I’m not a New York Times bestselling writer.

I’m not a published author.

I’m not a writer under contract.

Shoot, I’m not even an agented writer.

No one from MTV has ever loved my book. Or read one.

I’ve spent lots of money on writing and never earned a penny.

I’ve written (and rewritten) three books…some for agents who then rejected me.

But you know what:

I’m a successful writer.

Now, before you chalk me up as delusional (jerk), hear me out.

You see, I love to write. It’s #3 on things-Bret-lives-for (#1 and #2 are family and dogs; #4 is New Mexican green chile). And therein lies my success. Firstly, I’ve found a true passion. Secondly, I get to participate in this passion daily.

How many people do you know that get to say this?

Very, very few.

I have something that makes me turn off the reality TV (except for Top Chef – I love that show). I have something that occupies my mind in the normally boring cracks of life. I have something that makes me set my alarm to an un-Godly hour and something that makes me pop out of bed happily when it goes off. That, my friends, is success in life.

Obviously, I’ll continue to pursue the agent, the deal, the published manuscript, the awards, MTV, and the bestseller lists. But that’s separate from the writing. Those are dreams and while they may be achievable, I can’t hinge my happiness on things entirely out of my control. To Talia’s point earlier this week: I can set and meet a goal to write, relatively distraction free, for 90 minutes per day. I can try to construct deeper characters. I can work to streamline my plots. However, winning the Newberry or getting an agent really depends on a potent cocktail of luck, talent, timing, and opinion.   

Now, I know I’m going all Age of Aquarius on you. But seriously, it’s taken me a long time to get to this headspace…and to be honest, there are days where I slip back into my old ways. In particular, when I get all huffy after reading a book and think “That got published?” or “They got an agent?” (C’mon, you know you have those moments – however brief).

I also shouldn’t give the impression that it’s easy to write every day. Some days are easy. Many aren’t. But it’s like any solid, lasting relationship. There are times you may not like your husband/wife/whatever, but you always love them.

I’ve made a commitment to define my success by loving what I do. When I fall out of love with writing, then – and only then – am I a failure. 

This week’s topic is defining success, and I’m going to be honest with you…

I succeeded.

About four years ago, the goal I laid out for myself was “to publish a book within five years.”

Within five years, I will have published three books and a novella. I will have foreign deals in twenty-six countries, a film deal, and made it onto the NY Times and USA Today Best Sellers lists.

Before you start gagging, I’m building to a point with all this bragginess. Also allow me point out the THOUSANDS OF HOURS I spent in a chair to achieve all of this. The wrinkles, the extra pounds and gray hairs. All the foregone fun times, and there have been many, in which I work while others play…. Anyway, that’s all for another post.

Ahem. Onward.

The thing is that I’m a crossroads. The UNDER THE NEVER SKY trilogy, almost finished, has soared beyond my wildest expectations. Now begins the task of What’s Next.

And let me tell you how tempting it is to try to replicate the braggy chapter above.

Very tempting. Very.

To do so, believe it or not, there’s a clear path that I could take in my writing. It is the path of least resistance, and it runs adjacent to the path I’ve already taken. This path is safe because I know it, and I’ve already beaten back the underbrush with my machete.

It is also the odds-maker's path. The book industry knows what sells. At least, they know what usually sells. They know which segment of the market purchases books. Their likes and dislikes. That information is pretty specific, and it points me in the direction of the clear path as well.

I have several problems with the clear path, however. The first is that I’m a fan of challenging myself and beating my way through new territory. The second is that I don’t want to write for other people. I want to write for myself. I want to follow my instincts. I want to sit down, eager to plumb my ideas, not the ideas that I think will appeal to others. How could I ever speak honestly if I’m trying to please? How could my writings be genuine if I’m following not my bliss, but the bliss of a collective pack?

In his famous commencement speech, the brilliant Neil Gaiman advises graduates:

Make your art. Do the stuff that only you can do…. the one thing that you have that nobody else has is you. Your voice.  Your mind. Your story. Your vision. So write and draw and build and play and dance and live as only you can. The moment that you feel that just possibly you’re walking down the street naked, exposing too much of your heart and your mind and what exists on the inside, showing too much of yourself, that’s the moment you may be starting to get it right.

In this time in which it would be very easy for me to write safely, I want the strength to resist that urge. I want to write fearlessly, defiantly. I want the courage to yell yes in the face of no. 

I want freedom in my words and stories. I demand it. I deserve it.

My readers deserve it.

What will happen?

Of course, the monetary and career aspects will be a huge question mark. I’m heading into new territory with my next series. I’ve traded my machete for a sword and I’m heading right past the signs that read Here be Dragons.

That’s where my Muse leads me, so that is where success lies. Real success. My success.

Besides, I’m ready. It's time to slay some dragons.

Defining success is a work in progress for me.  Most days, success means opening the manuscript and writing something.  Writing is what I love.  It's why I do this at all.  It's the characters and problem-solving and magic that occasionally appears on the page that keeps me coming back.  And, most days, that''s enough.

But there are those other days when I find it almost impossible not to define success by other people's standards.  Writing for publication is an odd hybrid of intimate self-exploration and public exhibitionism.  It opens you up to opportunities for awards, money, accolades.  It opens you up for criticism, rejection and personal attacks.  

Once you send that first query letter, submit that first manuscript, or sell that first copy of your book, you are exposing yourself to someone else's definition of success.  It's a dangerous thing.  That agent who asked for a revision sits over your shoulder as you sweat through every word, wondering if you're making things better- or worse.  Readers who loved the first book will beg you not to ruin the story by doing something that very closely mirrors the plot to book 2.  Your agent will send you a "can we talk" email shortly after you turned in a draft manuscript to your editor.  A reviewer will call your book an utter mess.  A royalty statement will tell you whether you have "earned" your advance.

Don't get me wrong, bringing other people into the equation is one of the greatest joys of writing for publication.  Finding people who connect with your work is incredible.  A reader may say it's the best book they've ever read.  Another one may tell you how they cried at the ending.  And that moment when an agent tells you they love your work? It's worth every rejection that came before.  "The call" is everything you imagined it would be.  An editor who is as invested in your story as you are is truly a gift.  Seeing your book on the shelf in a store is surreal.  

But, the voices out there, good, bad, and ugly, have one thing in common.  They're LOUD.  If you listen too closely, the cacophony will drown out your own voice and cripple your ability to write. You'll lose touch with your story and characters.  Worse, you'll lose touch with you. 

If you define success by things outside your control, you are setting yourself up for failure.  Writing success shouldn't be measured by whether you have an agent or a book deal or a huge advance or a movie deal or an award or a starred review or a million ads on Goodreads or a major marketing campaign or a giant print run or a hundred weeks on the bestseller list. Those things are wonderful, and should be celebrated, but they are milestones that have everything to do with other people and very little to do with you.  They are a reaction to your work.  They are not your work.  They are not you.

This week, success for me is getting another thousand words into a manuscript that is kicking my ass.  It's finding my way through the story, learning my characters' secrets and overcoming my own writing fears.

Success is getting the words on the page and then assembling them into something that I love.  And when that happens?  It's more than enough.

Remember those conversations you knew were coming when you were a kid?  The "How did you get that hole in your pants?" talk.  The "Where are your shoes?" talk.  The "birds-and-the-bees" talk.  They evolve as you get older, and the questions get asked by more people.  "What's your major?" "When are you getting married?"  And so on.  As a published author, you often get conversations like these:

You see, the thing is, not all of our successes are seen or recognized by the guy in the bunny suit.  And in this business, the goal posts keep moving.  Starting a book.  Finishing a book.  Getting an agent.  Selling the book.  Selling three books.

The list goes on.

The real goal of the Success Talk for us is that we have to recognize these successes as they come along.  A finished draft.  A good revision.  The perfect word.  If you don't celebrate each step, you'll never reach those moving goalposts.

Go forth and succeed, my friends!

I met Kim Liggett when the Muses were guests at Free Expressions’ YOUR BEST BOOK Conference (information about next year’s conference here) last October.  So much has happened with Kim since then!  She signed with Adam’s Literary, sold her first YA novel (see announcement below), and now she is writing her very first blog post here at YAMuses.  I know her story will inspire and encourage.

Welcome, Kim!

 

"Arianne Lewin at Putnam has acquired a YA romantic thriller from debut author Kim Liggett-Peplowski, BLOOD AND SALT, in a two-book deal at auction. Pitched as Romeo and Juliet meets Children of the Corn, the story centers on 17-year-old Ash Larkin, who becomes entangled in a centuries-old quest for immortality. Publication is scheduled for fall 2014; Josh Adams at Adams Literary negotiated the deal for North American rights."

Defining Success and Setting Yourself on Fire

By Kim Liggett

No one thought I could ever write a book. Including me.

I was a terrible student, plagued with dyslexia and ADHD. Luckily, I had other skills. I sang and danced and beauty pageanted my way into a scholarship at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts.  With all the wisdom of a teenaged girl, I left ninth grade, got my GED, became an emancipated minor and moved to NYC. As I drove out of my small mid-western town, I gave everyone the finger and screamed something like, “I’m going to be a movie star, you losers.”

Super classy, I know.

I worked as an actress for many years. I was an especially good understudy, and rose to non-fame as girls #3 and #5 in several Afterschool Specials, and who could forget my famous jumping scene in the acclaimed Shasta Cola commercial?

Fine…I could still sing.

I worked as a backup vocalist for a lot of big acts in the eighties and released a full-length jazz record, which we fondly refer to as the local release that was internationally panned.

Even though I had a wealth of experiences, what others would consider “successes”, I felt empty inside, a total failure. I had big dreams, natural talent, but lacked the true passion—the steam to see them through.

I kept going back to that Arnold H. Glasgow quote, “Success isn’t a result of spontaneous combustion. You must set yourself on fire.” Somehow, I sparked, sizzled, had a flash in the pan, but I never felt the need to break out the kerosene.

Until I started writing.

It wasn’t easy for me. I had to give myself a crash course in basic grammar, the fundamentals of writing, and most importantly, I had to learn how to work with my dyslexia.

Soon I started to dream again, to hope.

I finished my first draft of BLOOD AND SALT. Rejection letters followed. Instead of treating this as yet another failure, I realized that the conventional idea of success didn’t matter to me anymore. The glory was in the work. I dug into my nearly yearlong revision with a passion I’d never experienced. I felt free.

Finding my amazing agent, Josh Adams, and getting a two-book deal with Putnam/Penguin was just an added bonus, to say the least.

Before you start thinking how mature I sound, I should probably let you know that I fashioned the small mid-western town in BLOOD AND SALT after the town where I grew up—full of inbred cultish freaks. Yeah, that’s me giving them the finger one last time. “I’m an author!”

Keeping it classy, I know