That's all very wonderful and exciting, but here's what I've learned in my fifteen years as a published writer: they are writing so prolifically, entering those contests and working as they do because it fulfills their goals, and their goals may not be the same as mine. Their needs, as a writer or an individual, are, in fact, probably not the same. We all have vastly different reasons for what we do, bred in the bone and the product of years. Yet it's unfortunately easy to forget our own goals -- the reasons we started writing in the first place -- and get caught up in somebody else's definition of success.

For some, success means making the New York Times bestseller list. For others, it's winning awards or getting multi-book deals or writing ten books a year. Writers with this sort of "obvious" success as their primary goal may take a more calculated look at what's selling and what's not, and then write books designed to have broadest popular appeal. They'll spend money on PR and publicists. They are "commercial" writers, and they are proud of the rewards earned by their hard work and focus.

On the other end of the scale are what I'd call the "artistic purists." They would never, ever consider writing anything other than "a work of the heart." If their work sells, obviously it is to a very perceptive and intelligent editor. If it sells only 2,000 copies? That's okay, too, because those are Very Discerning, Intelligent Readers. Such writers absolutely resist any commercial consideration when it comes to their work. They are artists, and proud of it.

The "artistic purists" condemn commercial writers as money-grubbing hacks; to the purists, they are failures. The commercial writers think the artists are excusing their failure to make it big.

I think both types of writers have ample justification for their pride and neither are failures. The failure lies in the yardstick, because there is not, nor should there be, only one measure of success. Yet many people believe there is, and it just happens to coincide with their own particular yardstick.

But we who struggle to create individual, unique characters should be the first to realize this simply isn't so. We don't know what drives the individual writer, what their "backstory" is, so why should we presume to cast judgement on his or her motives, or their goals, or how they measure success? Maybe the writer who craves making the NYTimes list was belittled and teased during her school days. Maybe she never felt quite good enough. Making that list will be one sure-fire way to prove that she is, to everybody. Or maybe another author grew up poor and won't feel secure without a large bank account. Maybe the artistic writer saw a friend or relative stuck in a dead-end job where they had monetary success, but was creatively stifled and bitter. Or did somebody impress upon her that what is popular cannot also be well written, good or valid?

I think most writers fall somewhere in between these two extremes, and for reasons as varied as the writers themselves. When I began writing, my goals were to (a) tell a good story that would entertain people, (b) tell it well enough to sell it and (b) make some extra money. After I sold, my goals shifted slightly, to (a) tell even better stories so (b) I could keep selling and (c) make more money so we could be debt-free and send the kids to university. I knew that as a category writer, I'd never make the New York Times list, and that was okay, because I also knew that as a category writer, I could have more than one book out per year, and the sales were relatively stable, too.

Then I began to see people who'd sold after me "breaking out" and making lists. And frankly, it bothered me. I started to chafe at being a category writer, even though I'd been very happy writing what I wanted to write the way I wanted to write it, and making good money, too. Nevertheless, I decided Something Must Be Done, and I did it. Some things were good, some...not so much. In fact, trying to write what I thought would be more popular proved to be a disaster for me. Yes, I was making more money writing for two houses, but personally? I was miserable, stressed out and getting ever closer to burn out. I had adopted goals that were not my own, and the joy of creativity -- one of the reasons I'd started writing in the first place -- deserted me.

After much thought and soul-searching and consultation with my family because our income would be affected, I made a course correction. I went back to writing for one house. I also returned to the story setting I most enjoy, less popular though it may be. And then, when I'd stopped making it a major goal, I made the USA Today bestseller list.

So when I apply my own criteria for success as a writer, I've done even better than I'd hoped. Does this mean I get to sit on my laurels and write any ol' thing now? Oh, heck no. My goals now are to (a) to tell stories are that are even better than they've been before so (b) I attract new readers so (c) we can travel and be comfortable when my husband retires. And okay, I would love to make the New York Times list. But that's not the be-all and end-all. I won't feel like a failure if I don't.

There's only goal I think writers who seriously attempt to get their work published truly share, and that is the desire to be read. Otherwise, every author's motives and goals are different, depending on their history. For that reason, every author, and every author alone, should decide what his or her definition of success as a writer is -- whether it's making a list, making lots of money, writing only "books of the heart" or something in between. And we should all bear in mind that another writer's goals fulfill her needs, not ours. To do otherwise can be stressful and ultimately, self-defeating. Haven't we got enough to contend with in this business without that?

Copyright © 2006 by Margaret Wilkins. This article may not be copied without the author's permission.