I do remember predicting this would happen. It was around this time two years ago that I told my agent that someone else was going to get here first. “No,” he said. But I knew I was right. I’d been working on my forthcoming book for several years. Back in 2019, when I sold it on proposal, the concept and ideas were so fresh that several editors rejected them. I was writing about subjects that were barely bubbling to the surface of our culture, but as the revision and publication process extended I watched many of my fresh ideas surface and become mainstream.

I can’t speak for all writers, but for me, there’s always been a strong sense of urgency surrounding my work. A need to get it out there. Back when I was a baby writer (to be clear, this was in my late twenties), this resulted in me submitting my stories and poems before they were finished. I didn’t revise my work, or know much about the revision process. I just wanted validation. I wanted to be seen and loved, and my writing was another way to plead my case. Each rejection was a gut punch; a personal affront.

so many beautiful things coexist

Over time and with access to education and mentors, I learned to slow down, but it wasn’t until I wrote (and revised, and revised) Hotshot that I truly felt my way into the structure of a complicated book and, at times, enjoyed the process of revision. There are infinite ways to tell a story, even one that’s true. Still, the process was stressful, and in order to quell that sense of urgency I pretended the book would never be published.

Then the other two memoirs were announced.

They broke the news to me gently, but I was mostly unbothered. I’d predicted this, after all.

In the span of time that I sold, researched, wrote, and revised my book (six years!), two writers lived and wrote their own memoirs.

That’s a simplification. Actually, I’ve only read one of the books, and I only know one of the writers. Her name’s Kelly Ramsey, and she worked on a hotshot crew for two years ( longer than many folks can endure that work), in the summers of 2020 and 2021 (yes, during Covid, and during that hellish summer of intense, record-breaking fires). Her memoir, Wildfire Days, debuts next week. She also has a newsletter here on Substack, called Plant Person. She didn’t really live her memoir in the years it took me to wrote mine, because her book spans a lifetime of experiences, just as mine does.

Many years ago, I remember a time period when several books about the same subject debuted, and a friend commented that this was his worst nightmare. “Imagine,” he said, “Working on something for so long, only to have someone else write about the same thing; to have to compete for attention.” I agreed. It sounded terrible. This is generally how our culture works– not only in art, but in everything. America is all about homogeneity. Large companies gobble up smaller ones. We have a two party system, a few options for internet and cell service, a few big publishers, a handful of “bestseller” Substacks. Everything is hierachical, because we can’t seem to appreciate nuance or subtle difference. Every McDonalds looks the same, every Whopper tastes the same. So if you happen to release a book that looks like another book in the same season, you might be fucked.

Or not.

I used to be envious or jealous of other people’s success, until I learned that I could choose differently.

Why be jealous when I can be inspired?

Why compete when I can collaborate?

Or make a friend?

After hearing about her book, I went against the advice of others and reached out to Kelly on Instagram. We quickly connected and, within a week, had a long phone conversation in which we realized how much we had in common. We both worked as nannies and hotshots. We both experienced family trauma and parental alcoholism (detailed in both our books). We both lived in Austin, TX, although my stint there was mere months. And we were both navigating the wild world of debut memoirs, on parallel but different timelines (my book comes out two months after hers).

We exchanged ARCs, each inscribed by one another, and read each other’s books. I loved Wildfire Days. It was fascinating to read about her hotshot crew, all the men she worked with, and how she handled herself as a woman in her thirties. I related to her experiences with her father and empathized with the difficulties she faced inside and outside of work. The writing was clear, voicey, and intimate. I finished her book quickly, because I couldn’t put it down.

For the past many months (six months?? Five?), we’ve been in touch almost daily, sharing experiences, gripes, fears, triumphs. Both of us think it’s quite remarkable that two books, both about women working as hotshots (yes, I am nonbinary, but my experience on my crew was that of a woman, so we’ll let that tension exist), are releasing within months of each other.

So often these books about minority experiences are seen as universal. Here’s this woman’s experience as a firefighter– this means that all women experience this job in the same way. But our books contradict that, and work against the idea of a universal experience. I worked on three different hotshot crews in the early, and mid 2000s. Each crew was different, and my experiences were different than Kelly’s. Like, of course they were! Reading both of our books will deepen any reader’s understanding of fighting wildfires, being tokenized, fitting in or not fitting in. Kelly connected with most of her crew in a positive way, but even that is a simplification. By reading both books a reader can see clearly how many factors come into play in male-dominated workspaces, and why it’s so vital to promote diversity, and recruit diverse workers, but also how that’s only a first step.

As a reader and former hotshot, I found Kelly’s book healing in many ways. She stood up for herself often, which is something I had a hard time doing in my twenties. But she also held herself accountable and wrote reflectively about herself, being vulnerable on the page in a way that can be especially hard when recounting events that are relatively recent.

In short, I made a new friend, and was inspired. No jealousy. No envy.

It feels so good to want success both for myself and for Kelly, who is currently raising a tiny and adorable human while also working so, so hard towards her book launch, writing and interviewing and hustling. In a recent news interview, a newscaster called her a “stay at home mom,” and I found myself incensed on her behalf. I am protective of her, because she deserves it all. She worked hard for it. Just like I did. And I refuse to buy into the idea that we can’t both be successful together. She isn’t my competition. She’s my teammate.

Quite often it’s women working solo on hotshot crews, or there are two of them; one on each module, each riding and working relatively separately. But there are some crews (many of them in the Pacific Northwest and mountain region) with three, four, or five women. Sometimes more. I wrote about this in my book. Back then, it scared me to think about working with so many women, because I was used to being placed in opposition to one another. Compared and deemed better or worse.

I’m not a hotshot anymore, and I’m nonbinary, but I am perceived as a woman as I move through the world. I see and feel this vibe of competition and assessment, but it slides right off me. I am a non-porous surface when it comes to “am I better looking than (blank)” or “does (blank) do this better, or have this thing I want, etc. etc.”

I reject it, and have rejected it. And in rejecting it, I hold my younger self under my wing, and I hold hope for all of us– that we can help and encourage and support one another rather than fight for the crumbs of a false narrative of competition. The more of us that make it to somewhere powerful, the more we can share our power with others rather than hoard it away.

Anyways– I wanted to write about this before Kelly’s book comes out, because I wanted to tell you about her book, and about this really special experience. Go buy her book. And buy mine. And read them both. And leave reviews on Amazon and Goodreads (because that actually matters). And perhaps consider that person you’re feeling envious of, and if you can see it a little differently. Perhaps you can be inspired, and reach out.

More soon.

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Really quick: wanna do something for me and Kelly? Request our books at your local library. If they’re already carrying our books, put them in your hold or saved queue.

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