I didn’t win the 2026 Newbery Medal.

That isn’t a shock — it was, in fact, 99.99% expected, with a 0.01% margin left over for hope. What might be a shock is that I submitted The Mountain of Dempsey Molehill for Newbery consideration in the first place.

The American Library Association’s Youth Media Awards are some of the highest honors in children’s literature. Each year, the ALA bestows nationally recognizable awards like the Caldecott Medal, the Coretta Scott King Award, the Printz Award, and the coveted Newbery Medal. The program remains dominated by major publishing houses and is difficult for indie authors to break through.

For the 2026 awards, children’s books published in 2025 were eligible for consideration. The Mountain of Dempsey Molehill was released Nov. 4, 2025, leaving me with about a month to decide if I should send it to the Newbery committee for review. A November publishing date meant I already missed two rounds of Newbery committee members nominating their favorite titles, and the chances of securing a committee nomination in the final December round was slim.

But, as youth basketball coaches love to say, “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.”

So I took the shot.

Choosing to Believe

I gave up setting New Year’s resolutions years ago, because I never managed to stick to them. That puts me among 92% of Americans, according to an October 2023 poll by Forbes Health/One Poll, which found that the average resolution lasts 3.74 months before fizzling out.

However, I was intrigued by the rising trend of New Year’s “theme words,” which individuals use a compass to guide their growth and intentions for the coming year. As 2025 came to a close, I pondered what theme I would want for 2026. Unfortunately, Dec. 31 came and went, and I couldn’t find the right word.

On Jan. 2, I was texting with a friend about The Mountain of Dempsey Molehill being featured in an upcoming episode of a local radio book club. As I recounted my plans and hopes for the book, he replied with one word:

Believe.

And there it was. My theme word for 2026.

As a writer, it’s not unusual to make the vast swing between thinking my book is brilliant and thinking it’s the worst novel to hit the market. There are days I need to take a deep breath, step back, and ask myself: If I were a reader, would I be entertained by this story? Would I walk away saying, “I enjoyed that”?

The answer is yes. So I held to that belief, and I took a leap of faith by submitting it to a handful of industry awards. Because if I enjoy and value my story, there’s a chance others will, too. Maybe even the people on the award committees.

Writers, don’t let the odds get you down

It’s tempting to pin a book’s merit on external validation — awards, reviews, sales, etc. While it’s true those elements are used to calculate success, the formula is trickier than those items alone.

Plenty of worthy books struggle to reach the hands of readers. The median American reads two books per year, according to a 2025 YouGov survey, while the country’s average is eight books per person. With the average person picking up only eight books per year, it’s challenging to make your book one of those eight. Especially when Bowker reports more than 2.5 million titles (traditionally and independently published) flooding the market each year.

As an indie author, my book’s success relies heavily on my marketing efforts and finding ways to put it in front of people. After all, they can’t read it or buy it if they never find it. But I’m competing with more than 130 million books in the world (including new titles and backlists), according to an attempted estimate by Google. It’s easy — and sometimes tempting — to shrug in the face of those odds and say, “Oh well, I can’t compete with that.”

That’s where it matters to believe in my book.

When I read novel I love — such as Patrick Ness’s A Monster Calls — I want to tell everyone about it. I look for the fellow readers in my life whom I think would enjoy it, and I enthuse about it. Often, that enthusiasm is contagious.

I should carry and share a similar enthusiasm about my own books. However, there’s a natural fear of rejection or judgment when it’s my book; those nerves are absent when it’s another writer’s book. But it’s worth pitching my book repeatedly, even if I don’t land that particular sale or win a specific award. The more people I connect with, the better chances I’ll eventually find the right reader or opportunity. For every person who declines to buy a copy of my book, there’s a chance they’ll tell someone else, “You might like this book I saw…”

Fear of rejection has a way of convincing us to stop taking chances. After my friend advised me to have faith in my book, I worried less about odds and likelihoods. Instead, I started focusing on opportunities. I filled out award applications and mailed out copies of The Mountain of Dempsey Molehill. I contacted libraries and classrooms to ask if they’d be interested in presentations about writing for youths or the big impact of small-town politics.

The effort won’t always result in a win. Sometimes authors face multiple losses in a row. We might not land the sale or win the Newbery. But take the chance. Dream big anyway. Don’t let the opportunity pass, even if it’s only 0.01% chance of success.

Believe.