There I was, cruising the internet as I sometimes do.
I trawled through a lot of garbage and I started to think, “I need something decent to read.”
I ran a search and came up with a listicle titled, “The Best Blogs of 2024,” or something like that.
I started working my way down the list and came across a blog that came highly recommended. The writer claimed this blog was one of the most insightful and widely read blogs on the internet.
I clicked over to it and scrolled down the author’s list of posts. One particular post caught my attention. The title read, “The Best Book Ever Written.”
I thought, “That looks interesting. I wonder what he thinks is the best book ever written.”
I clicked on the title and started reading the article.
Imagine my shock when I discovered that this author actually claimed that his own book was the best book ever written.
At first, I thought it was a joke. I thought the author must be taking the piss out of himself.
Then I thought he might be making a backhanded comment about how authors always find fault with their own work.
But no. As I read on, it became clear that this author really was convinced, and trying to convince his audience, that his own book was in fact the greatest book ever written.
Better than Don Quixote.
Better than Moby Dick.
Better than The Bible.
Better than Homer’s The Iliad and The Odyssey.
Even more amazing were the comments from this author’s readership actually agreeing with him. They told him the book was a masterpiece.
I was so stunned that I had to look deeper into this matter. It only took me a few seconds to find out that the book in question was titled, How to Live.
From reading the very brief description the author gives of the book, it appears to be a collection of the kind of shallow, vacuous, common-sense drivel we’ve come to expect from the so-called self-help industry.
In fact, this author’s catalogue is a continuous lineup of the same throwaway trash, including such epics as, Hell Yes or No. Apparently, none of us are smart enough to figure that out on our own and no one else in human history has ever made that point before.
After a little more digging, I discovered that this author wrote the book, How to Live, when he was fifty-two years old. He wrote this blog article when he was fifty-five.
I’m going to take a wild leap and suggest that he just might learn a few things in the next twenty or thirty years that he didn’t know when he wrote, How to Live.
In the best-case scenario, he’ll look back on both the book and this article and think what a naïve, self-centered moron he was—which is what all intelligent people think when they look back on the person they were and the work they produced ten or twenty years ago.
I doubt that will happen because this author is too arrogant even to realize what he doesn’t know.
Every writer looks at their latest work and thinks, “This is the best work I’ve ever done so far.”
Every great writer—every writer who is any good at all—also looks at their latest work and thinks, “I can do better.”
This is how we improve.
I have never encountered any writer—ever—who thought their latest work was the greatest book ever written.
I’m also going to go out on a limb and suggest that The Upanishads, The Bhagavad Gita, The Bible, and The Tibetan Book of the Dead have a few things to say about how to live that aren’t included in this author’s book.
The author’s description of his book states that he has devoted two whole chapters to the question of whether someone should dedicate themselves to a single career or stay flexible and independent.
This is the subject matter that’s supposed to rock the ages with its wisdom, innovation, and ground-breaking insight.
In fact, I had never heard of this author or his book before I saw his name on another blogger’s page. His book is obviously not well known nor is he.
His book isn’t being taught in university writing, philosophy, and comparative religion classes.
He is not known as one of the great authors or thinkers in the English language tradition. He’s a scarecrow with a titanic ego.
This author is just one year older than I am and he doesn’t share my life experience.
He was born in Berkely, California, held a variety of jobs, and became successful in the tech world. I would bet cold hard cash that I know a few things about how to live that he has never even thought of.
I’ve also written a crap-ton more books than he has and I have never once thought that one of my books was the best book ever written.
I would never think that because I recognize just how great the classics of literary history are. I realize how much I have to learn and how much I can improve. I know this because I know what good writing looks like.
An interviewer once asked world-renowned violin virtuoso Itzhak Perlman at the age of eighty why he still practiced for three hours every day. Perlman replied, “Because I still see room for improvement.”
I only read half of this article before I stopped reading and left the site.
I made up my mind right then and there. Not only would I never read this book or any of the author’s other books. I made up my mind that I would never read another word of this author’s content.
My first thought on reading this author’s post was, “He’s deranged.”
As in—not just colloquially saying he’s weird or quirky or eccentric.
He’s actually certifiably insane. He’s delusional. He is completely divorced from reality.
This author obviously has no perspective on life, his work, or reality if he could write this post.
He not only believes this about his own work. He actually wrote a blog article about it and posted it on the internet for everyone to read.
He actually believes his work is the best book ever written.
Better than Heart of Darkness.
Better than Great Expectations, A Tale of Two Cities, David Copperfield, and Nicholas Nickleby.
Better than War and Peace.
Better than The Divine Comedy.
Seriously?
If I can’t trust the author’s judgment when it comes to assessing the relative quality of his own work, then I can’t trust his judgment on anything else.
He could be wrong about a lot of things and probably is. He could be wrong about everything and probably is.
I also can’t trust him to keep his mouth shut when it comes to tooting his own horn and announcing to the world how fantastic he thinks he is when he actually sucks. We all suck compared to the greats of literary history.
It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to open one’s mouth and remove all doubt.
If he has so little perspective and is so close-minded that he could actually publish something like this, how can I believe a word he says? I can’t.
Stupid people think they’re smart. Smart people think they’re stupid.
Why?
Because smart people realize just how much they don’t know. They realize there’s a whole world of information out there that we don’t know and can never know.
Smart people take an always-learning attitude. They spend their lives learning and never stop until the day they die.
Stupid people think they know it all, so they don’t bother to learn anything—which is why they’re so stupid.
Legendary science educator Bill Nye famously stated, “Everyone you will ever meet knows something you don’t.”
The same goes for writers.
Good writers constantly criticize their own work. Good writers are notoriously hard on themselves and pick out the tiniest, seemingly insignificant flaws in their own work.
When I proofread one of my own books, I’ll often find myself thinking, “Damn, this is a great book!” and it’s a book that I wrote.
That’s a wonderful feeling. It’s one of the greatest rewards of my job.
I am also constantly looking for errors and ways to improve my work. I’m constantly striving to do better next time.
Because I’m constantly striving to do better next time, I always do. This is what makes a good writer—someone who constantly tries to improve and works to make the next book better than the last.
A crappy writer thinks they’re the greatest, so they stay a crappy writer forever.
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