When Risks Go Wrong
By Annie Neugebauer | May 3, 2019 |
“Blue mountains” by Adam Kubalica
I talk about fear and bravery a lot because they’re big parts of my writing life—and not just because I write horror. I encourage writers (including myself) to be brave and take risks. Ideally the groundwork of education, hard work, and patience is already laid so they’re smart risks. But once it is, we can’t get anywhere truly special without facing down fear and going for it. I believe that down to my bones.
And yet, sometimes risks don’t pay off. Sometimes we face fear only to fail. Sometimes boldness and bravery still aren’t enough.
What do we do when risks go wrong?
This is something I’ve struggled with quite often, I’m afraid. Part of being a big dreamer and a big risk-taker is failing a lot. There are all kinds of trite sayings about how failing just proves you tried, that it’s one step closer to succeeding, etc., but those things aren’t very comforting to me when I’m in that heartache phase. Not much is, to be honest.
That’s why I’m a big believer in giving myself time to grieve. When a risk goes wrong, I let myself take time to mourn the loss. Depending on exactly how big that risk was, that might mean taking a few moments with tears stinging my eyes or it might mean a week of changing course or it might even mean months of licking my wounds. I don’t mean that I throw an epic pity party or wallow in it just for the sake of wallowing; I just mean that I respect my emotions. They’re an unavoidable human reaction. Why pretend we can stop them?
Of course that also entails understanding when to move on. Some hurts can be kept fresh for far longer than they need to be, and that doesn’t benefit anyone. I wish there was a formula or some easy wisdom on this one, but if there is, I haven’t found it yet. All I know is that at some point, we need to move forward.
Often, moving forward means making new plans and/or setting new goals and accepting that these, too, come with inherent risk. If they’re worth anything, they have to. No risk, no gain, right? But how do we let ourselves risk again when we know how badly it can hurt when it goes wrong?
I take an eyes wide open approach. I’ve found, over much trial and error, that I cope better in the case of failure if I’m aware of the possible repercussions before I take that leap. It helps me brace for the worst, yes, but it also helps me be realistic in weighing my options. There are times when the risk really isn’t worth it. There’s no shame in acknowledging that. We don’t have to bully ourselves into things we aren’t actually ready for just to get bravery points.
So I brainstorm my options. I weigh the best outcomes against each other, and the worst. Often this involves making lists or talking it out with my husband or a writing friend. Occasionally, on really sticky situations, it might mean emailing my agent or mentor or an outside resource who has some special experience or knowledge. This also involves emotional honesty, because quite often the risks are less concrete (expense, energy, time) and more nebulous (embarrassment, exposure, reputation). I try to really imagine the worst-case so I can get a taste for how it might feel, and how hard that feeling might be to cope with should it come to that.
A made-up example: let’s say I wanted to enter a writing contest of some kind that entailed putting my work (poem, story, novel, personal essay, whatever) on a forum for other people to read, critique, and vote on. I don’t think I’ve ever done that, but I can imagine it. Maybe the essay I think has the best chance of winning is deeply personal and exposes part of my life I don’t normally talk about online. Let’s say I’m a newer writer still who doesn’t have tons of confidence in my skill yet. Let’s say there are no pen names allowed, and that it costs $50 to enter.
What am I risking? Fifty bucks, to start. So my financial situation alone might dictate that this isn’t worth the risk. But if not, what else is at risk? Well, I might not be ready for critique, if I’m a new writer. I might especially not be ready for anonymous critique about a deeply personal topic. And I might not be ready for friends and family to read my work. And I might not be ready to accept that I’m not at a certain skill level yet—or that people may judge my subject matter. So I’m risking money, hurt pride, a breach of privacy, exposure to the public before I’m ready, and possible exposure to my loved ones.
Is that risk worth it? That depends entirely on what they payoff is, and how I feel about those risks. If I’m ready to take them, then why the hell not? How ready I am might also depend on how big the prize is. Is the risk of those bad outcomes worth the potential positives? For me, probably not if the prize was just a digital badge to put on my blog. But maybe if the prize is a residency at a prestigious program that might teach me a lot—or a huge monetary payout. Or maybe I think the experience itself is valuable: exposure and critique and judgement as a learning curve.
Only we can decide which risks are right for us, and when, and why. Weighing options and being honest help, but at some point we usually have to trust our gut, too. There’s not always, or even usually, a right answer. That’s why we call it risk.
But risk is ultimately necessary for success. How much and how fast is up to us, but at some point we all have to look it in the eye. For me, that works best when I’m honest with myself, carefully weigh the options, and make my choice knowing that it still might fail. That way, if it does go wrong, I have some solace in knowing that I chose the best way I knew how. Then I let myself mourn the loss as long as I need to before I pick myself up and move on.
What about you? How do you deal with risk? How do you cope when one goes wrong?
[coffee]
Annie Neugebauer is a two-time Bram Stoker Award-nominated author with work appearing and forthcoming in more than a hundred publications, including magazines such as Cemetery Dance, Apex, and Black Static, as well as anthologies such as Year’s Best Hardcore Horror Volumes 3 & 4 and #1 Amazon bestsellers Killing It Softly & Fire. She’s a member of the Horror Writers Association and a columnist for Writer Unboxed and LitReactor. She’s represented by Alec Shane of Writers House. She lives in Texas with two crazy cute cats and a husband who’s exceptionally well-prepared for the zombie apocalypse. You can visit her at www.AnnieNeugebauer.com for news, poems, organizational tools for writers, and more.
Great post, Annie. I love how you face your fears head on, and don’t shy away from the possible outcomes. I also respect how you allow your emotions stage time. Great advice.
I’ve mentioned this quote on WU before, but it’s my favorite and appropriate to your post: “Fear is just excitement in need of an attitude adjustment.”
I truly believe this.
How do I approach risk? I research. I do my homework. I gather as much knowledge (regarding the risk) as possible. Because of this, when I jump–and I do jump–there is no doubt in my mind I have planned the best course of action. What happens then is out of my control.
For me, this makes it easier to shrug off the negative outcomes.
Thanks for the wonderful Friday post!
Hugs
Dee
Award-winning author of A Keeper’s Truth
Thank you, Dee! I sounds like we’re pretty like-minded when it comes to that pre-choice stage. :)
When I self-published my first novel seven years ago and people left cruel reviews (and I don’t mean critical, which would be fine; I mean cruel), I had a hard time dealing with it. I was dejected and angry…but also defiant. I started writing the next one out of sheer stubbornness.
Since then I’ve written three complete novels. Each required one to two years of tenacity–on weekdays waking up at 5:30 to write as much as I could before leaving for my full-time job, on weekends gluing myself to my computer desk from dawn ’til dusk and rushing to do all the chores at 8 p.m. on Sundays.
Each also failed to launch. I have a Gmail archive of rejections from literary agents so large, for a search of any keyword I’ll get a screen full of results with the subject: “QUERY: [Title Here].”
As you can see, it’s easy to focus on my “failures” because there have been so many. But I have many little successes too that I often forget about. When I look back at the comments on my first novel now, only a few of them were cruel. The majority were complimentary and supportive. The rejections from agents who read my manuscripts are full of encouragement.
Every writing project is a risk. Mourning failure is natural. It also helps to remind ourselves not just of “what went wrong,” but also of the positive reinforcement it’s too easy to discard in the face of disappointment.
That is so true. We really are wired to focus on the negative, but it’s vital to keep that in check and look back on (and forward to) the positive as well. I’m so glad you’ve persevered and found perspective on your progress! And that you keep taking risks–it’s definitely true that each book is a risk, so really, we must!
Be realistic. Assess risks. Leap. Fail. Grieve. Move on. Yep, that pretty much expresses it. Sounds familiar!
What I’d add to your excellent look into an all-too-common experience in a writer’s life is an additional step: Learn. I mean, learn from the experience. Analyze what went wrong, decide what’s needed for things to go right the next time, make a plan of action.
When I’ve fallen flat–and that still happens even after twenty books–there is always something I could have done better, or that I didn’t know how to do at all. Most recently, mastering the issue of voice–meaning the *right* voice for a particular story–has been an evident lesson to learn. So, off I went to analyze and study.
I’ve found a solution, I think, and have added another step: Test. Try it out in lower-risk contexts. For instance, two days ago here in the comments area of WU, I took a tiny, easy risk and posted the first two paragraphs of my WIP to see how they’d land. The reaction, a couple of likes and a favorable comment, were a nice encouragement. I may be moving in the right direction.
Sure enough, you have to fail to succeed. But that success won’t happen without learning from the stumbles. I’ve done a lot of learning–ha!–and honestly, that’s been the best part of this writing journey. Failure? Learning? Let’s call it growth. Growth always feels good.
Excellent point, Benjamin! We are always learning, aren’t we? Let’s call it growth, indeed. :) Thanks for your thoughts!
Love this post – thank you Annie!
One thing that hasn’t been mentioned yet in the discussion is how much of failure in a writer’s life takes the shape of “The Great Wall of Silence.” I hate and fear this wall.
And yet in my latest foray into the query trenches, I found I had to face the wall in my head before I could find the courage to jump. I realized I was coming up with all kinds of ways to EVADE the deafening silence — but in the end I just had to know I could survive it. And then to imagine what exactly it would feel like. When I did this–as in, really made myself feel it–I knew I could take it. I’m tough.
But as Benjamin said above – what helps most is being determined to learn from whatever comes. If I know I can learn something, I can find a silver lining in just about anything.
After all, how many times can I make the EXACT same mistake?
(Don’t answer that)
Haha, I won’t answer that. ;) Yes, that’s a wonderful example of really imagining the worst to know that we can take it, and deciding that it’s worth the risk. Good for you!! And I fully agree about reflecting and learning–vital parts of the process. <3
Hi Annie – I’ve been doing what you mentioned in the post – putting myself and my work out there by taking online classes where you share your work with the instructor and other writers during the workshop. Of course I was scared at first but I did it anyway. The result has been so amazing. I’ve gotten phenomenal comments on my stories, some of which I now know are done and ready for placement in my third book Little Earthquakes – Stories and the others are ‘almost ready’ thanks to the wonderful tweaks other writers have given me to make the stories even better. Happy Friday. Dunno if that’s you climbing those rocks, but if you haven’t seen the documentary that won the Oscar this year Free Solo I highly recommend it. Talk about risk!!!
Mary Eastham, Author, Squinting Over Water – Stories & The Shadow of A Dog I Can’t Forget
It’s not me in the photo, no. :) I’m thrilled to hear how your own risks have paid off with the online workshops! I’m so glad you were brave. Thank you, Mary!
The strange thing about the choices we make is that no matter how analytical and logical we try to be, we make choices with our emotions. Yeah, we go with our gut.