No Small Wins

Many of my writer friends have celebrated wins lately, and it’s gotten under my skin.

Because they’re not.

Celebrating, that is.

Without exception, on learning of said wins I’ve barely enunciated the C in CONGRATS! and already they’re downplaying it. Dismissing it as insignificant, not even news at all, really. Drowning their victory in BUTS and JUSTS.

My short story was accepted, but it’s just a small anthology.

I finished my manuscript, but it’s just the first draft.

I won a contest, but hardly anyone else entered.

I was just a finalist, I didn’t win.

EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM. Every one of them, coincidentally (or not?), a woman.

It hit me: I do it too. We all do, all the time. Hand a writer a win, and watch it transform her into a lawyer as she starts building the case against it.

As humans our default is towards the negative, forever scanning for weaknesses and jumping ahead to the next threat (thank you, undergrad psych classes).

On top of that, most writers are the sensitive sort, loath to come off as braggy and horrified at the prospect of making anyone feel like they’re lagging. Because we, of all people, know what it is to spend day after year getting up after being knocked down, laying ourselves bare on the invitation of scrutiny, and quietly staring down doubt as it screams and spits in our faces.

But geez, given all that, you’d think our bar for what counts as writerly success would be lower. Oh, wait—it is. Just not for ourselves.

Instead, our sights become so heavily trained on reaching the top of our own mountain—to be published, be in bookstores, whatever shape it may take—that we dismiss anything short of that as nothing at all. It doesn’t count, because we’ve not yet arrived where we’re headed.

My mountaintop was to publish my debut novel. I kept grinding, clawing and crawling as we do, until at last I’d reached it—and upon my arrival, deliriously triumphant and ready to plant my flag, I was met with an uncomfortable truth:

The top of the mountain doesn’t exist.

As with anything else, the moment you close in on that summit you’ve been straining towards, a new one sprouts from the fog. You write THE END, but now you have to edit. You finish edits, but it’s light years from being published. You publish, and within five seconds someone says “when’s the next one coming out?”

And let’s not even talk about how much closer to the sky everybody else is. Compared to them, you’ve barely left the ground.

Except you have, though, right? Just because new peaks keep presenting themselves, does that mean you never conquered the others, one by one?

I’m not saying share where it’s uncomfortable, or not to stay humble. Just that it bears remembering, even privately, that sharing our work—pieces of any length, to audiences of any size—is itself a remarkable feat. It’s the extraction of invisible slices of soul turned tangible, polished to a shine, and offered for scrutiny by total strangers. I can think of few more outrageously courageous, scary as all hell, divinely inspired acts one can perform in this life.

And to have that work read, accepted, published, believed in, applauded in any way, by anyone? That’s a big deal every time, end stop. Not least of all because of the losses amassed on either side of it—and who more accomplished in defeat than the “accomplished” writers we hold so high? Do we think they arrive at their summits by helicopter?

It’s all big.

It all counts.

We are all on the same exquisite, inspired, fueled-by-dumpster-fire, avalanche-riddled climb that we wouldn’t trade for the world. (Or a helicopter.)

So please, fellow writers, women, creatives, humans, can we all make a pact from here on in?

NO SMALL WINS.

Because as long as we treat them as such, none of them will ever feel big at all.

—

RACHEL STONE writes stories of hope and redemption, set against vibrant Canadian backdrops. Her debut novel THE BLUE IRIS has won multiple awards, and her acclaimed lyric essays have appeared in international journals, magazines and blogs. She lives near Toronto, Canada with her family. Join Rachel on Substack for The Launch Diaries: Reflections, Lessons, Real Talk and Confessions from a Debut Author.

https://linktr.ee/rachelstoneauthor

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THE BLUE IRIS

“Such a unique and heartwarming story about found family…” -Tracey Lange, NYT Bestselling Author of We Are The Brennans

Sometimes, uprooting the thorn-filled past is the only way we bloom. . .

Tessa Lewis is set to embark on a Big-Time Career and marry Toronto’s fastest-rising lawyer, who loves her to pieces. But when a visit to a flower market from her childhood sparks memories of the mother she lost too soon, Tessa puts her bright future on hold to work there, determined to come to terms with her past.

At the Blue Iris Flower Market, everything is blossoming except the rag-tag crew, each hiding deep scars of their own. When Sam, the beloved but troubled man in charge, takes off and leaves the market reeling, Tessa and her unlikely new friends come face-to-face with their most uncomfortable truths, uprooting lives carefully cultivated-and just maybe, unearthing everything they’ve ever wanted.

Told from multiple perspectives, The Blue Iris is an intricately woven exploration of love tested beyond its limits, chosen family, and the beauty that grows in letting go.

BUY HERE

Tags: featured, women writers

Category: Contemporary Women Writers