“How many books have you sold?”

That’s a question that comes up frequently since publishing my first book.

My pat answer, “Sales are good!”

I stopped giving actual numbers because to non-authors, the numbers don’t sound impressive. Honestly, there are probably ambitious Girl Scouts who have sold more boxes of cookies in one month than I might sell books in a year, but I haven’t stood in front of a grocery store on a Saturday morning waving a copy of my memoir at passers-by.

I am doing great. I am in the top twenty percent online, even if my place number is 354,632, or something close. My husband proudly reminds me of this fantastic fact.

For writers like me, hoping to hit the shelf in this lifetime—self-publishing is the way. That’s about 800,000 self-published books per year. We do everything ourselves from writing the book to hiring the editor and cover designer to making marketing plans. The to-do list is endless!

My emotions surge up and down like a wild roller coaster ride.

Cheery messages from friends reading my book are mini-pick-me-ups: “So far, page 194 is my favorite!” Or, “Brilliant line: …forgiveness freed up our energy….” Seeing my book displayed at the local book store puts a fat smile on my face.

It’s not long before the pesky naysayer pops in my head, sending me into a Debbie-Downer funk. “Have you heard from Oprah yet?” I did send a copy to Oprah. Why not?

My thinking began to change while I was watching the Grammy’s. The winning rap song of the year was announced, “God’s Plan,” by the multi-chart-topping artist, Drake. His acceptance speech hit home.

As he held up his trophy, he said, “You don’t need one of these to be successful.  If your hometown loves you and is singing your songs, that’s success.” The audience nodded, even the arm-chair audience: me.

My hometown is singing my songs, repeating my words back to me in multiple texts.

Success is how you define it, an intangible trophy you never have to dust

We are winners with or without.