What if you haven’t “made it” yet as an author?

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I was speaking with an author last week, youngish—I’m guessing early to mid-thirties—who worried that her writing career was passing her by because she hasn’t yet been published.

I remember that feeling. Back in my previous career I was an actor aging out of my teens, through my twenties, into my thirties and wondering when I’d break past doing small indie films and commercials and off-off-off-Broadway shows (and let’s not forget my brief stint as host of an Atlanta-based game show) and finally “make it.” I watched so many of my contemporaries progressing steadily up their traditional-career ladder or starting their families who seemed to be succeeding in their ambitions far more than I was.

I’m guessing many of us know the feeling of that urgency to succeed, the pressure of the clock ticking away the time we’ve given to our creative pursuits against our lack of being where we want to be. The weight of expectation we set on ourselves, comparisons to peers who may be farther along, whether fellow authors or in more straightforwardly progressing noncreative careers.

I remember being so afraid of all my training and work and investment in my acting being revealed as a waste, the silly dreams of a naïve child who didn’t want to grow up and “get a real job.” The fear of being a failure—worse than a has-been: a never-was.

My life as a grape

But those aren’t the things that come to mind now when I think about those early days as an actor.

I remember the excitement of living in New York City—what felt to me like the nexus of culture and the world—“making it” on my own and supporting myself. That wasn’t wholly with my acting (of course)—I also worked as a server and took freelance work as a copyeditor, both jobs I enjoyed and work I was proud of.

I attended a prestigious acting school and studied my craft—acting, speech and diction, dance, singing. I went on auditions and booked some gigs but mostly didn’t. But when I did I got to spend days on a TV or film set or weeks onstage, paid to essentially play make-believe and do the thing I loved to do, surrounded by people as passionate about it as I was, forming a tight-knit little family of those who knew. Who understood what this wild, weird, mercurial, insanely wonderful career was like.

Those people were my community, taking classes or working monologues and scenes together, comparing tips on agents and auditions and productions shooting in the city, commiserating over cold pints at historic NYC bars, having raucous parties and nights out sampling the city’s club scene.

My life was full of freedom and artistic immersion and laughter—god, the laughter. Those are the things that stick in my mind now from that time. Those days were grapes on the vine, soaking in the sunshine.

The wine time

I don’t think what’s so great about getting older is that you have the proverbial fewer fucks to give. It’s that you know what things are worth giving a fuck about.

Back then, during my “grape days” when I was living all those one-of-a-kind experiences, I didn’t have the perspective I have now to just enjoy where I was and what I was doing. It was so easy to get hung up on the sorrows and struggles and frustrations and failures. The not-good-enough feelings, self-doubt, the pain of endless rejection. (You think a rejection letter is tough to receive? Try getting “No, thanks—next” right to your face over and over, often cutting you off in the middle of presenting your work.)

It’s so easy to get hung up on the sorrows and struggles and frustrations and failures of a writing career. The not-good-enough feelings, self-doubt, the pain of endless rejection.

But with the perspective of age I see how those experiences forged the life and career I have now. How learning to bring a character and story to life laid a foundation for my understanding of story and writing craft as an editor; how struggling to build an acting career taught me the skills I’d need to succeed as a freelancer; how performing taught me to be comfortable in front of an audience for the teaching and speaking I do as an editor and educator; how rejection and failure spawned the confidence and determination and persistence that are essential for creating a successful one-person business in a challenging field.

It’s only when grapes are crushed and fermented and aged that they turn into something more complex and layered and lasting. Something to savor and enjoy, rich with flavor and dimension. Otherwise they simply shrivel on the vine, turning into sad, nasty-ass raisins. (Demon boogers!)

I look back now at pictures and memories of my grape days with immense pleasure and pride. I believed in myself and I followed a dream right up until it shifted into a new one. I’m so grateful I took a chance on myself and my creative goals, committed to them wholeheartedly. I wouldn’t trade a moment of any of those experiences.

But I wouldn’t go back to them either.

Last night, over dinner with an author friend, we talked about where we are now in our careers—both making a comfortable living doing what we love, but neither of us up in the stratosphere.

We agreed we wouldn’t trade a single day of where we are now for where we were then—even if, as we joked, it would mean getting back the youthful bodies and faces we failed to fully appreciate at the time (but damn, I promise you I would now!).

With the perspective of age you’re freer to concentrate on what matters, things that actually contribute to your emotional and intellectual and overall growth and well-being, as opposed to all the things that get in our own damn way when we’re younger, like self-doubt or people pleasing or scrambling for status.

You’re free to simply enjoy where you are and what you’re doing, day by day by day, without worrying so much what it all means or what anyone thinks or what arbitrary marker would signify that you are finally a “success.”

You come to understand that success is lived on your own terms, by your own definition, marked not in the recognition you receive or the material rewards you attain, but in the doing of the work itself.

You realize that time is not passing you by or running out, but rather that you are blooming into the fullness of who you are and were meant to be with every passing day.

Continue Reading:

• “Measure Your Success by What You’re Doing, Not What You Want to Do”
• “Most of Your Life Is Medium”
• “Take Back Your Own Story”
• “When the World Sucks Your Creativity: Zoom in and Zoom Out”
• “Is It Worth It?”

I’m feeling all existential and contemplative today, friends. It’s easy to lose sight of the most important parts of our lives amid the noise and chaos of the headlines. What lessons, reminders, or experiences have shaped your view on life, or who you are now? What do you wish you could go back and tell your younger self?

FoxPrint Editorial helps writers strengthen their manuscripts through developmental editing, education, and practical writing guidance. Explore more articles on revision, storytelling, and the publishing process.

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