As a writer, I carve time out of my life to invest in my craft. Each completed poem, short story, chapter, or novella is driven by hope and belief—because, for most writers in my situation, that time is unpaid and there’s no guarantee of publication.
It’s a sad truth, but publication doesn’t always come with payment. As for many other industries, publishing budgets are increasingly tight. Many markets that previously paid for short stories no longer do and magazines and publishing houses are shuttering at a depressing rate. It’s not impossible to sell stories and make money from writing, but it is difficult. The average income for writers in Aotearoa New Zealand is less than $15K per annum. The best way to make money from writing books is to already be famous. This means that measuring my success against income, can be a bit depressing.
So, what does success look and feel like for writers who, like me harbour grand ambitions but aren’t (yet) already household names. There are numerous ways for an author to measure their success, and they can range from the personal to the very public.
Some days, success is as simple as getting words onto a page. If those words come together into coherent sentences, paragraphs, and stories then all the better. If those words are poetic and lyrical or move me to tears, or fill me with joy or fury, then all the better. Even more satisfying is when my critique group scribble love hearts in the margins of my manuscripts.
For many writers, success lies in the freedom to create stories that push boundaries and challenge views and explore the impossible. Writing can also be a form of catharsis, allowing writers to explore prejudices, address societal challenges, and resist injustices. Much of my own writing helps me navigate the world and imagine better ways for humans to live and interact. Until five years ago, I seldom had happy endings to my stories. Now, I like to at least leave my readers with a hint of hope, because that’s what I need. I have to believe that things can and will get better.
It's important for readers to be represented in fiction, but it’s rare to find stories featuring strong, independent, post-menopausal feminists with fluid sexuality. Offering that representation through my writing is one of my personal measures of success. Part of my legacy is my writing. I hope my stories and poems endure and stand the test of time. Even if only one woman finds something in one of my pieces that fills her heart or changes her course for the better, then I consider that a success.
Not all writers seek to be published but anyone who does will attest to the absolute joy of your first accepted submission. Those hours of work honing my craft are rewarded when someone I don’t know reads my work and deems it worthy of publication. For me, that spark of joy still explodes with every successful submission. With publication comes exposure, connecting with readers and the chance of awards.
While there are intrinsic and private rewards for practitioners of creative arts, it’s the extrinsic, or public, rewards that are most often used to measure success. These come in the form of reviews and awards, which in turn open doors to opportunities for not only sales, but for grants and residencies. Headlines aren’t written about writers who sit at their desk and produce glorious prose and poetry. No. Headlines feature writers who win prizes. Despite multiple nominations and applications, and making several shortlists, I’ve yet to win any awards, grants or residencies for my writing. My external measures of success are: reader feedback, both direct and through reviews; the subscribers who faithfully open my newsletters every month; and securing a literary agent.
Do I want more? Hell, yes!
Am I passively waiting for it? Hell, no!
I volunteer to judge awards, so I get to critically assess the best fiction in my genres.
I travel to overseas conventions and conferences to connect with writers and others in the publishing industry, which when you live in Aotearoa New Zealand is both financially and temporally expensive.
I attend workshops and courses to hone my skills.
I send out a monthly newsletter and write a monthly blog to connect with my readers.
I apply for residencies and grants so the people with the funding know who I am.
I submit stories and poems to paying, and sometimes non-paying, markets.
I write. I write. I write.
I’m not waiting for success to find me. I’m pursuing it.
It’s a sad truth, but publication doesn’t always come with payment. As for many other industries, publishing budgets are increasingly tight. Many markets that previously paid for short stories no longer do and magazines and publishing houses are shuttering at a depressing rate. It’s not impossible to sell stories and make money from writing, but it is difficult. The average income for writers in Aotearoa New Zealand is less than $15K per annum. The best way to make money from writing books is to already be famous. This means that measuring my success against income, can be a bit depressing.
So, what does success look and feel like for writers who, like me harbour grand ambitions but aren’t (yet) already household names. There are numerous ways for an author to measure their success, and they can range from the personal to the very public.
Some days, success is as simple as getting words onto a page. If those words come together into coherent sentences, paragraphs, and stories then all the better. If those words are poetic and lyrical or move me to tears, or fill me with joy or fury, then all the better. Even more satisfying is when my critique group scribble love hearts in the margins of my manuscripts.
For many writers, success lies in the freedom to create stories that push boundaries and challenge views and explore the impossible. Writing can also be a form of catharsis, allowing writers to explore prejudices, address societal challenges, and resist injustices. Much of my own writing helps me navigate the world and imagine better ways for humans to live and interact. Until five years ago, I seldom had happy endings to my stories. Now, I like to at least leave my readers with a hint of hope, because that’s what I need. I have to believe that things can and will get better.
It's important for readers to be represented in fiction, but it’s rare to find stories featuring strong, independent, post-menopausal feminists with fluid sexuality. Offering that representation through my writing is one of my personal measures of success. Part of my legacy is my writing. I hope my stories and poems endure and stand the test of time. Even if only one woman finds something in one of my pieces that fills her heart or changes her course for the better, then I consider that a success.
Not all writers seek to be published but anyone who does will attest to the absolute joy of your first accepted submission. Those hours of work honing my craft are rewarded when someone I don’t know reads my work and deems it worthy of publication. For me, that spark of joy still explodes with every successful submission. With publication comes exposure, connecting with readers and the chance of awards.
While there are intrinsic and private rewards for practitioners of creative arts, it’s the extrinsic, or public, rewards that are most often used to measure success. These come in the form of reviews and awards, which in turn open doors to opportunities for not only sales, but for grants and residencies. Headlines aren’t written about writers who sit at their desk and produce glorious prose and poetry. No. Headlines feature writers who win prizes. Despite multiple nominations and applications, and making several shortlists, I’ve yet to win any awards, grants or residencies for my writing. My external measures of success are: reader feedback, both direct and through reviews; the subscribers who faithfully open my newsletters every month; and securing a literary agent.
Do I want more? Hell, yes!
Am I passively waiting for it? Hell, no!
I volunteer to judge awards, so I get to critically assess the best fiction in my genres.
I travel to overseas conventions and conferences to connect with writers and others in the publishing industry, which when you live in Aotearoa New Zealand is both financially and temporally expensive.
I attend workshops and courses to hone my skills.
I send out a monthly newsletter and write a monthly blog to connect with my readers.
I apply for residencies and grants so the people with the funding know who I am.
I submit stories and poems to paying, and sometimes non-paying, markets.
I write. I write. I write.
I’m not waiting for success to find me. I’m pursuing it.
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