I'd like to beg the question, "how do you define success?" All the usual measures in this business are wonderful dreams and certainly worth striving for, but let's get realistic: it's an awfully, awfully tough goal to set for yourself and it's a long, long road to get there. Meaning what I, too, have felt after a tidal wave of rejections (nope, not published). On one particularly dark day, the mirror smiled at me and reminded me that I write because I love it -- building story, creating characters, wrangling words into herds of spiffy sentences. And then I thought, wow, instead of wondering if someone in New York or where ever will actually respond to my latest guess, why don't I write for me first? To do that, the project has to be broken down into a steady stream of daily progress. Now I could set an achievable goal (a slick block of narrative, witty scene of repartee, really nailing a tough paragraph to cause tears of joy to run down my cheeks).
Having reached the goal, I experience success. Accomplishment. Satisfaction. Confidence. Excitement. Growth. After toasting me, it's time to consider what should be done tomorrow. Of course, if there's a level of challenge, then the success is sweeter. But life outside of writing creates limitations demanding prudence and realism. Sometimes the words just don't come and ideas evaporate. Almost any small accomplishment helps me get back on track. Just jot down tomorrow's little goal, tackle it, and, yes! Success. Makes the next day easier and the day after that a fascinating visit to your horizons as an artist. Would I like to be in hardcover? You bet. But that's less important than being happy with what's between the covers and the journey that got me there. So the absolute worst outcome of my effort is that each and every day I have a marvelous time writing with confidence and delight. Sure beats gloomy self-doubt!