Perfectionism runs deep in us artistic types. We dread the failure of rejection and criticism, of having our words deemed anything less than sparkling jewels of precious wisdom. I confess that I have that streak myself. As you may have noticed, a large percentage of this blog's content is devoted to saying "screw that fear of failure" in one way or another. I truly am glad that I get to figure out what I want to say and how to say it without the albatross of prior success, but that isn't to deny that I do want--actually, crave-- success. I certainly fear failing to achieve that longed-for success.
Failing to achieve writing success would mean working a job just to pay the bills, a job that I like okay most of the time, but a job that doesn't resonate to my core like writing does. Failure looks like no plaudits for my clever phrases, no book signings, no multi-million dollar publishing deals (okay, truth be told, even success probably doesn't involve that last one). Failure looks like writing in bits and moments of spare time, and then hoping to be read some day.
Failure looks quite a lot like life looks right now. Not only is failure an option for my writing, failure is the default for my writing. That's a freeing proposition.