1,000 Sprints =/= Sales... Yet.

I am a huge proponent of goals and the idea that small wins lead to big gains. Or as my mom rephrased me at the start of this venture, “Small reps can lead to big RAWRS.” Which I dutifully sticky-noted to my corkboard. I have seen firsthand what dedicating myself to my craft can do.

This year, one of my many goals was to reach 1,000 sprints with a minimum of 15 minutes per, which meant “only” 250 hours of writing this year. In the beginning, I thought this number somewhat insane. I struck me as both incredibly doable (that’s only 45 minutes of writing a day!) and dauntingly impossible (who has that much inspiration!?!).

It has succeeded in being both.

It has also shocked me in how much I have learned, how much I have accomplished, and… how much I have not.

This year, I have written to completion: 6 short stories, 4 essays for work-study opportunities, and 2 novels. I have started: 2 additional novels, one at 75%, and one conceptually, with chapter 1 completed.

This makes me ecstatic, as teachers and writers continually say the real money comes with “backlog.”

The other thing that makes me ecstatic is: I have traditionally published two of those six short stories as part of anthologies. (You can get them here and here.) Two others are available for free by signing up for my email list.

While those make me jump for joy and do cartwheels, I have yet to succeed in the biggest goal of all. I have not landed an agent despite diligent attempts. As an author with aspirations for that “Big Four” publishing goal, this is devastating. I have tweaked my character’s ages, I have rewritten and reworked my first pages, my query letter, my pitch. Doubt fills me continually. But I keep leaning on something my therapist said: “The book is the way it’s supposed to be, regardless of if it sells.”

Going into this, I feared the pitch would be a hard sell—Orie is a sexually traumatized male, and his head is an incredibly dark place. Perhaps Maas included little Rhysand’s past for a reason? But the story needed to be told. It’s taught me a million things about myself. It’s inspired, encouraged, driven me to be the person I am now. The other thing I remind myself again and again is:

It’s not over yet.