The Disappointing Novel: The Shame of it All
By Kathryn Magendie | April 14, 2018 |
Photo by: BRICK 101-Lego Godzilla, Creative Commons
SHām, noun, 1. “… a painful feeling of humiliation or distress caused by the consciousness of wrong or foolish behavior….” Synonyms: humiliation, mortification, chagrin, ignominy, embarrassment, indignity, discomfort ….
When you write the Disappointing Novel—the one that makes you cringe when you think about its missed opportunities—you experience a feeling of deep failure.
Failure really isn’t so bad. It comes. It goes. It comes and goes.
But, oh, then there is Shame.
Shame permeates your marrow. Shame makes something wonderful you once had go dead inside. Shame pummels your heart squishy, gnaws at your bones as if you are the carrion to its flesh-eaters.
Shame twists your brain into knot upon knot upon knot—
Shame that you wrote a book full of missed opportunities. Shame that you handed that book to your editor. Shame that your publishers accepted it, just as it was, because they had faith in you. Shame that it was published, just as it was, because they had faith in you. Shame that it didn’t sell like a house-a-fire after your publishers said, “This book will be your next best seller!” and it ain’t and likely never’t wilt be because you didn’t write it right. You wrote it wrong. Oops.
“Oh, the book this could have been, if I ….” You shake your head sloooowwly back and forth. Tsk Tsk.
Then there is the well-intentioned friend who serves you Shame on a burnt-black platter. “This book doesn’t have the heart and soul of your other books. What happened? And what’s up with those sex scenes? They’re weird.” Um, those sex scenes are RAGE RAGE RAGE! All the corners of that book are FIRE and RAGE. Don’t you also see the beauty buried in the RAGE? Don’t you see it?
No. Of course she didn’t see it. You didn’t do your job. You didn’t write it right. You wrote it wrong.
You are ashamed that RAGE took over your life and Godzilla-stomped it to smithereens and made your brain go all wonkity where you couldn’t even write a goddamned book right and you wrote it wrong.
You lovingly pick up your other books and smooth the covers with your gentle sweet hand. But with the Disappointing Missed Opportunities Book, you often pretend it’s not there. “What? That book?” you say. “Oh, that’s my Rage Book. Yeah. That’s the book I wrote when I Godzilla-stomped through my life. That’s the book I wrote when I decided to end my 16-year marriage. That’s the book I wrote when I began drinking too much liquor and eating crap for food. That’s the book I wrote when I isolated myself inside myself. That’s the book where I almost lost the last bit of my Self. Yeah. That book. Whatevs. I didn’t write it right. I wrote it wrong. Dammit.”
The missed opportunities of the poor little disappointing novel rise up and swallow you whole. And in the dark gooshy belly of that great beast you wallow around until you create enough friction to blow fiery breaths of disappointing novel RAGE! Until all that is left under the rubble is—
Shame.
And even when you get your ever-lovin’ shit back together and pull the Godzilla-stompity-stomped pieces back to a whole and trade your liquor and bad food for the running shoes and dumbbells you’d left in a corner, you still can’t get over that book. “It could have been so beautiful, so cool, so so so—so much better . . . ” you wistfully, regretfully say, once again, needlessly and pointlessly and tiresomely, boringly.
(Because you know you didn’t write that book for you. You wrote it for Not You.)
Shame. Shame. Shame on you! You didn’t write it right; you wrote it wrong. You shameful little shamester!
Wow.
Okay.
Is there anyone out there in any realm of Life’s Work who has not had a bad day, month(s), year(s), book, piece of art, fallen on the dance floor to a full house, fumbled the football in the last seconds of the Super Bowl, recorded a song that plummeted down the charts—etc etc etc etc on and on and blah blah blah!
And it is in those moments of our Failure and Shame that we are supposed to rise above it. Be all kickass and go do it all over again. And we should. We really truly should!
But Shame, unlike Failure, is insidiously sneaky. Failure gets up in your face and bitch-slaps you until you are so mad at it you bitch-slap it back—take that Failure! I’ll show you! But Shame creepily creeps up on you and whispers nasties in your ear. You think it’s your own voice, but it’s not your voice at all. It’s every voice who ever told you that you suck, that you are Less Than. It’s very quiet, Shame is. Unlike loud Failure. You don’t even know Shame has you by the throat until you are choked half to death.
Shame should be ashamed of itself. Ha!
What if we told ourselves we are Human and not to be held to impossible standards of self-imposed perfection or some other pedestal we climb on to? What if we told ourselves it’s okay to feel disappointed if we write a novel (or whatever it is you do) that isn’t quite what we wanted, but not okay to feel Shame over it? What if we stopped comparing ourselves to others, because they aren’t us but they are they and why do we want to be someone else when we’re pretty damned awesome? What if we consider that maybe, just maybe, even those who we see as successful may very well struggle with many of the same concerns and worries and disappointments that we do? And if they don’t and their life and bank accounts are all nifty-keeny-cool, then why would that make us feel bad about ourselves—it has absolutely nothing to do with us.
What if we leave Shame by the side of the road? (I’m picturing me driving down a lonely old road, slowing down my 20-year-old Subaru, and kicking Shame to the curb, watching it stand there incredulously as I quickly drive away. But then, now I’m feeling sorry for Shame. Dammit! Now I have to back up and go pick up Shame and take it somewhere safe, but far far away from me. Maybe there’s an island where lots of other Shames live and they can gleefully shame each other because that’s their Thang, and Shame shouldn’t feel bad about being Shame—uh . . . where was I?)
And what’s not haha-funny but life-is-funny is that the worst things didn’t happen to you. You worried and raged and hid and cried and drank and acted like an ass—all for nothing. Because after you became tired of stomping and slobbering around, you took a deep breath and got right back to your Self.
When you stand up tall and keep striding strongly forward, Shame has a hard time keeping up. Shame is kind of a weak little shitter. It is rather “easy” to be rid of Shame. When you don’t entertain it, it grows super bored and moves on! Yeah!
Hold on . . . *grabs that book and gives it a big hug and a kiss, because the poor little thing needs it.* It’s not such a bad little book. It’s not bad at all. It has a gorgeous cover, and a title that you are proud of—the only book your publishers let you title your own little self. And some people love it and say it’s their favorite of your books. And are you going to call those nice readers wrong? Well, there you go now. La Tee Dah, y’all!
Yeah. We got this! WHUPOW!
Have you written the Disappointing Novel (or whatever disappointed you) full of missed opportunities that perhaps made you feel shame? How have you handled that?
Author, Content Editor at Edge of Arlington, and along with Angie Ledbetter, former Publishing Editor of The Rose & Thorn online journal.
Her short stories, essays, poetry, and photography have been published in print and online publications. Her novels are available in print and ebook. TENDER GRACES, Magendie’s first novel, was an Amazon Kindle Number 1 best-seller.
She lives in the Smoky Mountains in a little log home in the Cove at Killian Knob in Maggie Valley, Western North Carolina with her wonky-toothed little dog named Bear. Trees surround her. The mountains hug around her. Critters love her. Crows follow her around the Cove. Bears stare at her through her window. One day she’ll finish another novel.
Some or all of this is true.
Isn’t the sheer staying of shame incredible?
True story: went to bed last night trying to think of a new word for the scene I’d written yesterday (described a lazy soldier hiding from his duty as a ‘slouch.’ My falling-asleep-self was convinced there’s a better word). I woke up at 2am and my brain was still working on it. Then, BAM! A kid who used to work for me 25 years ago at the lumberyard popped into my head. If you look up ‘slouch’ in the dictionary, there’s a picture of this kid.
One day I caught the kid dozing on big pile of lumber wrappers that we saved for reuse. It was the last straw. I really tore into him. It was ugly. And while I wasn’t the type of boss to debase an employee, I know I stepped over the line that day. Know how I know? Because later that day, after his shift, I got a visit… From his mama. Yep, the kid’s mother marched into my office and read me the riot act. In the brief spaces she left me, I tried to plead her child’s litany of halfass employee behavior. She bluntly told me that none of it mattered–that NO one deserved to hear what I had said to her son.
And you know what? She was absolutely right. I knew it in the moment. So when I woke up in the middle of the night in 2018, looking for a word for slouch, the shame I felt that day in 1993, in my lumberyard office, facing that fierce (and righteous) mama–well, it burned in my cheeks and in my chest.
Now that’s some staying power. Wonder if the kid is still a slouch. Probably not. But I’ll bet his mama is still fierce! (Hope I never see her again.)
Wishing you peace and release, my friend. Though I’m unpubbed, I’m guessing the best way to achieve those two things is by writing the next one “right.” Which I am absolutely sure you’ll do. I’m looking forward to reading it. :-)
But you know what? I hope that kid learned something from you that his momma didn’t teach him: work ethic. That you don’t get by in the world—not effectively—by taking advantage of a kind boss or anyone else for that matter, by being lazy and not doing your work. Because maybe there is a line of people just waiting (or was) to work for a boss such as you.
So, no more shame on that. Maybe you didn’t cross a line at all and his momma’s been bailing him out all over the place; maybe still does!
As for me – All is now well. I am writing again :) *heart*
Hi, Kathryn:
Better the trouble that follows death than the trouble that follows shame. –Irish Proverb
The resounding, life-shrinking awfulness of shame is that, though it is felt internally, its reverberations echo outward. It’s social, not merely psychological.
We don’t feel crippling shame over miscues that happen in private. We only feel that shattering sense of What Have I Done? when others can see how we’ve failed.
And we may inadvertently intensify the shame by imagining others see us as grotesquely as we see ourselves.
So one antidote to shame is a reality check. Ask a true friend, one who won’t butter you up: How bad was it really?
I wrote a novel no one bought and I was sure it poisoned me with publishers forever. I ended up turning it into a short story that was named one of the five best Stories of the Week at Narrative Magazine for 2016-2017. So hey, not all THAT bad.
I just submitted a book that got roundly rejected by everyone but “the final house.” My agent crowed about the book and me. (That should always be a tip-off. Go back and be brutal.) I did go back. I cut 50 pages/12,500 words from the accepted manuscript. I really do believe in it now. But if I’d let it go, I would have probably ended up telling myself something like: “You shameful little shamester!” (Love that.)
Wow indeed. Great post. Thanks. Write on!
Yup. If I had held on to that book until my life wasn’t so upheaved, I would have finished it with a clear head. That and not trying to write something someone suggested I write “so I could make some money” – money I so badly needed so I wouldn’t lose my house and could pay my bills on a one-income household.
Your comment is rather awesomey :D
But can’t look back, right? Right!
And WHUPOW! on that short story story – ! That made me majorally smile.
And you know what? Nope, that book isn’t that bad — it’s just . . . Not quite right. :D :D :D
I’ve written a lot of crap that I’m not proud of, but I’ve never been ashamed of it. It was the best I could do at the time. For me shame is something wrong you did to others. If what you write causes you shame, don’t let others see it. Start again. Failure is a critical element of learning. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and get to the business of doing your job.
HA! I had written up a whole answer and then I realized I was just feeling shamed by your comment on my article about shame – laughing. So I deleted it.
One thing strong independent women do is allow themselves to feel sorry for themselves or feel bad about themselves or disappointment without letting that destroy their lives. We get up, we start again, or we get up and decide we don’t wanna start that again, that we want something else. Right now, I’m doing something else.
WHUPOW!
PS – no, shame is not always what you did to others – it is often what others have done to you that affects your outlook on life, how you live that life, how you perceive the world.
I guess everyone 18 & over has uncountable shamings stored in their DNA.
Listening to mental shame is entertaining
Monkey Mind. Which arises from that portion of the human brain that screams, “Don’t step off the cliff.” “There you go, you did it again!” This is the noisy judgmental part of the brain. To shut it down I thank the monkey, send him to the back, and carry on with whatever I’m doing.
We are all here to learn. We all fail at something reapetedly. We try again. This is life. On we go. We have no time to waste on negative thoughts. Just continue writing the best book you can. That’s brave, smart, even heroic. I’m rooting for you!
This may be the most truthful and useful post I’ve ever read. Thank you for sharing something so private with us.
I think what happened is the Real Life Stuff was all mixed up in the time I wrote that book — that’s where all the Bad Crap came from. Like, it’s easy for me to get over a book – I’d never cry or rail or moan over a book–there’s always another book! But, that book represents all the really bad life stuff that was happening at the time, full of bad behavior and bad choices.
But! Yes! We get up, we go on, and we are strong! I’ve always been strong – and that’s why right now I’m sitting in front of this laptop with a big happy feeling in my chest and something yummy simmering on the stove, and music on, while I wait for company that makes me laugh.
Life is good, isn’t it?
*smiling at you* and thank you for the comment – this was a difficult post to write. Made me feel uber vulnerable – which anyone who knows me knows I detest feeling vulnerable! :D
A quote from Theodore Roosevelt comes to mind:
“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat. ”
Like TR’s doer of deeds, an author “in the Arena … who strives valiantly,” should feel no shame for his or her efforts, regardless of the outcome.
How beautiful and strong and wonderful that quote is. Thank you for posting that. I’m going to print it out and put it here in my study!
Putting ourselves out there is difficult isn’t it? But I’ll tell you this: the few years I walked away from it all? I came to know that we do this because we love it – the words, the characters, the language. Walking away is not an option. Right? Right! :)
Until now, I couldn’t identify my feelings toward *that book*–the one that just about did me in. The hot mess I turned into my editor came out okay in the end, but I can’t look it without cringing.
But yes, it’s not a bad book. Not bad at all. In fact, it does something none of others do, and I’m proud of that.
Thanks for putting words on a feeling and giving Shame a poke in the eye.
What a great way to look at it “… it does something none of the others do” :) I like that!
I think being proud of our work, no matter the financial outcome or critical outcome or comparing to our own books or how difficult it was to write—whatever—is not only important, but necessary.