I’ve been thinking a lot about success. What does it mean, as a writer, to be successful? Does it come with stacks and stack of plotting material? Does it come when people praise your work? Does it happen when you get published? Published again?
I always used to think that success as a writer came when you’d sold millions of copies and signed movie deals for you five-book series, or when you were touring the world promoting and news networks were calling you for interviews. But how many writers actually ever get to that point? Do the millions of authors out there that never hit that point, count as unsuccessful writers?
I don’t think so.
It feels to me, now that I’ve been writing continuously, that success comes more from where you see yourself. Success can come from finishing a novel that you never publish, or writing poetry every day, or publishing a blog post on time. It can be found in a friend telling you they love a piece you wrote – or a complete stranger saying that you made them feel something.
Success is what you make of it.