I’ve often said that ego is one of the most dangerous poisons for a writer, but I haven’t really discussed why ego is so bad in one singular post. I also haven’t shared ways you can reduce your egotistic tendences as a writer. So let’s go through these facets in detail – now in one convenient place!

Ego is not the same thing as good self-esteem.

First, let’s tackle a common misconception: that you either have a big ego or are a pathetic wet sack who hates everything you write.

Black-and-white thinking is unfortunately common, even amongst people who should know better (writers). For whatever reason, humans love to veer between extremes. The vast majority can’t see the middle path.

Here’s the primary difference.

Ego says: “I am perfect, and no one can do it as well as me. There is nothing for me to improve upon in my writing; anyone who says otherwise is an idiot. I can’t learn anything from others, and they certainly shouldn’t critique what I do, because they never could have done it.”

Good self-esteem says: “I do a great job at my own approach to writing. I like what I write. But there’s always opportunities to improve. Maybe my plots are too simplistic or my books always end the same way. Maybe my writing isn’t quite as lyrical as I would like. I can learn from other people and get even better.”

This perspective shift is crucial for your growth as a writer, and you may not even realize how much better you can be if you released your ego. Let’s take a look at how your mindset may be stymying your growth and what you can do to get better.

Why is ego so dangerous for writers?

You’d think that authors should have big egos, especially if they are demonstrably good. Bzzt! No!

Ego has a calcifying effect that can ruin your writing trajectory. Here’s why.

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Authors with an ego cannot accept feedback to improve.

When you think you’re perfect, then there’s no point in getting any feedback – even from yourself, through revisions. And then your writing sucks because you refuse to listen to anyone who tells you otherwise.

Think about Empress Theresa, widely regarded as one of the worst novels of the modern era. The author was very defensive about even the mildest criticism, lashing out at people who dared suggest he might have some plot holes in a few teensy places.

And has he written anything better? As far as I know, no. He is known solely for writing a total dumpster fire of a novel, and nothing else he has done matters anymore.

If he had accepted feedback at literally any step of the process, we wouldn’t laugh at Empress Theresa. It would have been adequate, though perhaps not spectacular. He’d make decent sales, but he wouldn’t be a laughingstock.

I have to imagine he doesn’t feel good about being bullied by the entire internet for years. No wonder he hasn’t written much else.

Do you want that to be you? No? That’s why you’ve got to release your ego.

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Ego discourages you from reading widely.

This seems like a strange one, but it makes sense if you think about it for a minute. If you believe your writing is the best thing to ever exist, why would you want to read all those stupid worthless books from inferior people? They can’t teach you anything new or offer a different perspective because your perspective is the only thing that matters.

But you need to read widely to improve. Things from every single genre, every perspective, every era of the world. If you don’t do that, then your work stagnates.

If you find yourself sniffing, “Well, nothing out there is as good as what I write,” you might have an ego issue. You’re also very wrong. The best book in the world hasn’t been written yet and never will be, but there are certainly ones that are way better than yours.

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Ego is very fragile and, when punctured, leads to despair.

A while ago, I shared a fight I got into with a fellow self-pub author, who was absolutely furious that I gave her short novel four stars.

The thing is that she had asked me to beta read that novel, and I told her the exact same things I highlighted in my review; nothing I said should have been a surprise. I was careful to word my review to point out the good aspects moreso than the bad aspects, but it still wasn’t good enough for her.

She couldn’t accept anyone telling her that her work wasn’t perfect as it is, and so she crashed out. She told me she was literally crying over a four-star review. And not even a mean one!

This happens when a writer cannot separate themselves from their work. To her, me suggesting improvements was me attacking her as a person. Saying she was a worthless hack who might as well never write again.

Which I certainly was not. I wouldn’t do that.

That emotional roller coaster does not lend itself to productivity. I’ve seen writers say they are heartbroken and never want to write again when someone calls a first draft bad. So they give up; they never reach the heights of success that persistent authors like Brandon Sanderson have.

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An ego-driven author doesn’t think about audience.

I wrote this post back in October 2025, and during the drafting process, I came across a Reddit post that perfectly encapsulated the ego-driven dismissal of audience.

This author is actively hostile to reader engagement, despite claiming they want the work to be a “mirror” to readers. Most authors want people to be engaged enough to interpret the work, but OP resists this, choosing instead to look down their nose at readers and discourage anyone from doing anything they don’t like.

I’m particularly horrified by the idea of a writer being angry about fanfic. Given that one of my dreams is people writing fanfic for the Eirenic Verses, it flummoxes me to imagine other authors don‘t want that.

Man. What an amazing way to scuttle your writing career.

Such a problem comes from ego. OP wants to control the narrative long after the ink is dry because they cannot tolerate the idea of others engaging with their product in a way they don’t like. They don’t care about the audience experience unless readers are fawning.

A hostile, egomaniacal author will soon see engagement dry up because they don’t want anyone to engage. Their work is a flawless time capsule of their own experience, untouchable and unapproachable.

But this shows up during the writing process too. Authors thinking solely about themselves will not employ Theory of Mind to improve engagement because, well … they don’t give a shit about you.

So they’ll go on incessant info dumps meant to make you think they’re special, or write Mary Sues that fulfill their power fantasies, or worldbuild to exhaustion until readers can’t remember a damn thing.

Which, of course, makes for bad writing that no one will like.

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Ego-driven writers are off-putting and may unintentionally limit their readership.

In my post about bad book marketing, I shared an extremely condescending tweet from an author who was talking down to her readers about the big words and dense prose.

As I noted there, I will never pick up a book by that author for any reason. You could leave me on a desert island with a copy of her book, and I’d turn it into kindling first. I’m not going to reward a jerk who thinks she’s better than me because she goes clackety-clack on some keys.

Girl, I also do the clackety-clack. Calm down.

Whether you realize it or not, people can feel your energy through what you put out into the world. It’s obvious whether someone’s playacting at humble while thinking they’re the best writer ever; there’s a superiority complex that oozes out of their words. They never discuss their faults, nor do they self-reflect on why they might have gotten a bad review.

And we don’t want that. We want people to think we are nice and relatable and fun. So don’t be condescending.

How to soften your writing ego

Your ego, and everything else about you, is not a fixed attribute.

I used to be a stuck-up little shit when I was a young adult (as many young adults are). Everything I did was right, and everything everyone else did was wrong. I was condescending, rude, and sanctimonious.

You can see the inspo for Cerie Korviridi. She’s all my horrible traits.

Over time, I was repeatedly humbled, both in my writing career and social life. I got anon hate on my Tumblr every time I logged in; nobody liked me.

Truly, honestly, sincerely … they were so right. I did suck. I’m glad they said it.

That hate mail is what made me a better writer and a better person. Now I have lots of friends and have developed an admirable corpus of work that I’m proud to share with others.

While I certainly have an ego, it is a powerful instrument for continual self-improvement. I can see clearly where I fail, why I fail, and how I can avoid the mistake.

You can do this too. By sucking a lot and having everyone tell you so.

No, for real. Let’s look at it.

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Find a hobby you are terrible at.

When we have a big ego in one area of our life, it creeps into other areas. This is why doctors, lawyers, engineers, and other professionals are often total twats. They get a superiority complex and begin condescending to everyone, even those whose skills lie in completely different areas.

The way to fix this is to get wrecked at something.

As much as I absolutely love horses, I am one of the shittiest riders alive. I’ve been riding consistently once a week for almost two years, but I still haven’t mastered the trot.

For reference, most adult riders master the trot in a few weeks or months. Certainly not over a year. And certainly not two years.

One might wonder why I haven’t just given up by now if I have consistently demonstrated how bad I am. Maybe I could just volunteer at the stable to get my Horse Time but stop doing this expensive time-waster.

Well, because I think it’s important to be bad at stuff. It reminds me that I’m fallible, and it encourages me to think about how I might also be fallible in things I think I’m good at.

A lot of people do not pursue anything they do not believe to be easily achievable. They may try something “new,” but it’s usually connected to something they’ve already mastered. Anything outside of their comfort zone is rejected, or even dismissed as stupid and pointless.

Because they’re never challenged to consider their weak spots or acknowledge personal failures, they cannot grow. Their life becomes much like a closed terrarium: no new inputs, pushing against limits without going past them.

So, to break your writer ego, I encourage you to pick something you are pretty sure you’ll be awful at. Not only does this give you time away from your keyboard so you can gain more real-life experience, but it also puts you back in the student perspective: reminding you that there are always things you can refine, whether in writing or in anything else.

Play an instrument. Try a new sport. Practice some sort of art.

Do it terribly. Do it so everyone pities you. If your instructor takes you aside and gently suggests you give up, then you’re doing it right.

Feel the frustration, the awkwardness, the helplessness. Accept that this failure says nothing about you as a person, everything about you as a newbie.

And keep doing it until you get better. And apply that to your writing, too.

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Get critique from hard graders.

The reason that drill sergeants are so mean to their recruits isn’t because they delight in being rude. It’s because they are breaking down a young student’s ego so that they can thrive in a team environment, where personal accomplishments and preferences don’t matter.

If a private insists on getting accolades by charging enemy lines, then the entire platoon will be blown up.

Maybe the teachers at the War Academy should have been meaner to Uileac Korviridi in 9 Years Yearning. Then he wouldn’t be so obnoxious.

While there are no writing camps I know of that let teachers scream obscenities in your face, you can seek out this ego dissolution on your lonesome.

Intentionally look for hard graders. If you’re in school or university, ask around for who tends to be very blunt. If you’re looking for beta readers on r/betareaders, then find the person who is highly detailed in their criticisms. For paid beta readers, check for reviews where people say that they are harsh but fair.

Then, sit with the feedback. Let yourself feel the outrage and hurt. That’s perfectly normal. This is something that’s important to you, and no one likes being told they’re wrong.

And yes, sometimes, the advice may make you cry. This is okay. Don’t give up. You selected this person for that specific quality: being brutally honest without cruelty.

After a while, though, you’ll start to look beyond your hurt feelings and consider whether the criticism is valid. Does it ring true, even if you don’t want it to?

Once you’ve had this ice bath, you can find beta readers that are less aggressive. You’ve had your ego broken down and can accept more neutral critique.

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Create a list of improvement points.

In my post about writing mindsets, I discussed how important it is to identify your strengths and weaknesses. Those with ego problems don’t need to discuss their strengths because they’re already fixated on them. Instead, they need to explore what they struggle with.

Here’s a quick overview of the things that I do badly so you can see what I mean.

Many of my stories have the same ending: the characters go off on some sort of journey and we don’t get to see what happens next. Other ones end with them being at a random location to do something that is tangentially related to the main plot. As of now, five of the ten books in the Eirenic Verses end this way. It gets repetitive.

There are a lot of recycled plots in the books: someone almost drowning, on the brink of death after a fantastical feat, or being tortured.

Too many of the sex scenes are just poems.

People “think” in poems a lot. This fits because of the High Poetry but might be too overdone.

There are scenes that are only there to do High Poetry but the MC doesn’t engage with it other than being startled or afraid.

Everyone’s an orphan??

So most of my problems are plot-related rather than prose-related. This isn’t too uncommon with people who have been writing for a long time, but it does suggest my writing is getting a bit stale and I need to step out of my usual reading territory to find new inspiration.

I’ve written seven of the books in the series, but only four have been published, so I have time to address these issues in the next books before people start to get suspicious that I have a torture fetish (I don’t).

Those with big egos may not be able to do this self-assessment because they are already convinced they’re perfect. In this case, you need to rely on outside observers to help you, preferably those who can read the whole series and see potential repetition.

Good beta readers are worth their weight in gold. Rely on what they say. Get second, third, and fourth opinions so you can collect insights. You don’t need to use all of those opinions, but you can find common themes in what they say and focus on those.

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Read better work and break down why you like it.

Ego-driven writers often intentionally seek out bad writing so they can throw stones. Their goal isn’t to improve, but to make themselves feel better.

At my big age, I don’t want to read bad writing. It grates at me so much because my revision mind is constantly suggesting things. Sometimes a work will be so bad that I want to watch the trainwreck, but most of the time, I don’t feel like I’ll get much benefit from it.

That’s why I’m extremely picky with what I read. I want stuff I could never pull off myself. If I think I could do it better, I’m not interested. Reading it would just be an ego-stroking session rather than a way to improve.

One of my favorite books is This Is How You Lose the Time War. It’s SFF, but I know for a fact that I could never write something so beautiful – that’s why I like it so much. Every time I think I could have suggestions, I reread it and go, “No, actually, what they did is perfect, and I completely understand why they went that way.”

As such, prioritize reading the very, very best books you can. Books that make you jealous and insecure. This is the impetus to improve.

When we can pinpoint our strengths and weaknesses, there’s more room for exploration. The prose gains an airy, experimental quality that encourages conversation; readers feel comfortable pointing out what they didn’t like, asking questions, and suggesting improvements.

Readers who are invested in dismantling your work are more engaged with it. They want to be part of the conversation, which means they want to read more and see what happens. That’s how you start gaining a devoted readership: not philistine perfection that squashes discussion.