There once was a girl named Rachel.
And she loved to write children’s books.
She loved to make up stories in her mind about fluffy mountains and singing flowers and trees as tall as Jupiter. She wrote about silly boys and crazy girls and love and lust and broken hearts and being naked.
She even wrote stories about farting.
Rachel made up these stories in her bathtub.
She wrote them down at her favorite coffee shop, where the coffee tasted like magical ice cream; medicine for the imagination. Rachel put so much Splenda® in her coffee that customers thought it was snowing.
“It’s a funny thing,” she would say to her puppy dog while she blew bubbles in the bathtub, “Nobody reads my stories…”
So Rachel spent eighty-gazillion-dollars (in diamonds!) trying to find the perfect way to sell her stories. But editors and agents and publishers and other important book people all seemed to be on vacation at the same time…which is all the time.
“How will I get my stories out there?” Rachel asked her puppy dog. “I just want to help people laugh and learn. There is too much seriousness and pretending to be happy in this world. Telling stories about real-life without shame – that is the ticket to happiness!”
So she went to her snowy coffee shop and shared her smiles with everyone who walked by.
“This is my story…” Rachel would say, “…and if it helps you laugh and learn, WONDERFUL! And if you are too busy to listen, WONDERFUL!”
Lots of people listened and laughed and learned. And lots of people did not. But Rachel was happy making stories about real-life because she was doing what she loved.
Moral of the story: Your best is always good enough. Having people like you and making lots of money does not define success.
The End.