A measured moment.

I measure success, in crushed diet coke cans, and empty stylus’ of ink. I don’t measure success in the form of content as art is subjective. I don’t measure success by word count. Jimmy could write a 350,000 EPIC middle grade disaster. 300,000 words of which are probably the wrong words.

If you are a nobody writer like me, it’s hard to gauge what your level of success is. I’m 27, but I have wrote around thirty books. At some point in my life, that was enough to make me feel good about what I was doing. Damn good at that. Then, I became aware that I had written thirty books that no one had ever heard of.

And then nothing was enough. I could crank out 10,000 of the right words a day and I was still be a failure.

I measure my success, in my ability to do more with the same amount of hours as everyone else. I encourage this behavior, as I step over my pile of used pens. I wrote this whole blog in my head. If you will notice it’s becoming something of a trend. This time I was in the shower, gnawing off my nails because I couldn’t waste the time or energy to find the clippers. I haven’t bit my nails since the seventh grade when I discover I worked best under pressure, but they were slowing down typing, and we couldn’t have that.

I measure my success in half chewed, half moon crescents.

I measure my success. Make sure you know what you are doing is enough for you. Never let other people gauge your success, or tell you that you are less than you are.

This is likely the best advice I have ever given you.