A Question of Worth
By Vaughn Roycroft | April 22, 2024 |
The question should’ve been easy to answer and yet it left me thinking for days. Writing this post was my way of sorting it out. I blame Terah Shelton Harris, and her thought-provoking essay here on WU earlier this month. In which she asked, “What’s your definition of success?” In the essay, Terah describes being taken aback when she was asked whether she considered her recent debut to be a success. Evidently I can relate!
In the piece, Terah reveals that she’d once thought that success would include some tangible, public accolade, such as making a list, and cites the NY Times bestseller list as an example. She rightfully points out that lofty lists like that are beyond reach for the vast majority of books and authors. The realization incited her search for a new definition. She sought the opinions of two writing friends as to how they define success. Among the measurable and tangible aspects of success mentioned in the piece were: simply finishing a book; getting it published; getting it into the hands of readers; having people pay to read one’s thoughts; and achieving sales that might provide for ongoing writing and publishing.
I related to each and every point made. I once shared some version of each of their listed definitions. Until I didn’t.
My Moving Goalposts
Terah mentions in the piece that her early goals were narrowly focused on finishing a book and then on getting it published. Moreover, that throughout her journey she’d continued to move the goalposts for defining success. I’m guilty of that, too. I spent years focused on getting my work published, and I’m glad for it. I don’t think I would have been able to work so hard and so diligently over such a lengthy period without imagining that a traditional publishing deal would be my way of sailing through the goalposts. I think I needed to aim for a tangible achievement—something I could point to in claiming my success. As much as I professed an understanding that a pub deal wouldn’t be a finish line, I wanted a finish line. The validation that I imagined would come with it was central to the pursuit. For those of you who aren’t aware, at the end of my long drive, my game-winning attempt flew astray of that particular set of goalposts. It felt more like the end of a season than the end of a game.
Friends, I have hoisted and relocated my goalposts so many times since then. After deciding to withdraw from seeking a traditional deal, I promptly set up new goalposts in the self-pub arena. There have been as many goalpost placements as there have been attempts gone astray. I’ll summarize my self-publication era by saying that I ended up learning something that I’ve mentioned here on WU before—I don’t do well with tracking sales and ratings. It demoralizes me and saps my writing momentum. In other words, I no longer track, or even check, my stats. Which contributes to another weak facet of my self-pub game—marketing myself and my books.
I do what I can to maintain my visibility in the SFF book community, and the things I’ve discovered that feel right are: supporting and encouraging my fellow authors, supporting those who read and review SFF; and making myself available to those who’ve read and connected with my work. In spite of my lack of marketing savvy, I want to be a solid teammate. To this end, I’ve also recently signed on as a judge in the upcoming SPFBO 10 (the tenth annual Self-Published Fantasy Blog Off, beginning on June 1).
Even in the attempt to contribute to the team by lifting others, my track-record is spotty. Again, too much time spent in the online arena can deplete my writing resolve. It’s not exactly a winning strategy. In other words, I’m not getting any closer to achieving any of the definitions of success in Terah’s piece. Sort of the opposite.
Reflecting on my career thus far has pretty well yanked my goalposts right out of the arena. You might be relieved to hear that it’s landed me a realm where these ridiculous sports metaphors no longer work so well.
Worth Questioning
Look, I hate offering writing advice. I can tell you—at length (lol)—about myself: what works for me and how I feel about writerly things. But, at two decades in, I still don’t consider myself much of an expert when it comes to writing and/or publishing fiction. It’s funny, because I’ve been at it almost as long as I was in the lumber business, and through much of my former career I did consider myself an expert. I was often asked for advice and I freely gave it. Of course one topic is quite subjective and personal, and the other is… Well, it’s wood. The stuff is tangible, measurable. Knowable. Some will disagree, but for me, writing stories in a way that holds another human’s attention is anything but scientific. Let alone making other humans feel something. And who knows? Maybe my stubbornness in this regard is part of what led me to keep yanking my goalposts. So take my advice with appropriate caution.
If there’s any aspect of writing for which I may have achieved some level of expertise, it’s persevering. It’s not an easy thing, to continue to strive, even as one continues to uproot and reset goalposts, and then to eventually abandon them. For me, every new story, every book release, every author interview—they all make me feel like an eternal rookie (sorry, one last sports metaphor).
Yes, I’ve forged ahead even as I’ve blown by every last definition of success. You’d be forgiven for thinking that perhaps I’ve changed my definitions in order to avoid calling them failures. I won’t quibble. But doing so has also kept me in the game, trudging forward. My stubborn refusal to quit has bestowed the gift of endurance and I’ve learned its worth.
Enduring has enlightened and empowered me. I doubt any of you will argue with my baseline premise: that unless you happen to hit the jackpot, and sell swiftly and continue to sell well, you’re bound to either change your definitions or quit.
If you’re on the fence, and have yet to pluck a goalpost or change a definition, I advise you to ask yourself:
- Is writing worth doing if the financial payoff is minimal? Nonexistent?
- Is it worth doing if you never receive accolades? If you’re misunderstood? Harshly critiqued?
- Do you need to write, or can you find the same outlet/catharsis/joy from another creative endeavor?
- Would you keep writing if you heard you had a limited time left on earth? (Spoiler alert: you do.)
My extremely limited expertise entitles me to implore you to take the first question seriously. Because, let’s face it, a very small minority of us can pay the bills solely with the proceeds of our writing endeavors. Combine that fact with the third question, keeping in mind that there are much more reliable ways to earn money while also utilizing one’s creativity. Gaining writing competency takes years, and getting each book ready can take months or years. Hence, there’s an opportunity cost—the time and effort required necessarily eliminates other opportunities.
Heck, I honestly believe you’d have a better shot at a sizeable financial return by redesigning and remodeling your own kitchen or bathroom than you would by writing a book of fiction. Even if you had to learn to perform every application (plumbing, tile, electrical, cabinetry installation, etc.) and buy every required tool along the way.
What’s It Worth?
So here I am, all of my discarded goalposts stacked with the culls in my writerly back forty, nothing terribly tangible left in any of my definitions. What is it worth?
I’m going to turn to another wonderful recent WU post from another wise colleague—Julie Duffy. Did you see her essay last week titled, How To Write When the World is a Mess? If not, it’s a must-read. In the meantime, I’ll quote her here:
“Doing the work makes you a better, more centered, more rational person. You come into contact with a lot of people in an average week. You, strung out on news-hype, will interact very differently with family members, coworkers and service personnel, than you, coming off a satisfying writing session.
Writing is an act of rebellion.
Writing is humanizing.
Writing is healing.
Your writing is important.
You, writing, is important…”
For those of us who’re too stubborn to quit, recognizing the worth of our writing—even as we shoot astray of our goalposts, even as we redefine success—is one of the best things that happens to us as we endure. Especially once we realize and accept that we aren’t in that tiny percentage that will make the big lists, score a bestseller, earn out after a six digit advance, or land an adaption.
Oh, we’ll still have highs. Many of them. Moments that make us float, pump our fists in the air, or even feel like we’ve actually mastered this elusive skill. But we’ll also recognize that those moments are fleeting. We’ll see that they can’t be relied upon to bring us back to the empty page. We’ll have our grasp of what it’s worth for that.
There’s a vital aspect of this that I want to highlight: Trust me, I know that the scenario I’ve just described leaves us relying either on another paying gig or a very generous and supportive partner, or both. Blessed are those who support the writers, for without them would we all be the poorer, bereft of so many stories.
But knowing the non-monetary worth of this undertaking also frees us to fully recognize and appreciate its true value. We’ll keep going because we know that our writing is humanizing, healing. We’ll know that we are the best versions of ourselves on the days when we’ve accomplished some writing goal, even if it’s only a few hundred new words or an edited scene.
As a bonus, I’ll let you in on a little secret. I believe that knowing its worth–that continuing without any of those rare, tangible rewards–helps to make us worthy. I also believe that the daily ritual of those who prove themselves worthy produces worthy stories. Stories that will find their way into the minds and hearts of those who need them, no matter how many or few they prove to be.
Sure, its a mere belief–nothing tangible or measurable. But doesn’t it feel like something resembling success? Success that might not be easy to define, but that you can hold on to, deep and dear, and use as fuel to carry on?
You can believe, too. If you think it’s worth it.
Where are your goalposts, WU? Still hunting for a bestseller? Are you willing to call yourself an expert? Have you come to know the worth of your writing ritual? Still feeling worthy?
Vaughn Roycroft’s (he/him) teacher gave him a copy of The Hobbit in the 6th grade, sparking a lifelong passion for reading and history. After college, life intervened, and Vaughn spent twenty years building a successful business. During those years, he and his wife built a getaway cottage near their favorite shoreline, in a fashion that would make the elves of Rivendell proud. After many milestone achievements, and with the mantra ‘life’s too short,’ they left their hectic lives in the business world, moved to their little cottage, and Vaughn finally returned to writing. Now he spends his days striving to finish his epic fantasy series.
A most thoughtful post – and I’m sure most helpful too for many struggling writers, among whom I count myself. Many thanks Vaughn! And yes, I came away from my years of self-publishing (2011-2014, six novels) feeling exctly like you did. I couldn’t even check my (non-existent) sales stats, they depressed me so much and indeed “sapped” my writing – and certainly my writerly “joie de vivre” was gone for good!
So, is writing for writing’s sake worth it? You powerfully argue that it is, and I thank you for providing us such positive arguments – positivity is much needed in our isolated lifestyle, ensconced in our ivory towers and typing away! And yes, collaborating with other writing colleagues is a must, teammates who are going through what we are going through. Holding hands has never been so important!
Oh yes, Claude — You mention a vital part of this that I neglected to feature: writerly companions and camaraderie! Thanks much for your kind words, and for enhancing the conversation. Here’s to knowing the worth of our gig!
Hi Vaughn, you succeeded because of belief in your story and in your ability to write it. That is basic to all writers, and I say to you, BRAVO. Especially when LIFE gets in the way, and one has to find those moments to KEEP GOING, no matter what disappointments present themselves along the way. So here I am, my friend, querying now, accepting those rejections, but living with the basic belief that my work matters. Which of course breaks down to each one of us as writers believing that WE MATTER, because writing is so much a part of how we see ourselves, so much a part of how we value and believe in ourselves. Agree?
Hey Beth — Oh definitely agree. We’ve got to find value and belief in order to march on. I know I can’t quit because I’ve tried. So finding the worth of something that won’t leave me be has been healing. Thanks much for weighing in. Wishing you the very best!
Suspend disbelief for a moment. You are in my living room back in January, a fire crackling in the wood stove. You see me come in to tell my sister-in-law, who is on the couch, reading, that dinner is ready. She doesn’t lift her head from her book. You tell her again and she blinks. “I was so lost in the story,” she says. What story? Bold Ascension by Vaughn Roycroft. To have moved someone so deeply, twice, (she read Book One the previous year) is a big fat shining goalpost in my book (no pun intended). I consider myself a perpetual student of this craft. Money is always nice but the win is when someone reads what I’ve written and tells me that they’ve been moved. You’re a winner, dude.
Hey Susan — Ah, here’s one of those moments. I’ve pumped my fists and now I’m floating. Anecdotes like this one are like a big dollop of whipped cream on the pie of writing worth. I can’t thank you enough, my friend! Please hug your sister. Here’s to being perpetual students side-by-side.
Having your story make an emotional connection with a reader is the most worthwhile goalpost there is.
Thanks, Beth. You make me realize I may have brushed past an important goalpost that still stands. A much appreciated reminder.
As usual, Vaughn, you impress me with the passion you pour onto the page. Don’t ever lose that, my friend. It is, as you claim, invaluable.
Hugs,
Dee
Thank you, Dee! Much appreciated. Here’s to persevering!
All those discarded goalposts will make a nice bonfire to celebrate your writing journey.
Hey LK — The good news is that there’s enough material there for several fires. We can also celebrate your victories, which are surely right around the corner. Thanks for your enduring support, my friend!
Hello Vaughn, and thank you for your post. Many points deserve comment, but here’s the first to activate my radar.
“Terah [Sheldon Harris] reveals that she’d once thought that success would include some tangible, public accolade, such as making a list, and cites the NY Times bestseller list as an example. She rightfully points out that lofty lists like that are beyond reach for the vast majority of books and authors.”
Lofty lists? Ray Rhamey’s feature here on WU has trained one of the powerful new flashlights on that one. Clearly (at least for me), the number of dud bestseller first pages he posts gives the lie to notions of loftiness. I’m pretty sure that marketing and name recognition explain most of the books that appear on most lists. Not all, but most. Similarly, appearing as a best-selling author on Amazon is another list with dubious meaning. Authors and their marketers regularly use strategies to game that system. (Great meeting you at UnCon. I hope you and yours are well.)
Hey Barry — As usual, you make a vital point that greatly enhances the conversation. Your point about the mostly illusive aspect of one’s charting positions only reinforces the importance of recognizing and embracing some value to the practice beyond the external.
Yes, really great meeting you IRL. I enjoy being able to picture and “hear” you when I read your posts. Here’s to knowing the worth of what we do!
Yes, goalposts have definitely changed and very recently! I would be happy to get published in any format at this point. One of my goals is 100 subscribers on Substack. It’s slow going, it’s not as easy as people make it out to be (I have 10,000 subscribers in three months! Like, who?) but I keep plugging away and subscribers are slowly growing as well as the number of views my Substack gets. I just like myself more when I’m writing and creating, no matter what form that takes. Completing projects is the thing for me right now, period.
Great write up! Thanks for being a cheerleader!
Hey Lara — I absolutely love your enthusiasm and willingness to pursue all avenues to your goals and to joy. Right back at you–thanks for always cheering me up, my friend! I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: you’re an inspiration!
Vaughn,
I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing to move one’s goal posts. Part of that may be a re-aligning of priorities when it comes to writing fiction. Maybe at first the idea of a trad pub career hits all the right feels…a promise of monetary success, approval by the publishing elite, and the accolades of many fans.
But most writers I know started writing stories because the ideas just kept bubbling up inside. Because they wanted to share their joy and excitement of a story well-told with someone else. Not that fame or fortune along the way wouldn’t be great, but it’s not usually the initial impulse to write.
As I enter mid-life, I’m coming to view my existence here as a combination of striving and acceptance. I’m striving to finally finish my novel, so that I can get it out into the world. And I’ve accepted that I simply take longer to incubate ideas, and to write them down.
So I have adjusted my expectations for when I’ll be able to write The End. And I’m sure then when it comes to publication, I’ll have to balance the striving to find a way for my novel to sail out into the world with my acceptance of the fact that my introverted self has little interest in marketing and self-selling.
And I love your idea: “Stories that will find their way into the minds and hearts of those who need them, no matter how many or few they prove to be.”
Because I know that the books that have touched my life, made me a better person, and opened my heart and mind’s horizons…they were worth more than the few dollars I plunked down for them. The author’s wallet or fame might not have been fattened by my love of their work, but a life changed is beyond price for me.
I hope that wherever your goal posts land, you are content. And that having gotten your stories into the world provides enough inspiration to keep writing down more!
Hi Christine! I absolutely adore the concept of striving and acceptance. They are the perfect balance, the harmony that is a necessity for living with creativity. We’ve got to be at peace within, and we still have to find that drive. You’re right, I am inspired, and anxious to keep going. Having my books in the hands of those few who’ve solidly connected with them is the purest sort of fuel.
Thanks for the lovely and wise addition to the conversation. Great to hear from you!
Thank you for this, Vaughn. I wonder if this is part of why I’m still an “eternal student” with my current story. I love (most of the time) puzzling how to tie together diverse contexts/situations in an organic way. I wonder if that’s especially true for authors of Epic SFF, dual/multi timeline, or multi/dual point-of-view stories.
Attempting to write from a BIG milieu or context or theme and weaving these together, is hard to get it on paper in a clear and emotionally moving manner.
By the way…”an eternal rookie (sorry, one last sports metaphor)” Not just a sports metaphor anymore! Other industry professionals use this term. I was part of an interdenominational “rookie” clergy group in my first setting.
Hey Lisa — I absolutely think that the BIGness of a lot of SFF makes it so much harder. Which makes it take longer. I’m feeling the vastness, in a daunting way, of books 4-6 of my series right now. I feel like I should “know” the story by now, but there’s just so much to tie together. And I feel like being worthy of being the teller of this tale means striving (see Christine’s comment above). I’m definitely feeling like the eternal student. Just call me Rookie, lol (thanks for letting me know about that, too).
Excellent addition the the conversation. Thank you!
Vaughn, always good to read (and feel) your warm words. The writing, and the struggle with writing does have an intrinsic value. My goalposts for fiction fell a ways back, decaying and now returning to the jungle (though a Sasquatch does use them to bench press, but he can’t read). There are good days and bad, but I’ll continue the challenge. Thanks.
Hey Tom! Always great to hear from you and to see you around WU. I’m so delighted to hear that you’re still plugging away. Gives me faith that the spirit I’m flailing away at describing here is alive and well. I always picture you working away in your airstream, Sasquatch casually strolling by through the Northern California morning haze, and for some reason you’re clickity-clacking on an old-school typewriter. Hope all else is well with you, my friend!
Hi, Vaughn. Thanks for another insightful post. I’ve moved my own goalposts so many times that I’m on a different football field. I used to believe traditional publication was the ultimate goal. Now, I believe the goal is to write the best book I am capable of writing. Others will judge whether it is worthy of publication. I don’t believe I’m an expert on fiction writing, and I strive to learn more. My motivation for writing is internal. I seek to understand the world and the human condition. I know that sounds lofty and high minded, but it’s the truth. I hope you are weill and was great to see you again in Salem.
Hey Chris — Hallo to another goalpost mover! We may not feel like experts, but being willing to strive is so much more valuable than certainty in expertise. With you, there’s definitely an admirable sort of humility that comes with that. And an earnestness that I know contributes to your worthiness.
Here’s to striving on, fighting the good fight, my friend.
Always good to see your posts, Vaughn. I also am an eternal rookie, with two books out in the world doing nothing (the lazy bastards), a couple that never made it out of the drawer, and one in progress, although I am increasingly tempted to put that one in the drawer also, before I commit more time to it, because it’s not looking like it’s going to be fun, and fun is the main thing. Thanks for alerting me to the world of SPFBOs. I’m a self-published Fantasy writer, but I had no idea. There must be thousands of us.
Hey Michael — Had to laugh about your lazy bastards, as I have my own leisurely louts. Oh good, I’m glad to be alerting you to SPFBO. It really does seem to bring about a heapin’ helping of visibility, even to the semi-finalists (not just the winner). There are dozens of reviewers who join in with the judges in reading the late tier books, which really focuses the community, starting in the fall, and again this time of year (they’re just wrapping up SPFBO 9 right now). I’ll be reading 8 books in the first round. Hope to see you in my draw.
Here’s to the eternal rookies, and to enduring and keeping it fun. Wishing you the best (especially if you enter the contest)!
I’d give up writing in a heartbeat if I could think of something more rewarding to do.
You’re already fully aware of its worth, then, Bob. Half the battle is won. Wishing you the best!
Hi, It was great meeting you F2F at Uncon. And yeah, those goal posts all seem to be mounted on casters. I’m trying to limit my goal chasing to things I can reach in the near term and take the little successes when I get them. Each time I get one of those fist pumping moments, I celebrate. Those moments are what keeps me moving.
Hey Bill — Great to hear from you! You’ve got a great approach if you can fuel your momentum with the little success. I’m pulling for you! Which, as others have pointed out above, is fueling as well. Thanks for adding to the conversation. Keep on keeping on!
I am up and down when it comes to considering myself “successful”. I felt quite successful this past weekend. Having recently moved to a new community, I packed up 5 copies of each of my 5 books, made some tent cards, and set up a table for myself at the Spring Market in the Eagle Bay Community Hall. I sold 10 books. One of the visitors to my table said in a voice full of wonder, “You wrote all of these books?” and I thought to myself that, yes, writing and publishing 5 books is certainly an admirable accomplishment. I write a mystery series (The Highway Mysteries) and over the past 12 years I have managed to earn gross royalties ranging from a few dollars to over $2000 in a given month for a genre series published by myself. On average, the series earns me about $250 per month before expenses. Not too shabby, right?
But that is far from what I consider a successful writing career, the kind I dreamed of when I first embarked on my writing journey. It seems to be more like a self-indulgent hobby than a career. The worst thing is, my latest book, which I hoped would be sort of a breakout book to reach more readers, has stalled just a couple of chapters from the end and it’s taken me over 4 years to even get this far with it. I have excuses, of course. Another book project took most of 2022. A major unanticipated move interrupted my work half way through 2023. But it’s the 4th month of 2024 and I’ve made no new progress on the manuscript. Discouraged at my progress, I’ve had some scary thoughts about whether I should stop beating myself up about it and just abandon my writing altogether.
Your article, Vaughn, is inspiring me to re-evaluate my definition of success. Even if I’m not a household name (at least in the households of mystery readers), I do have loyal readers who reach out to me to tell me that they love my books and are looking forward to the next one. My books do sell to mystery fans in the UK and Australia as well as in North America. If I’ve written “The End” five times already, I should certainly be capable of doing it once again, and maybe even a few times more after that.
So thank you, Vaughn. Today I redefine success. Tomorrow I will celebrate my success to date, pump my fist in the air, make myself a coffee, and return to the manuscript again.
Hi Ruth! It’s been a while. Lovely to see you. I’m with the table visitor–full of wonder at your very apparent, awesome success. But I hear you–because of the goalposts we set, sometimes even subconsciously, we feel less than successful. I hear you on feeling like it’s a self-indulgent hobby, too. I’ve also been right where you are, so close to wrapping up a book, and for a variety of reasons, not breaking the ribbon at the finish line. In my case, there’s often a bit of Resistance at work there (with a capital R). If my absolute belief from afar can provide even the slightest forward nudge, know that you’ve got it.
I’m glad to hear that you’re redefining it for yourself, because you’re already not just a success but an inspiration. Those who love your books find something they “need” in your words. Believe! Thanks for sharing, and for inspiring me today. You helped to cement my belief. It’s worth it!
This is just lovely, Vaughn, and wise. The key to maintaining our joy and autonomy in a creative career where so much can be outside our control. Thanks for posting–I will be sharing in my newsletter for authors.
Hey Tiffany — You’ve gotten me thinking (as you so often do). It is a measure of control, to know its worth. I appreciate all you do, and your support most of all. Hope you’re having a productive week. Thank you!
“My stubborn refusal to quit has bestowed the gift of endurance and I’ve learned its worth.” This is the bottom line line for me in your thoughful piece. I feel your anxiety about relevance. I have shared that feeling. Maybe most of us have. I have been in this business as an editor, an agent, a workshop leader, a published author. Long years. Lots of doubts. It comes down to this. I’ve tried to quit writing, but I can’t seem to manage it. The conclusion has to be that the act of conjuring words, for the page or the screen, has special relevance for me. There’s that word again. Yes, I have sold books, but mostly, like you, I have endured. I am still here, and I continue to believe the writers’ community is a glorious place to be. Thank you very much for reaffirming that for me and all of us.
Hey Alice — Wonderful addition, the word relevance. There is an underlying anxiety in its regard. After spending so much time imagining how much getting the story right matters, it’s hard to face that it might not matter in the ways we were able to imagine. I also love your addition of the writing community being a glorious place. You’re so right. You all are my people. I can’t imagine a life without connection with folks who get what we do.
Thanks for the fantastic, thoughtful additions. I’m feeling blessed today. Here’s to enduring!