I Quit

I quit. I know your friends, mentors, and pretty much every post on the internet, tells you, "never give up." It's practically tattooed onto our brains. But for many of us writers, scratching our way out of our computers into the great wide world, there's probably not a day that goes by that we don't think that very thing, "I quit."
 I quit the late nights looking for the perfect words to describe the night sky that aren't a cliché. I quit the scouring of articles and websites to find the perfect agent match. I quit the gut-wrenching, soul-crushing rejection letters and the never-ending dream of seeing my name on a book, placed oh so reverently on the endcap of a Barnes & Noble bookstore.
I've been thinking about it for a while now, every since the end of the last season of Project Runway. Confused? I bet. Let me explain.
You see, unlike a lot of writers, and smart people in general, I have not turned my back on TV. I love it, especially reality shows, preferably reality competition shows. It's the hope, the dreaming, the aspiring that draws me in. You know the story, a singer, a chef, or a dancer, shows up with nothing more than good old-fashioned gumption and belief in themselves, and vanquish thousands of other less worthy contestants to make all of their dreams come true. It's downright inspiring.
Well, last season of Project Runway, there was a contestant by the name of Kentaro Kameyama, a beautiful soul with a flair for the dramatic and an eye for the unique. All through the show the remarks from the judges ranged from dismissive to outright confusion, but his gift was undeniable and so he kept clawing his way up until he was in the final three.
I think most fans of the show probably thought he didn't stand a chance of actually winning, he certainly didn't, so he quit. He quit competing against the other designers, and quit designing to the judges feedback, and made the clothes that were in his heart. When  it was all said and done, he was the winner of Project Runway, season 16.
Ever since I watched Kentaro let go, or quit. I've been thinking about what it means to be successful. Must I have a high-powered agent to share my words with the world? If I'm not the black Stephen King, does that mean my stories have no value? What about traditional publishing? If I never sign that contract with a big agency, never sell a book to Grand Central or Kensington, or any publishing house, have I failed as a writer? I think not.
So, I quit. I quit competing against the voices of other writers, and quit writing to the feedback of so many judges to write the stories from my own heart. And just maybe, in time, I will be the winner of my own season.