An unexpected definition of success as a writer.

Too many writers either have unrealistic definitions of success as a writer or no definition at all.

In this post, which will be one of many exploring success, I write about an unexpected definition of success as a writer—but a success nonetheless.

A follow-through with a writing student

I led a local memoir-writing group for many years beginning in 2000. One of the participants, who was with me for perhaps four years, was writing a memoir about a serious illness.

Writing about the disease necessitated revealing some personal material. She was willing to share within the group, given our pledge to confidentiality, but she was uncertain about whether she could share this material with “the world”—however big or small the readership might be, it remained “the world.”

Her reticence was not unreasonable as readers would likely be judging not only the literary quality of the book she was considering publishing but readers would assess the very sensibility of the persons behind the story—herself and her family.

While we like to believe that this is not the case, it inevitably is.

A long time passes

It has been many years since this woman and I met every other week in a group to write memoir. In that time since we worked together, I have seen her on and off at community events. As most of us do when meeting somebody that we don’t meet frequently, we resort to topics that are familiar and accessible. For me, when I meet a former workshopper, this is usually something like, “How is your memoir coming along?”

For a number of those years when we met by happenstance, she was evidently continuing to be involved with her memoir. When I’d meet her, she would tell me about progress that she had made—perhaps telling me she was feeling more confident about revealing personal material, perhaps pleased she was increasing the level of detail in her work. But there were other times when we met that she would say to me, “Oh, I have been busy doing this and that and I have put off writing for now.” But, even so, I retained a sense that she was committed to the story and would get back to writing it.

Writing a memoir always involves a very personal timetable. Some people sit down and write a memoir in a short time—sometimes as brief as six months. But other people need a much longer time to digest their material. They need to linger, to ponder, to somehow make sense of a theme or a voice that is eluding them.

Meeting my writing student again

Recently, when I attended a dance concert, I once again came face-to-face with my writer friend. Inevitably, we exchanged some warm-up pleasantries, and then I asked her how her memoir was coming along. I always liked her writing and thought it to be clear, intelligent and meaningful. I felt that her memoir would make a significant book that others would be interested in reading.

This time, rather than speak to me about the progress or the hold that was characterizing her memoir, she remained somewhat speechless, embarrassed.

“Have you come to an end in your writing?” I asked.

Again, it seemed that she was embarrassed and did not want to admit that she had perhaps abandoned her memoir.

Formulating an unexpected definition of success as a writer

“How you define success in memoir writing,” I said (persistently!), “is a very personal matter. For some people, success requires the publication of a book and its subsequent sale to strangers. But, for other people, success comes when they have grappled with the material and have come to accept the role the theme of the memoir has played in their lives. They consider it a success when they have come to an appreciation of the dynamics that have affected them. This often leads to peace of mind. For some people, finishing the memoir and having a complete manuscript is not necessary to their experience of success.”

As I said this, I could perceive she was visibly relieved.

Another student had earlier arrived at a personal definition of success as a writer.

“I had a student in the past year,” I shared with her, “who was grappling with some difficult personal material. I ran the idea by him that I felt he was being driven by some perceived imperative to write a complete, polished memoir. This was his superego speaking to him, I said, and perhaps he ought not to listen to it. I told him I did not experience him s having a huge writerly impulse. That is, being a writer who has published a book did not seem important to him as an accomplishment. As an assignment, I asked him to think about what he needed—or had needed—from the writing and to assess how he would know if he had appeased that need.”

Before our next scheduled session, the man wrote me an email in which he expressed that he did not need to have a complete book and that he had gotten what was to be gotten from working on his memoir.  What he had written already had produced within him a calm peace and even forgiveness. He thanked me for my work with him and expressed his wish to terminate our coaching.

“I felt both that he was successful in his undertaking and I felt I was successful in coaching him.”

I looked at my former workshop writer and asked her, “What is your definition of success? Perhaps you don’t have to feel bad about not finishing your book. Perhaps you have already succeeded with your writing.”

She looked at me and smiled. “Thank you for telling me this,” she said. “I needed to hear it. ”

The upshot

While the little story I have shared is one about memoir writing, I would like you to take a moment to think about something you undertook that the world may not consider as done, as finished or as successful but which brought you great dividends and which leaves you with a sense of satisfaction. It may be a memoir or something else, something that you have no desire to finish—at least for now.

Write about this experience, about  how you have brought it to a satisfactory completion. Write about how the experience has contributed positively to your current life. Then place it in your three-ring binder so that it can become part of your memoir—whether you publish or not.

In conclusion to a definition of success as a writer

Of course, I’m not advocating you give up on writing your memoir, but I am urging you to be conscious of what your need is in writing a memoir. For many, it is not publication but integration and peace that comes from exploring the issues themselves.

For those of you intent of completing your memoir, being part of a writing community may be important.

Good luck—whatever your definition of success as a writer is!