The Poet Priestess

So I woke up this morning to find an email informing me of a book contract offer on my latest book. This is my second contract in just one year, and needless to say I did the happy dance in my dressing gown in the predawn darkness. My first instinct was to say that being offered a book contract feels like winning an award, but upon reflection I realised that wasn’t the best mentality to maintain. Of course I am happy, and of course it is an achievement, but it is a personal achievement. Viewing this achievement in the language of an award places the whole experience in the context of a competition, and competitions by definition reduce experiences to winners and losers. A competition defines personal success by the failure of others. There are simply millions of wonderful authors out there, both traditionally published through a publishing house or indie authors who have self-published, and there are millions more who have yet to be recognised by a publishing house, those who have been rejected time and time again (Keep pushing folks, chase those dreams). Being offered a contract puts me on that spectrum of authors and writers, but I do not need to define my success by those who have not or who have yet to receive the same acknowledgement.

My happy dance, my emotional state, my acceptance by a great publishing house, my joy of knowing I will soon see my words in print, my excitement (and trepidation) that I will soon hold my book in my hands, is directly related to my own sense of personal achievement. The only competition I have won is over my own sense of self doubt, my own sense of worthiness, my own procrastination and constant perfectionist tweaking. The battle I have won is the fight of letting go, of releasing doubt and insecurity and setting free the words I have held inside, in notebooks and on laptops. My success is the recognition that I can do this, that I can share my truth, and that other people also share that truth.

The seeds I planted at the beginning of this year was a difficult crop to care for and nurture. They weren’t just seeds of ideas and concepts, they were seeds of self-confidence, of belief, of trust. I had to do the constant hard work of weeding out the negativity and tiredness, the doubt and the insecurity. It was hard work, a hard year, but those seeds have become an awesome harvest. This year I will harvest books.

Please keep in touch to watch the development of my new books Poison Pen Letters to Myself and The Woven Word. Share the journey, and let me share yours – tell me about your personal harvest this year.