Success: Your Terms, Not Theirs

We start off with an important message from Dean Witter...


"We measure success one investor at a time."

I believe I've quoted this commercial before, but I think it's an important thing for writers (and heck, everyone) to keep in mind.

Note that Dean Witter didn't measure success by "another author's Amazon ranking" or "the seven-figure deal that erotic Twilight-inspired fan fiction book got." He didn't measure success by "the number of books J.A. Konrath sold" or "how many Twitter followers Amanda Hocking gained this week."

We have to stop comparing ourselves to other people. We have to stop being jealous of another writer because he or she hit on a new market trend, signed a huge advance, or won an award.

I write this as one of the guilty. I look at the Publishers Weekly "Deals" column and see three- and four-book deals in the six-figure range and lament how my small press deal came with no advance at all. A big-name author options a film deal, and I think, "that could've been me." Or, even worse, "that should've been me." It's natural to compare your accomplishments to those of others, but you have to be realistic about where you are.

Most importantly, you can't compare your accomplishments to their accomplishments, thus letting them define your definition of success. You will lose every time you do this. No matter how much hard work you put into it, you'll always feel like you aren't good enough. This is a vicious cycle...and writers must break free.

Last year, I wrote a blog post likening my writing career to that of a baseball player mired in the minors. At the time, I defined the "big leagues" as finding an agent and getting my book published.

At the time, I wasn't even considering a small press, but it's a route that's paid off for me. I've gotten an immense amount of satisfaction from going through the process--submission, acceptance, revision, etc. I've had input on cover design, aesthetics, promotion, and other things involved with launching a book.

By the time I, Crimsonstreak is released in May, it's going to feel like my book. I'm sure that sense of accomplishment would come along with having something published by the Big Six, but the book is something intrinsically valuable to me. Candlemark & Gleam has given it so much care and attention! When this superhero book launches, it may not set the world on fire, but I will know how much work has gone into it.

So it's not a $100,000 advance or a seven-picture deal. So it's not a Top 100 Amazon seller or the new indie book craze.

It's my book. The first, I hope, of many.

For that, I am proud...and measuring success on my own terms, not theirs.

I, Crimsonstreak: The Costumes Uniforms

A superhero's costume uniform is one of the most important parts of comic books--especially given the emphasis on dynamic visuals. I, Crimsonstreak isn't a comic book, yet our heroes and villains still have splashy, bright uniforms.

Let's visualize!

Crimsonstreak: All right, this one's easy. For better or worse, Chris Fairborne AKA Crimsonstreak appears on the cover of the book in full uniform. His ensemble has more in common with a speedskater than anything else; it's designed to be streamlined and wind-resistant. Crimsonstreak travels at such high speeds that regular spandex probably doesn't do the trick.

Crusading Comet: The Crusading Comet appears in his full regalia only a handful of times in the book (only in flashbacks, actually). Think of his suit as a combination of Batman body armor (Bale or Keaton version; it doesn't really matter) with a splash of Ted Kord-era Blue Beetle. The Comet wears a darker shade of blue (more of a navy) and has a stylized "comet" symbol across his chest. His mouth and chin are exposed; the Comet does not wear a full helmet.

Colonel Chaos: During his early days as a villain, Colonel Chaos favored black bodysuits with ridiculous accoutrements like garish shoulder pads, white forearm gloves, and a flowing cape. After repenting of his villainous ways, he retained an affinity for sleek black bodysuits for work in his lab and out in the field. In the age of the New World Common Wealth, Chaos' look has evolved toward a militaristic tunic with a high collar and NWCW logos on the shoulders. No matter the outfit, Chaos sports shiny black books polished with obsessive detail.

Miss Lightspeed: Before her death, Miss Lightspeed was atypical among female heroes. While her contemporaries favored tight bodysuits, sequins, and midriff-baring "barely there" outfits, Miss Lightspeed dressed far more modestly and put an emphasis on practicality. Her usual outfit included an off-white top with matching pants; both had a variety of zippered pouches. A dark red cape and matching boots were concessions to her superhero lifestyle. She did not wear a tiara.

Enforcers: As befits their role as faceless scourges of a totalitarian regime, Enforcers wear generic, matte-gray, hard-shell armor devoid of personality or customization. Think Starship Troopers or Minority Report, and you get the idea. Members of the law enforcement arm of the NWCW also wear visored helmets and keep a nasty particle buster holstered by their side at all times.

Mortimer P. Willoughby: A butler's job is never done...and Mortimer P. Willoughby always carries an aura of elegance. A topcoat with tails, expertly tailored pants, crisp white shirt with a bow tie, and white gloves speak to his refinement and attention to detail. Morty's typical outfit also includes thick-rimmed glasses, polished dress shoes, and an assortment of secret devices hidden within his seemingly harmless topcoat.

BACK TO CRIMSONSTREAK CENTRAL!

History, Harbaugh, and #18

"In one sense, this is a sad day for the franchise. A man who has meant a lot to this team, and this community, is leaving."

The words sound familiar. A beloved quarterback let go to pursue other opportunities. A new era for the Indianapolis Colts.

Those exact words were not, however, uttered by Jim Irsay. They were not spoken by general manager Ryan Grigson or new head coach Chuck Pagano.

They don't even refer to Peyton Manning.

It's February of 1998 and I'm 17 years old. In my younger days, the Cincinnati Bengals captured my attention. I pulled for Boomer Esiason, watched Joe Montana break Cincy's heart in 1989, and believed James Brooks was the best running back ever. I wanted to do the Ickey Shuffle. I knew what "Who Dey" meant.

By that time, the Indianapolis Colts had been in Indy for 14 years. Sometimes their games sold out, but you were only guaranteed to see them (usually) when they were on the road. If you were a Colts fan in those days, Bob Lamey was your best friend because odds were that it wouldn't be on TV.

The Colts barely registered for me. Anyone who knows the slightest bit about me will probably be taken aback by that statement. Approximately 75% of the clothing I own has a horseshoe on it.

Jim Harbaugh changed everything. I loved the way Harbaugh played. Smart, efficient, gutsy. He earned the nickname "Captain Comeback" after a series of increasingly unlikely comebacks after it turned out highly-touted new acquisition Craig Erickson was actually highly-ineffective new acquisition Craig Erickson. Harbaugh took over and led the Colts to the playoffs during the 1995-1996 season.

A win in San Diego (Zack Crockett goes absolutely crazy). A win in Kansas City (Lin Elliot is still a curse word in Kansas City). Suddenly, Harbaugh and the Colts were in the AFC Championship Game against the favored and evil Pittsburgh Steelers.

They weren't the most talented team, this group, but their defense played tough and Harbaugh was as tough as they came. He was bruised and battered nearly every week, yet he kept the team in the game. No lead, it seemed, was safe. And with the Colts trailing 20-16 on a cold day at Three Rivers Stadium (Heinz Field wasn't even a glimmer in the franchise's eye yet), Harbaugh got one last throw.

For the game.

For everything.

For the Super Bowl.

It landed on Aaron Bailey's chest, yet the wide receiver couldn't reel it in. I see it in slow motion; Bailey reaching for the ball, but no matter how much I try to will him to catch it, it slips away and hits the turf.

Game over.

The Steelers would go on to lose to the Cowboys in Super Bowl XXX, thanks to Neil O'Donnell, who mistook Larry Brown for his own receiver not once, but twice.

The next season, Harbaugh and the Colts started out 4-0. Injuries would hit the team hard, and they'd limp to a 9-7 record and lose to the Steelers in the first round of the playoffs. For a franchise with a reputation for lackluster play and local TV blackouts, making two consecutive playoff appearances was quite an accomplishment.

During the 1997-1998 season, the team fell apart. Injuries and a porous offensive line meant Harbaugh took a pounding. He missed four games that year, with backups Kelly Holcomb and Paul Justin taking over (and each getting beat up in turn).

Thanks to a Colts loss to the Minnesota Vikings and a comeback win by the Arizona Cardinals, the Colts landed the top pick in the 1998 NFL Draft (the Cardinals traded the second selection of the draft to San Diego, who chose Ryan Leaf).

An aging roster, cash problems, and a general sense of mediocrity became the underlying theme.

Then, for 17-year-old me, the unthinkable happened. The Colts traded Jim Harbaugh, and the words appearing at the beginning of this piece were spoken by new general manager Bill Polian in a farewell news conference. Not only did the Colts trade Harbaugh so that he could "find better opportunities," they sent him to the Baltimore Ravens, a franchise I never liked.

Harbaugh would go on to play for the Ravens, the San Diego Chargers, and the Carolina Panthers (although in Carolina's case, I use "play" very loosely). To me, he was always a Colt. He was always Captain Comeback.

17-year-old me was heartbroken. I didn't want to see Harbaugh leave, and I certainly didn't want this "anointed" quarterback from the University of Tennessee, some guy named Manning, to take over in his place. I was determined to hate Peyton Manning.

Think about that lunacy for a second.

I was determined to hate Peyton Manning.

14 years later, I sit in front of my computer wearing a Peyton Manning jersey following one of the hardest weeks Colts fans have ever endured. Not only is Peyton Manning no longer a Colt, but Dallas Clark, Gary Brackett, and Joseph Addai are gone. The year Harbaugh left, the big losses were wide receiver Sean Dawkins, defensive end Tony Bennett, and linebacker Stephen Grant.

So, yes, the parallel isn't perfect; no one missed Dawkins or Bennett or Grant the way they'll miss Dallas down the middle, Brackett in pass coverage, or Addai in position to pick up the blitz.

Yet, the Colts dumped their general manager and coaching staff. They parted ways with a beloved quarterback. The next "anointed" one waits in the wings as the team turns the page on a new chapter.

Jim Harbaugh played in Indy for four seasons and captured my heart. Peyton Manning played in Indy for 14 seasons and earned the city's love.

It's incomprehensible to 31-year-old me that it ended like this, just as it was incomprehensible to 17-year-old me that the Colts could trade Jim Harbaugh.

When that new era dawned, Peyton Manning arrived.

And as this new era dawns, Andrew Luck likely awaits.

If we're as lucky as we've been over the last 14 special seasons, history will repeat itself. We can only hope.