Two months ago, I submitted two short stories to a small online journal called Backstory. After clicking ‘send’, I promptly began work on another project. I had been rejected five times across multiple prizes this year, and if history predicts the future, it would be unlikely these would be accepted. With such an abysmal track record, you learn to not have high hopes. You need to keep moving.

But this time, my stories were accepted. Both of them. When I found out, it felt like the sky parted its clouds and finally recognised me as a writer. I could now tell people that my stories were legit, that they could find my work online. I had a biography page! That was surely something not many people could claim they had. When I received notice that my stories were finally published, I dropped the day’s responsibilities and celebrated.

You might wonder what a win like this might do to a person. I’ll tell you what it did to me. It ruined me. I slowly developed a god complex, a sick sense of narcissism, and began thinking that my days of amateur writing were behind me. A publication meant I could practice less because I had made it. In my pride, I half expected people to exclaim on the streets, “Hey, aren’t you that guy that wrote for Backstory? Those were great!”.

If this reaction seems absurd, you are right. Since the creation of this blog, my writing has been for an audience of one: myself. A publication like this shouldn’t change anything. Also, nobody gives a toss about two short stories in a small online journal. Even I had never heard of them until a few days before, and I regularly consume media like this. Thinking back, it’s likely that the only stories accepted were the only submissions the editors received.

The saddest part of all this is that the stories aren’t even that good. Reading them now, faults stick out like thorns: inconsistent plot points, undeveloped characters, inelegant phrases. Yet with the external validation of a publication, I slipped into arrogance, and this stopped me from doing the one thing that would develop me further: continue to write.

People talk a lot about getting through tough times. Self-help books preach ideals to conquer adversity through tips to inspire action and motivating quotes like “tough times never last, but tough people do.” Not so many people talk about the dangers of success, and the difficulty of showing up when the fruits of your work have been realised. It leads one down the road to complacency, which is a journey into hell.

Today marks one month since my two stories were published, which marks one month since I have touched any fiction writing. It is sad day.

You can read my two stories, The Magic Cow, and The Golden Apple, here.