Success for some is the number of books they sell. For others it may be how deeply their words touch their readers, or the fanaticism their work invokes. Still others may look at the number of reviews they obtain. We all strive toward this idea of success, but what is it? We each have to decide what success is for us.

For me, success has an element of accomplishment. Did I accomplish what I set out to with the book? First with writing it … did I convey the story I wanted? (Yes!) And once released, is it hitting the readers in the way I thought it would? The sense of accomplishment has a great deal to do with my feelings of success. And the measure of irony to add into the equation, the greater the obstacles overcome on the road, the greater the sense of accomplishment.

Why is that? Why do we feel a greater sense of pride in accomplishing a task that had greater obstacles? In part I think it is because we have proven to ourselves how much we wanted the success. If you fall at the first hurdle and give up, then the desire for the end result must not be so great. But if you’re willing to put everything on the line, and willing to take a tumble, get up, brush yourself off, and strive toward your goal again, then when you do reach your goal it is all the sweeter — though you may still have a few bruises. And so it was in 7th Grade Revolution. A simple moment where the desire to succeed causes James to take measures where he is willing to fall.

     “Let me give it a try. The door must be stuck.” James pulled his blue-green sweater over his head, revealing a pristine, white T-shirt below. He tied his sweater around his waist, did a few arm circles to limber up, then planted his foot on the wall, grabbed the handle and yanked.
     The door budged, but didn’t open.
     Danielle clapped and hooted. “Good job, James.”
     Rhonda raised a finger to her lips. “Remember who might be listening.”
     Danielle covered her mouth with both hands. “Sorry.”
     Rhonda put a hand on Danielle’s shoulder as James readied himself for another try. He put both feet on the wall before pushing the handle down.
     Oh dear, goodness. If the door swung free, he’d end up cracking his head on the concrete. Rhonda hurried closer. James’s muscles bulged and he grunted as he strained to open it.
     Bit by bit the door moved. James kept pulling, and used his legs to give him more power. Then it happened.
     The corner came free and the door swung open. Rhonda put her hands against James’s back to keep him from falling, but the force of his push sent both crashing to the ground.

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Today was one of those days where the simple act of crawling out of bed was a major triumph. (My apologies in advance for all the bleary-eyed typos that may creep into this post.) I don’t get it. Night before last I had a horrible night of sleep. I was restless, tossed and turned, woke up every half hour to hour, not a good night. You’d expect that I’d be tired, right? Wrong. Yesterday I had energy, got things done for the day job, got a couple things accomplished last night, and when I finally started to yawn, I went to bed. At a reasonable hour. I slept really well last night, but morning came and crawling really is the best description for how I was moving.

You know the feeling… the one where the Mac truck left tire tracks on your back as it drove on through. Not that I was achy, just overwhelmingly tired. If I would have had to drive to work, I don’t think I’d have made it, but when all I have to do is cross the landing, it took me approximately half an hour, but I convinced myself to make the trek.

Day job went the smoothest it has all week, which is not to say smooth, but the past two weeks have been ugly as far as things needing attention. I actually accomplished something new. Not as much as I wanted, but I’ll take accomplishment where I can get it. And the accomplishment is something I’ve been pushing for for several years, so to finally get it implemented was HUGE.

Tom Wolff
Photo: Alptraum

But when the day job was done, I was drained. Completely wrung out. I was ready for bed at 6 o’clock, but knew better than to give into the urge, and didn’t want to take a nap for the same reason. If I went to bed at 6, I’d be up at 2 or 3 AM staring at the ceiling in the dark. And then my sleep pattern would get all messed up… and it is a delicate little beast, so I don’t like to mess it up more than I can help. There remained the question of what to do with myself for the evening. But then Tom (the guy in the picture is my vision of Katie’s best friend, Tom) showed up and flooded me with a scene. I had to write. I didn’t know whether I’d be putting gibberish on the page or not because I was so bleary-eyed and exhausted I wanted to face-plant on the desk. But I had to trust the instinct driving me.

I am soooooo glad I did. Tom kept talking, I plugged in some Christmas tunes, which were a little at odds with the scene we were going through, but it somehow worked. Funnily enough, the more I wrote, the less tired I became. A little over 1,500 words later, I stopped. The characters were still talking, but I needed to take a moment because one was trying to take the spotlight, and my gut said that was the wrong direction. And I wasn’t ready to work with the next character—who is frankly a pain and I knew I wouldn’t do him justice tonight. Maybe tomorrow.

Poor Tom is having such a rough time, and I’m so proud of him. He usually bottles up his feelings, but this time let me hear them loud and clear. When I realized we had completed a few necessary scenes (and even one unexpected one) I was ready to break into the Hallelujah chorus. This was the most I’ve been able to accomplish word-wise, story-wise since finding out I needed chemo. FINALLY!! I don’t have the words to say how good this feels. I was trying not to despair that I wasn’t writing… but it is probably the most difficult thing for me to battle. I’m missing part of me without the writing.

So tonight, I feel whole. And other than the CLL sweats when it’s 45 degrees, I feel pretty normal, too. And tired, but not the sheer exhaustion that plagued me all day. Good tired. Accomplished tired. Ready for sleep.

Good Night. May your dreams be sweet or if they’re not at least a good plot for a novel.

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