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Plans get away from me when I stumble and begin to doubt my ability. But it’s so rarely an issue of ability, and even if it is, I can find ways to expand my skills and meet the challenge.

I had a breakthrough of sorts in my very last uni assignment for making peace with bad writing. I wrote a story, submitted it, got my best mark ever for a written assignment, and was happy. Months later, I found the story on my computer when cleaning some files, opened it, and was horrified at how awful it was…and by how it could possibly have received a good mark. Was my entire education a lie? (Probably, but that’s a different discussion.) I kept reading, mortified, until I came to a paragraph I was certain had been cut. Sure enough, I was reading the draft, not the finished piece. LOL. I found the finished piece, which was as smooth as I’d recalled it being, and realised how much power there is in writing bad drafts. So obvious, now. But I think that was the moment I started to believe I was a good writer. Not in my ability to fluke decent stuff, but in my ability to fix anything.

So if the plans falling over are not because I’m an incapable writer, what is it?

External circumstances. Other pressures popping up. Underestimating time constraints.

All those things, but ultimately, I think it’s not building in little wins that scares the plan away. I see finishing a novel or series or ALL THE BOOKS as a massive mountain to climb, and I slide back two steps for every three I take, but I don’t ever celebrate or acknowledge that one step that did stick. Yet, it’s those single sticky steps that make for progress.

The three steps forward happen when I let go of expectation and do stuff. Good, bad, appalling, doesn’t matter.

The two steps back are from the stuff not being perfect. Stuff is so rarely perfect, it’s an unreasonable pressure to place on yourself. (Repeat that to yourself, Kel: Expecting stuff to come out perfect is an unreasonable pressure to place on yourself.)

The one step that sticks is me realising, as I slide back (feeling like I’m going to slide all the way to the bottom), that I can take what I’ve made and make it better.

So it’s not failure to slide backwards. It’s actually part of the process. Part of the progress. If I embrace that, I can recognise the sliding sooner and feel more in control. Like I’m just retracing a couple of steps to adjust my course and take a better path. (Repeat that to yourself, too, Kel: Sliding backwards is part of the progress.)

To get really meta about it, PLANS can be worked on in this manner as well. Make a plan. Make a bad plan. Make a terrible plan! Then start, and as you go, work on it. Fix it. Try again. Fix it some more. I doubt there’s a mountain in the world that you climb by heading upwards in a straight line.

Failure is part of the progress.