How will I know when I've been successful?

Speaking with men and women who stood up to large corporations, who had legislation created to counteract their defiance and who forced politicians to listen was captivating. I could not imagine finding the strength to do what those down to earth, hardworking Aussies did – start and participate in a ten-day rebellion.

I knew I wanted to record their story, so, I jumped in and got to work. It was a short while later that I started to daydream, imagine and ponder what it would be like to be successful. In the early days being successful equalled being introduced as ‘one of Australia’s newest authors’, and of course, by this, I meant one of Australia’s newest authors represented by a traditional publishing house. I had a 3-minute speed date with a literary representative from a well-known publishing house and my feedback was very positive and left me with hope – great story, wonderful pitch, just not for us.

I started pitching to other publishing houses and learning more about the process. I was warned that from the day your manuscript is accepted to the day the book is printed can take years; publishing houses may not target the audience of your book, you may still need to do some of your own publicity and so on. Still, I wanted that dream. They say only 3% of people who start a manuscript finish it, and only 1% of those get it published. Why couldn’t I be that 1%? After all, I was willing to put in the hard yards; study how to pitch, whatever it took.

One day I rang one of the contributors of the book just for a chat. He was a little flatter than usual; he and his wife were leaving their coastal home due to aging and declining health. I very quickly remembered that this might be ‘my book’ but it is not ‘my story’.

Success took on a whole new meaning – to be successful suddenly meant that the brave, strong, wonderful people who allowed me to tell their story would read a manuscript they were happy with; that told their story accurately.

I held my breathe the day I emailed the manuscript to Jack and Pauline Hibburt, Carle and Linda Goodfellow, Spencer and Gloria Watling and Bob McMillan. I had sent a very early draft to Barry ‘Sleepy’ Grimson shortly before his death, but it has changed so much I don’t feel like Sleepy really got to read it. That still hurts a little. Each time I took a call and heard how happy the recipients were with the manuscript, and how little they wanted changed, my eyes filled with tears of joy. I had been successful.

Other measurements of success have come and gone but one has stayed constant: for the story to be recorded so that when those who lived it can no longer share it, it’s there for others to read. When two contributors died within a two-week period, I reminded myself that time stands still for no one – so, I put in the long days and hard yards and now, the book is just weeks away from arriving. On Saturday, I received the most heart-warming message – ‘Thank you for this book. Was hard times, most of us registered in SA, that way the wife didn’t get a knock at the door to lock us up for non-payment of road tax. Thank you again, something to give my grandkids.’ Those last few lines – something to give my grandkids – tell me I have been successful.