This is all so true, and the whole complex is why I profoundly believe that it’s wise never to write something purely for the external things it might win you.
Never embark on writing something which, if it doesn’t win that commission, money, invitations, readers, contract, esteem, prize, uniform 5*s, whatever, you will forever feel was a waste of your writing life. However small, practical or frivolous the thing you’re writing, if it has no intrinsic value to your writing life and sense of your writing self, don’t write it.
An example: if Peter Warlock and Bruce Blunt hadn’t won £10 from the Daily Telegraph for the carol Bethlehem Down, and had to forgo the drinking spree which was their sole motive for entering the competition in the first place - I don’t believe they’d have regretted for a moment the time and effort of writing that small masterpiece.
Writers live in a constant weather system of comparison: rankings, reviews, prize lists, book deals, festival invitations, follower numbers, apparent momentum.
Some envy is status envy. It says: Why them? Why not me?
But there’s another kind — artistic envy. The twinge when someone has made something so good that we think: I wish I’d done …