By William Somerset Maugham
Copyright 1919

excerpt:

It is a salutary discipline to consider the vast number of books that are written, the fair hopes with which their authors see them published, and the fate which awaits them. What chance is there that any book will make its way among the multitude? And the successful books are but the successes of a season. Heaven knows what pains the author has been at, what bitter experiences he has endured and what heartache suffered, to give some chance reader a few hours' relaxation or to while away the tedium of a journey. And if I may judge from the reviews, many of these books are well and carefully written; much thought has gone to their composition; to some even has been given the anxious labor of a lifetime. The moral I draw is that the writer should seek his reward in the pleasure of his work and in release from the burden of his thought; and indifferent to aught else, care nothing for praise or censure, failure or success.

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This was written in 1919, for Pete's sake and every writer's sake. It's a quote that many of you have probably already seen. It's new to me. Can you even imagine the increased decibels to this message eighty-nine years later?

I joyfully accepted this lesson upon my 60th birthday and celebrated the freedom from my self-imposed writer's bondage. I've learned that success has many different definitions and that my definition is the most important.

I recently completed a delightful afternoon on the back porch of some friends who live in Sewanee. After luxuriating in the audience of the Music Festival's finale, which included Gustav Holst's The Planets, several of us moseyed over to South Carolina Avenue and the finest screened-in porch in the U.S. of A.

Conversation was lively and unfettered, much as hot and humid late afternoon mid-summer conversations should be, until the kind-hearted, well-intended question that often always eventually surfaces in a small group where I'm seated was asked... "Why haven't you been published, Reenie?" (I'll smack the first and last smartass who says it's because I write confusing run-on sentences.)

I guess it's nice and flattering that I'm asked this question a lot, so I'm always flashpoint ready with prepared notes, which I pull out of my pocket. Essentially, I remind people that it's 2008 - Hellooooo - I have a better chance of winning the lottery. Because I was in the company of other creative types, we chatted up the topic a bit and then murmured condolences about the woes artists encounter.

As with any group gathered on the mountain for whatever reason, the conversation then sashayed into the gratitude arena - our gratitude for living in such a splendid place. Then we poured a second round of beverages and continued to enjoy the view and sounds of summer.

Several days later, I received a kind note from my hostess with the above quote by Maugham enclosed. Every single word except aught is contemporary to my vocabulary. Every single word is applicable today.

Postscript August, 2014: I enjoy this post so much - it's a reminder of the gentle civility that sashays in and out of my life on The Mountain.