A good friend of mine recently shared a string of publication wins. If I’m being a little honest, one of my first thoughts was, “Lucky you.” There’s always a tinge of jealousy when I hear the good news of other writers, even when they are my friends and I am genuinely happy for them. If I’m being a little more honest, I know luck only plays a small part in it. This principle is true in general, but it is especially true in this case because I know how hard this guy works.

Over the last few years, he has been very intentional and consistent with his writing practice. He has established writing goals and worked toward them. More importantly, his goals are well-defined and within his control. Rather than say, “I want to get 5 stories published this year,” he has said, “I want to write 10 stories this year.” The publication part is not up to him, but he has not neglected it either.

He also made goals along the lines of, “I want to send out 10 stories this year.” Again, not counting rejections or acceptances but instead focusing on the submissions, focusing on getting his work in front of others even when it is scary, even when it might be painful.

He has been sowing the seeds of craft, and production, and submission. And this has paid off.

He is now in a season where he can see the fruits of those seeds. Granted, he is a talented writer, and he has spent time developing his craft. But those seeds would be wasted if he wasn’t putting it to use. It likely wouldn’t get much further than his own computer if he wasn’t willing to send it out for rejection.

I, on the other hand, have received no rejection letters in the last year. That is not a point to celebrate because it means either I have not been sending anything out or I haven’t been ambitious enough with my submissions (it’s the former in this case). Instead, I have been sowing other seeds. Seeds that have nothing to do with writing or seeds that have kept me back as a writer. Seeds of doubt, seeds of slumber, seeds of fear.

As writers, as humans really, we are constantly making little decisions, choosing minor angles, that will ultimately determine our path. While we might not see the fruits of those choices for months or years down the road, the fruits will always come. We never know which particular seed will ultimately be productive, but we can move forward confident in the knowledge that some of them will yield fruit.

We don’t choose whether or not to plant seeds, we don’t choose which ones will take root, we only choose which seeds to plant.

I am proud of this friend and happy for him. I’m also glad that he continues to challenge me to do more with my craft. As is often the case, I need to do some closer examination of what my seed pile looks like and what my planting strategy is going to be.

End of analogy.