(Note: This post was originally published on Erin Reel's impressive site The Lit Coach's Guide to the Writer's Life. Check it out at thelitcoach.blogspot.com.) I am a very goal-oriented writer. Since I run my life on an academic schedule, I set deadlines for the end of December, April, and August. But in truth one’s goals don’t always take into consideration one’s limitations, especially when a writer is young. Through high school and college, I had several teachers tell me I should write. But when I started The Quickening at twenty-three, I had far more chutzpah than know-how. I planned to have my first novel under contract before I finished graduate school, to have a second book on the shelves by the time I hit thirty. Even typing these sentences now curls my fingers. Not only did I imagine these things possible, I believed I must accomplish them in order to matter as a writer at all. This kind of thinking is common for young twentysomethings, but it is also endemic to our society. When compared to other countries, American high school graduates rate relatively low for skills in math, science, and writing, but they top the charts when it comes to confidence. The gap between skill and will is alarming, and it doesn’t necessarily narrow with age. My own focus on end-goals—publication and authorhood—over process—a good day’s work creating flesh and blood—likely delayed my novel for years. Are goals more a hindrance than a help? Of course not. My Virgoian self still makes lists of deadlines, but more out of an attempt to control chaos than anything else. Instead of not making goals, make the right kind: Focus on what you learn, not what you produce Writing is something you learn only by doing. Instead of focusing on page numbers, consider the following: I want to learn to imply backstory through my character’s present-day actions. I want to learn to create conflict out of my character’s petty concerns. I want to use setting as a metaphor for my character’s inner life. I want to write a dramatic scene in which my characters say nothing at all. We fight to learn how to write our entire lives. But think how successful you will feel if you attempt something more meaningful than counting words. After all, you’re writing a book, not a grocery list. Ignore the applause Get a giddy feeling after completing that first draft? You and everybody else. Writers need to feign genius in order to convince themselves they should write at all. But then they need to get over it. Reach that goal of 50,000 words for NaNoWriMo? Congrats! Have you written a novel? No! Get over yourself and get back to work. You’ll save yourself years if you keep a lid on your desire for adulation and focus on true accomplishment. Be willing to fall backward to move forward Take yourself seriously enough to realize that sacrifice is a part of growth. We writers avoid making necessary revisions because they require more work than we believe we can handle, cutting tens even hundreds of pages that took years to hone. The time you’ve spent working makes no difference to the amount of work you have ahead. Your upcoming fiftieth birthday doesn’t matter either (except for the cake). The final product is what counts. Once you get over your hurt feelings about the time you’ve lost, you might just realize that you’ve gifted yourself and your book the air and energy to forge ahead. And in truth, you needed to complete that lost writing in order to understand that you didn’t need to do it at all. Don’t wallow in failure Does missing a self-set deadline make you feel like a loser? Do you spend hours telling friends about your despondency, your failure, your terrible hack-self? Goals aren’t about feeling bad. They’re about inspiring you to do your best. If you don’t make your desired page count, remember that without the goal in the first place, you might not have written a page at all.