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You know what a writer does? They write. A writer sits down in front of their screen or a blank page and puts the ideas in their head onto it. The process takes typing or pen to paper. Given how crappy my handwriting is, for me, this is about typing.

When I wrote as a pantser – i.e., I wrote by the seat of my pants with little to no plan – this was both easier and harder. Easier, because there was no structure or pre-set plan laid out to write from. Harder, because there was no structure or pre-set plan laid out to write from. Makes for a bit of a conundrum, huh? All the blogs I write are written without a plan, save that I begin with the topic (which serves also as the title and part of important keyword phrasing) and then write related points to it.

Sometimes this comes easily. There are times I write it in advance rather than the morning before posting. Sometimes, I manage to write it well in advance, but that’s usually knowing that I won’t be around to write and post it (such as if I take a vacation and will be away from a computer during that period).

While I always manage to succeed and find the words to get to the screen, then share with you, sometimes it feels like a Sisyphean undertaking. Why do I keep on with this struggle?

This has made me wonder if the screen is staring back at me. Judging my skills and abilities as a writer.

Mirror, mirror, through the screen

If I look at the blank screen too closely, I’ll see a reflection in it. Who’s that guy sitting there, looking all perplexed and uncertain? Oh, right, that’s me.

There is, in case you haven’t already guessed, a deeper meaning in this recognition of me being reflected on the blank screen. The person judging me isn’t the screen. It’s me.

I have always been my harshest, meanest, most unreserved critic. That is not, however, a good thing. Being my biggest critic means I judge myself harshly. That, in turn, often leads to self-sabotage, questions about my own self-worth, unkind beliefs about what I do, and other less-than-nice things.

So, it feels like the blank screen is judging me. And it feels that way because it’s me looking into it and judging myself. The screen is a mirror.

My goal is to write 1500 words of fiction every weekday. That amounts to 7500 words a week, and about 30,000 words a month. At that pace, I can write a 50,000-word novel in 2 months. Not bad at all.

My nonfiction, this and my other blogs, are not part of that count. Because I’ve set the deadlines I have, I get them done. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel like I succeed with every post.

Success is one of those wonky, complicated, nuanced matters that has multiple variables and definitions.

There’s no One True Definition™ of success

Success, like beauty and perfection, is 100% in the eye of the beholder. Hence, my definition of beauty might be your definition of ugliness. For example, my mom and stepdad have this ginormous piece of pop art that they love and think is the most beautiful work of art. Me? No, not so much. Pop art is not my style. I don’t consider it in the same vein.

The point, however, is that there’s no single, overriding, correct definition of beauty, nor perfection, nor success. Which means that, as such, nobody but me judges where the lines of success or failure are. More than that, however, it’s on me to give myself grace when I don’t meet my own expectations.

The first year I tracked my daily writing, 2024, I succeeded only 36% of the time. Ergo, I only wrote my 1500 words of fiction a day a little more than a third of the time. Despite this disappointing outcome, I didn’t consider it a failure. Nor did I let it convince me that I’m not really much of a professional writer and give up. Instead, I used it as the catalyst to do better the next year.

In 2025, I succeeded at making my 1500 words of fiction a day goal 81% of the time. That’s better than double my prior year. A notable, worthy improvement. Did I consider it a failure because it was only a little better than three-fourths of my time writing? Not at all. And like the prior year, I saw room for improvement.

I’m halfway through 2026. I’ve not checked this year against last because I believe doing this, now, might be a hindrance, and save it for the year’s end. However, I believe I’m going to do better this year than last.