Failure is a Four Letter Word (in Writing)
By Heather Webb | June 22, 2017 |
Failure is a four letter word. We fear it, we dread it, and we try to avoid it at all costs. It’s one of those sneaky words that writers tend to despise because we understand its power more than anyone; we know how many layers it carries, how much destruction it causes in its wake. We give it so much meaning, in fact, it paralyzes us. Why not, instead, commit this foul word to memory, stare it in the face, and run straight at it, helmet on? Why not laugh at its pathetic attempt to demean what we are worth? FAILURE, after all, only holds as much meaning as we assign to it. Don’t writers grasp the power of words better than anyone else?
How, then, must we cope with this ever-foul sense of failure? There are two skills we need to survive it:
ACCEPT WHEN YOUR CRAFT NEEDS WORK
This is really difficult sometimes because it involves balancing feedback from those who criticize your work, and listening to your intuition. Our ego makes us believe critical feedback is wrong, and that we just haven’t found the right audience yet. But in time and through lots of practice, we learn to discern the difference between all these voices and what’s good advice and bad. In time, we make good friends with humility–our best friend in writing–and discover the gems hidden within the harsh feedback or negative reviews. We accept that our craft needs work–and will always need work on some level.
I recently saw an article about a nanotechnologist named Jason Haaheim, who switched careers to become a timpanist in the Metropolitan Opera in NYC. His view of failure is right on.
Jason says, “I think, for a lot of people – and that’s not just in orchestral music – but a lot of people in performing arts, acting, just anything like this. You start off with a desire to do this thing, this passion about some sort of art form. And yet you’re not skilled enough. Your craft does not evolve to the point you would be able to do it. So I think a defining experience for a lot of people who get into these creative fields is you have to really embrace failure. Frame it as constructive growth and be interested in that.”
Once we develop to the point of becoming published, our learning shouldn’t end—and it doesn’t. If it does, it means you aren’t challenging yourself enough as a creative. It means you’re too afraid of failure.
Curious how other authors regarded failure, I asked them to talk about their experiences:
“Failure stings at first, then hurts, then hurts some more. But when the hurt finally lets go, reflections begin and they are always deeper, more important than those brought by success. Failure makes me rethink my goals, make difficult decisions on what I will work on next. And then–as important as any insights to my own writerly condition–it makes me more forgiving, more thoughtful, more empathic.”—Eva Stachniak, international bestselling author of The Chosen Maiden
“I knew after being dropped from my first house I could either sulk or move forward. I chose to believe that just because I wasn’t a booming success with my first attempt in publishing (and really, who is?) doesn’t mean my career was over. I didn’t give up, and subsequently, a lot of better opportunities have come my way. In publishing, you only truly fail when you stop trying.”—Aimie K. Runyan, author of Daughter of the Night Sky
“I failed long enough and hard enough at getting published that I managed to debut into a fully developed world of social media where writers and readers can connect in ways that would have been unthinkable the year I got my MFA (which started with a 1, not a 2). I wouldn’t be a successful historical novelist if I hadn’t been a failed contemporary novelist first. I’m so glad I failed in all the ways I failed before, and I bet I’m not done failing. A writing career without failure is an unrealistic, even harmful, goal. The goal has to be learning and growing and knowing what to do with the opportunities you get when you get them. That’s when you really succeed.”—Greer Macallister, USA Today Bestselling author of Girl in the Disguise
“I have a hard time dealing with failure (who doesn’t?) I wrote and rewrote my novel about Monet so many times that my agent finally said, ‘I am afraid if the next read doesn’t soar, I’ll have to pass.’ I looked into my heart and saw that I had never written the novel as I wanted to write it, always following what others told me. I wrote it again in six months and she sold it within a month for a very good price. I try to remember that with my current book, which is struggling to find its strongest form and the right publisher, I remain the same divided person: half wanting to plunge forward, half wanting to hide. I try to ask myself each day which one is taking the lead! So far I am still going forward.”—Stephanie Cowell, author of Claude and Camille
“I received 82 rejection letters from agents in the course of 4 years. Guess what it made me feel each time? Exactly. I cried, wiped my tears off, bought more fiction writing books, borrowed more books from the library, and started to read and write again.” –Weina Dai Randel, author of The Moon in the Palace
DEVELOP YOUR OWN PHILOSOPHY OF FAILURE
As you can see by these authors’ words above, they got where they are—and will continue to achieve—because they dig deeply to remain connected with what drove them to write in the first place: a love of story. They will evolve to make their dreams happen. They accept failure as a matter of course, not as an evaluation of who they are as people, or a measure of what they deserve. They survive and often thrive, because they have developed their own philosophy of failure.
As for my philosophy of failure, I must admit it changes the longer I write and the longer I work with publishers. To begin, I believe every attempt to achieve that didn’t produce measurable positive results still gave me something that is more precious than anything tangible—it gave me experience. These experiences evolved into knowledge, and we all know knowledge is power. But let’s be more concrete about this. Let’s look at “failure” from a numbers standpoint. Writers are full of story ideas—loads of them. It’s impossible for publishers to buy everything we write, or to get on board with everything we love. There simply isn’t enough time or resources, or consumers for that matter. Therefore, everything we create won’t sell. This is why it’s imperative to WRITE ON, try new concepts, work on a new style or format. Challenge yourself. Keep going. Some ideas will strike a chord and some won’t.
Regardless of what happens with our books when they leave our desk, it’s our job as writers to keep developing stories that mean something to us on a deep, intangible level. It’s our job to explore and to push boundaries. We must weave our despair and angst and hope and joy into stories so others can relate to the characters that carry these messages. These are the stories that will succeed—and those that don’t succeed on a public level, feed our creative souls.
Writers write. It’s what we do. Failure is like death and taxes—all are a certainty. Failure wounds us, but that shouldn’t diminish our need to make sense of the world through words. Those wounds, instead, should make our need to create more powerful and urgent.
What is your philosophy of failure?
Heather Webb is the USA Today bestselling and award-winning author of historical fiction. As a freelance editor and an adjunct in a MFA in Creative Writing program, Heather has helped many writers sign with agents and go on to sell at market. When not writing, she feeds her cookbook addiction, geeks out on history and pop culture, and looks for excuses to head to the other side of the world. To date, her books have been translated to seventeen languages.
To add the self-publishing perspective, there’s a whole different fear of failure — lacking the acquisitions process to know if there’s a market for your work or not, and lacking the traditional production process, how can you put out the best possible book? Whether it sells well or not, for the readers who you connect it to (whether niche or large, I believe every book has an audience) how can you be sure you haven’t failed to give them the best story possible? I can certainly tell you it’s a fear that leads to obsession with improvement, well beyond the improvement I’d make if I were just polishing a book to hope it can be picked up. It’s not selling or failing to sell that bothers me — it’s selling and disappointing because you didn’t go 5 miles beyond the full mile. To me that’s the biggest fail, and with that I work out my storytelling and publishing plans with a healthy measure of fear and trembling.
I understand this well, John, as I prepare my first project for self-publication. I’ve hired a slew of professionals for cover and editing, but I have done 4 more drafts than my usual multitude on this one. Trying to get it right! Thanks for your comments.
My philosophy? Embrace it, learn what you can, and go forward. I approach writing much as I did experiments. It begins with the desire to know something, which propels you to design experiments to get at an answer. 90% of the time there is failure because the expt. wasn’t designed properly or you’re asking the wrong question or the results are ambiguous or… but it is in the doing that you figure it out, refine it, get to the heart of it. I’d dare say that without the previous failures that feel like you’re shuffling backward, you wouldn’t have been able to take that quantum leap forward. And so it is with writing.
An apt analogy! I learn so much from my own failures as well. Thanks for stopping by today.
Hey Heather – You got me thinking about my years in the biz world this morning, and I can see that a lot of the personal philosophy we developed then has bled into my writing philosophy.
I remember being really frustrated with the coatings side of our business in the early years. We had the best substrate (highest quality wood), but others were kicking our asses in the custom coated siding business. I had to admit that we were antiquated, and that others were doing a better job – not just in marketing, but in actual product-specific ways. Which fired me up (read: fueled my passion). I was determined to find the way to a superior product. And it involved analyzing what was out there, figuring out what I liked and disliked about it (versus our own offering), then striving to improve… without throwing out our baby with the bathwater. We kept things, borrowed things, and morphed some aspects from old and new, and came up with something not just unique, but also wholly our own. Not everyone loved it, but those who did became nearly as passionate about our offering as we were.
We tried diversifying our offering a few times. But the attempts often fizzled. What we learned was to follow that passion – that fire in the belly, not just to compete, but to be the best, to offer a product you knew you could always be proud of.
I’m still proud of what we accomplished – and I’ve never lost sleep over the value we offered people. I’d like to look back at my publishing career when I’m old and gray and feel the same. Great reminders today. Thanks!
This is beautiful, Vaughn. Good for you.
Dee
I’m certain you will, Vaughn. You’ve put in the time and care and passion all along. I believe in that, as you do. Creating something we’re proud of is really the nitty gritty of what writing is all about, isn’t it? I can’t wait to celebrate your success. 😊
In my view, completing a book-length work of fiction, whether or not it eventually sells, is a success. It’s a finish line few have the gumption, the obsession, and the passion to cross.
So true, Ray. Sometimes I have to sit down and remind myself of that. Write on!
Hmm…failure…I think I’m feeling a lot of this lately. I am my worst critic, my toughest audience. This goes for writing, business, and my personal life.
I’m not entirely sure how to dig myself out of this darkness, but I know to cling to the light. It’s there, just beyond my reach right now, but there is always tomorrow.
Glad to hear others feel the same. We are not alone.
Dee Willson
Author of A Keeper’s Truth and GOT (Gift of Travel)
This may sound odd, Dee, but sometimes surrendering to the dark for awhile gives us a whole new perspective and rejuvenates us. I had a tough go of things last year. I sat down and had a very honest conversation with myself about what writing does for me emotionally and spiritually, what value it adds to my life. I thought about alternative paths, made plans for a new direction, considered leaving it behind, at least for awhile. I assume I will go through that again at some point if I’m lucky enough to live a long life. That’s the nature of a creative pursuit and a difficult industry. I value that time, in looking back, because it not only taught me what I’m made of, it helped me understand the true purpose of writing for me, and its place in my life. It helped me shed some delusions and embrace happier realities. I’m not sure if any of this makes sense, but I wish you luck and hearty hug.
Thanks, Heather. And hugs right back at ya.
Dee
Love this: “run straight at it, helmet on” I can see you doing it!
Fail is sometimes a thing we do to ourselves before we even give the world a chance to comment.
I never think I’m good enough at anything. I don’t know how to make that go away, so I’ve decided to ignore it and pursue what makes me happy instead. Making connections with people, with nature, and wondering “what if” is something I have always loved. It feeds my work, and my dreams. It’s good enough, for me.
Lovely essay about a difficult topic, Heather. <3
Many thanks for this excellent essay. I struggled with my WIP for years, becoming more and more demoralized, and finally realized that my entire concept was a failure. It was based on models that I admire hugely but were not right for this project. I have replaced that concept with one I love and can develop into a successful book (while accepting all the usual and inevitable rocky times between here and there). Out of failure: success? Maybe even a phoenix with strong soaring wings?
I never have developed a philosophy of failure because I have never regarded my writing that way.
I am never failing, I am forever learning.
Yes!!!
I enjoy everything about writing when I am at the keyboard. Now this weekend, I’m attending a workshop where I will pitch. That’s something else. Quietly, in my own mind, I am a success, I have written a novel which I think has potential. At the workshop I hope to learn something–about myself, about my work. All part of the process….thanks for your post.
Good luck on your pitch, Beth. Reminds me of a friend in a similar situation who said that all he wanted was for his knees to continue holding him up!
Thanks, Anna. That is actually comforting. I walk around the house addressing chairs and tables. Getting it down!!
Having spent the last fifteen years of my working life at a publishing house, I have seen a lot of books “fail”–about 70% of books published will not make back their advance. The books I have loved most and that I thought deserved the widest possible audience are often ones that never find that audience.
Working in publishing you realize early on that most things that determine whether a book “succeeds” are not within your control. You can do all the right things for an author and still lose your shirt because the stars did not align. I’ve personally worked on about 2,000 books. If that 70% failure rate is correct, only 600 earned out their advance. Of those, far fewer are still in print years later. Does that mean the others failed? I don’t think so. They entertained, they changed lives, they filled a need, they healed hearts, they taught a skill, they offered hope.
As an author who has spent more than a year on submission with my first novel, and who only found her agent after three years of searching and more than one hundred rejections, I am already well acquainted with “failure.” But it’s not really failure. It’s just succeeding at a far slower pace than I might desire. :)
Thank you Heather. This was inspiring and a wonderful reminder.
Failure sucks. It embarrasses me. It overwhelms me. Those first moments of humiliation are so big, it’s like I’ve offended the universe. I feel like crawling into a hole and hiding there until the universe forgets.
Well, that’s what I feel like doing. What I actually do is have a good cry, then take my red eyes to the liquor store, buy a bottle of wine, go home, pour a glass, and call my best friend–my no nonsense, foul-mouthed, and very funny best friend. She has no tolerance for self-pity. She’ll listen for a bit, but then starts laughing and delivering a few swift kicks to my perspective, usually starting with “Ya’ dumb shit!” Once I’m laughing, too, I start seeing my mountain of failure for the molehill it really is.
The first time I got this reaction from her (about 25 years ago after I’d botched a debate and lost a local election), I accused her of laughing at me. Her response? A hearty laugh and “Ya’ dumb shit! I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing with you, I’m just a little bit ahead!” That’s why she’s my best friend.
My family never had a lot of money for home improvement or decorating, so we tried a lot of creative, improvised solutions instead. if something didn’t work, we didn’t see it as “failure,” just an idea that didn’t do what we needed it to do, and tried something else. Maybe seeing writing and getting published (or not) more in terms of problems and solutions, rather than success or failure, would rob that awful word of its power.
Maybe it’s just my age now. Maybe it’s just I’m tired of the angst of it all. Maybe I’m just curious about what else is out there besides constant writing and worrying about writing and obsessing about writing (or actually, not the writing itself but Everything Else around it), that I am able to see that failure is a word that belongs not to me. I haven’t failed. I did exactly what I set out to do: I wrote a book and wanted it published and it was.
Everything that came after that 1 book was a surprise and happy delight.
Skippity do dah day!