Oh writers, what have we done?

If you've been feeling, like I have, that you've failed to achieve all you hoped to this year, it's worth looking back, just for a moment. Adding up all you've written, all you've applied for, all the work you've done towards achieving your goals. Maybe you've placed or been shortlisted in a competition, or had work published. Maybe you've written something that makes your heart race, something you know is good. Our milestones are so easily forgotten, as we constantly shift the goalposts. Just now, I tallied up what I've written this year. Before looking, I would have guessed 3 or 4 stories. It feels like I've struggled to write, with more paid work, my kids needing time, a health issue, and life's up and downs. I've been frustrated lately, thinking how little I've progressed. And yet ... I've actually completed 8 stories in the past 11 months. I've applied for writing fellowships. I've sent work to several journals, and entered a number of competitions. I've received lots of form rejections, a few lovely personal rejections, a highly commended in the Newcastle Short Story Award. I recently had work accepted for an anthology I'm really excited about. I finished a full manuscript. And I did 3 readings—2 for Amanda O'Callaghan's book launches of This Taste for Silence (an absolute must-read), and one for Anna Krien's Brisbane launch of Act of Grace (another wonderful book). None of this is astounding, but it's decent. I've done plenty in 2019.You've probably done way more than you realise, too, if you check. It's so easy to forget our accomplishments and stew on disappointments. And if you're still unhappy with your 'progress', remember we're all living with different demands. Some work longer hours, some have very small children, or lots of children! Some of us are carers. Some of us struggle with mental health issues, chronic illness or disability. We're all doing our best, given our circumstance. And for that, we deserve to feel proud as 2019 comes to a close. Congratulations to you — for everything you've written, for all you've endured, and for anything that has brought you joy.