Tag: writing life

Today I thought I’d share a bit of encouragement with my fellow writers. I don’t normally give writing advice. Primarily because I’m not pulling in 5 figures a month, or have a mailing list of 60,000, or receive critical accolades from dozens of book critics, or been approached by a major publishing house offering me a 7 figure advance for my next book.

Whatever I might have to say on the business side of writing, or on the mechanics of writing, has been said by many others more qualified than I. And I can’t see the advantage in serving up twice fried hash.

However, what I can offer is encouragement. Because I do know what a little bit of encouragement can do to help keep the hands on the plow so the field can be planted.

My writing mentor is Anthony Trollope. He offers sage, timeless, and practical advice, along with inspiration for all author wannabes.

Are you struggling with whether or not you should even be a writer? Rainer Maria Rilke has the answer in his first letter to the young poet. The advice is profound.

Today, I want to talk about success. Particularly, what it means to be a successful writer.

At various times I’ve asked myself, Am I a successful writer? I mean, I’ve written 30 books and am lucky to make $300 in a year. Nobody who’s anybody has discovered me and promoted me and let me ride his or her coattails to fame and glory. And I thought getting recognition in the poetry world was tough!

So am I successful? A successful fiction author? After much thought, my answer is YES!

Of course that “yes” is according to my definition of success. And everyone’s definition is different. I’ll tell you a story to illustrate what I mean by success.

In 1989, when I was 36, I decided to write a novel. I’d never tried a novel and wasn’t sure I could write one. So I thought I’d give it a try and see if I had the makings of a novelist in me.

For over half a dozen years I’d been sitting on my sister and brother PI duo, Tina and Harry Wright, and decided they deserved to be in a novel.

Over the course of a year, I wrote my novel. When completed, I garnered a couple rejections. Then I took a long, hard look at what I’d written. Well, I had written a novel. So now I knew I could do it. I could write novels. I also realized my first attempt wasn’t overly good.

I took stock of my life at that point in time. I was working in an emotionally draining job. I had a family. And I realized I didn’t have the emotional energy to rework the novel, or to spend another year writing a new one.

With a sad heart, I put the typescript away.

But I had to write!

In those days, there was no indie author movement. Traditional publishing was king. An iron-fisted despot. Self-publishing was for losers and the vain. Fiction markets were few and far between, those that paid money that is. There were plenty of small zines that would take your stories. Zines with a circ of 50 or 100 readers at best. Payment was usually 2 contributor copies.

I knew writers who submitted to such zines in the hope of earning publishing credits and a chance at the big time. None of them made it.

After some soul searching, I decided to switch from fiction to poetry. The most important thing in making this change was giving up my dream of making a living from writing.

Because there is no money in poetry.

No money. Period. Nada. Zip. Even those who are lucky enough to have a publisher publish a book of their poetry don’t make money on it. Poets themselves have told me this.

In the world of poetry, there is no money and no hope of money. The last poet who supported himself with his poetry, near as I can tell, was Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. So if there is no money to measure success, success has to be measured by some other marker than cash.

In fiction, the marker is obviously money. Quitting the day job. Living from one’s pen. Poets, however, must come up with some other currency to measure success.

Poets, pure and simple, write for the love of writing. Secondarily they seek prestige and name recognition. Prestige from other poets and the few readers of poetry that are out there. And the thought that when their name is mentioned someone will recognize it. That’s it. 

Poets never get rid of the day job, until they retire.

And I am proud to say that I made something of a splash in the micro-poetry world that I chose to write in. I won a few contests, got accepted in some “name” zines, and garnered a bit of name recognition. I was a “success” in the poetry world.

The other day, on Twitter, B. Bernard Ferguson tweeted the quote below. There was no attribution, so I don’t know if the quote is original with him, or copied from another source. Whatever its origin — it’s a beauty.

To all who ever doubted they would become a successful writer…the moment your written words resonate with anyone, including yourself, YOU became a “successful” writer.

I learned the message of that quote writing poetry. Touching another person’s heart and soul — even if only your own — was payment enough.

One man I know, older than I, read one of my poems and told me it helped him understand and come to terms with the dysfunctional relationship he’d had with his father. And I’ve been fortunate to have others express similar comments. That, my friends, is payment enough.

Now I write fiction which has always been my dream, my first love. I don’t make much money. If folks read those free books I gave away, I might have a thousand people who have read my books. But what counts is that I’m having a blast. I’m doing what a mere 25 years ago was impossible — because the technology didn’t exist. I’m writing and publishing books. A dream come true.

And today the self-published stigma, while still present in some circles, is fast disappearing. There are truly excellent self-published books out there. Eat your heart out Big 5!

And along the way of my fiction journey, I’ve touched people. Not a lot, but more than I could have 25 years ago. These folk love Justinia Wright, or Pierce Mostyn, or Bill Arthur. I’ve given them enjoyment and at times something to think about. I’ve helped them enter a different world than the one they live in day to day. I’ve helped them escape boredom, the pressure of their jobs, and even pain. That’s something to think about.

If I never make 4 or 5 figures a month, I will at least leave this life knowing that what I wrote touched other human beings.

I’ve been successful. And that is payment enough.