Those two imposters

I wonder what writing success looks like, for you. Is it many clicks and comments on a blog? Is it a published article or book? Is it scribbling a paragraph on the back of an envelope without having to stop to laugh at a joke/cook a meal/wipe a bottom (to clarify, I'm talking about childcare here). Perhaps it's catching and casting that perfectly formed sentence with your mental butterfly net, when it falls like a stone during a walk or shower.

Conversely, what would writing failure look like? Is it few clicks or comments/nothing much published/not even a slender scribble, on the back of a bus ticket?

I ask the question because I find it intriguing that we rarely articulate these things to ourselves, and as someone wise once said (probably my husband), how will you know you've arrived if you don't know where you're going? If we're not careful, we can rely on our feelings/perceptions of others/a sugar rush, to define our sense of 'success' and these are probably not what it's about. 

A few thoughts on those famous imposters as articulated by Rudyard Kipling (If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster and treat those two imposters just the same...): -

• Whatever our goals, reaching them or not reaching them does not define us. Your writing is a reflection of who you are. But you are so much more than your writing. If you don't feel this today, I recommend Romans 8:28/a walk somewhere beautiful/time with someone you love. Preferably all three
• If you've been feeling a failure, be careful of your definition of writing. As someone posted on Facebook, writing is not just recording words. It's also dreaming, planning, revising, deleting '...and staring at the place where the ceiling meets the wall.'
• Success has its own pressures. I find it fascinating how we both long for and shrink from attention. On the (very) rare occasion when a blog post has been widely shared/retweeted, my pleasure has been swiftly replaced by panic. What if this offends someone? What if my facts are wrong? What if my boss/dentist/next door neighbour reads it and judges me? Aaargh! 
• 'Comparison is the thief of joy'. But sometimes, comparison can be helpful. We can ask what there is to learn from someone's success? What has he/she done that I could do? Could I ask the person? This is what's so wonderful about ACW. People want to support and help each other. They want to see others thrive
• 'Humble yourself therefore under God's mighty hand, that He may lift you up in due time. Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.' The truth is both success and failure can cause anxiety. But God's timing is perfect and usually follows a pattern - Humble, lift...cast, cares...Our part, His part. This is how it's meant to be.

Every success is a debut not a destination. Every time we try something and it works, it leads us to a new place in our writing. We gain most from asking ourselves - what can I learn from this? What can I learn about my readership? How can I move on from here most effectively? How can I use this to help others? If we dwell merely on the success, we'll sell ourselves short. Also it may turn sour, making us feel insecure and vulnerable.

Now read the above paragraph, replacing the words 'success' and 'works' with 'failure' and 'doesn't work'. OK, it took me three coffees and a Cadbury's Crunchie to come up with that but, you know, Kipling was right, wasn't he? Neither success nor failure should define us. But, in time, perhaps our response to them will...

Rudyard Kipling's words adorn the players' entrance to Centre Court at The All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club where the Wimbledon Championships are held.

Click on the link to see the novella on amazon
Deborah Jenkins is a primary school teacher and freelance writer who has written articles, text books, devotional notes and short stories. She writes regularly for the tes. She has also completed a novella, The Evenness of Things, available as an Amazon e-book and has (finally!) finished a full length novel. Deborah loves hats, trees and small children. After years overseas with her family, who are now grown up, she lives in Sussex with her husband, a Baptist minister, and a cat called Oliver.