Failure: It's Important

JENN McKINLAY: As we step into the new year and plan our next goals and adventures, I want to remember why not achieving those goals and plans can be equally important. 

Failure matters. Yes, we all know it’s like zucchini or doing push-ups, good for you but not very yummy or fun. I don’t care what recipe is supposed to make zucchini taste better. Bleck! And I hate push-ups! Still, I eat zucchini and I do push-ups and I fail. I’m pretty good at all three, but I excel at failure because it’s important. Yes, even more important than zucchini or push-ups and apparently it’s genetic.

Way back when he was in elementary school, one of my hooligans came home from an event in which he had competed. During the testing, his mind had done that lovely panic thing where it goes blank and there is no muscle memory or any memory to draw from. He did the best he could but feared failure was looming. It was particularly painful because he had studied and practiced extra hard.

Hub and I knew it had gone horribly wrong when he went straight to his room and shut the door, requesting to be left alone. My mama antennae went berserk and it was all I could do to honor his request. Okay, yes, the Hub did sit on me for a bit but finally when we agreed he’d had enough time to process, I went to check on him.

I was allowed in. No small feat since we'd entered the tween years and zombie and superhero posters glared at me, warning me away from his adolescent sanctuary. I found my hooligan supine on his bed, staring at his ceiling. I reclined next to him and stared at the ceiling, too. I asked if he wanted to talk about it and he said no.

Clearly, he was willing to have company in his misery but not conversation, at least not direct conversation. Of course, this was a huge problem for me because I like to verbally analyze data pretty much until my equipment gives out. 

Finally, I cracked and said, “You know what I wish for you?”

“That I don’t fail,” he mumbled. He made it sound as if I were wishing for the impossible like the ability to become invisible or fly.

“No,” I said. “Actually, I want you to fail.” He gasped and I continued, “I also want you to have your heart broken and to know real poverty.”

The boy turned and gave me the hairy eyeball. “You know that’s not normal, right? I’m pretty sure normal parents don’t wish that for their kids.”

I shrugged. “How will you ever value money if you never know the lack of it? How will you ever appreciate true love if you never feel its loss? How will you know what you’re made of if you never fail?”

He was quiet for a moment and then asked, “How poor?”

“Pretty poor,” I said. “Like cashing in your change jar for groceries poor.”

“Were you ever that poor?”

“Daddy and I bought our first Christmas tree out of our change jar,” I said. “Best tree ever.”

We contemplated the ceiling some more.

“I still say other parents don’t say these things to their kids,” he said.

“Maybe,” I agreed. “Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

“Work harder, practice more, test again,” he said.

“Not quitting, huh?” I asked.

“How will I know what I’m made of if I quit?” he asked. Then he grinned. 

As it turned out, he didn't fail but he was mentally prepared if he did and later in life when he actually did fail - quite spectacularly - he was ready.

See? Failure is important. 

When I was six, I wanted to be a singer. I would sing and sing and sing, dreaming of the day I was filling stadiums with clamoring fans. I was in a variety of choirs all through school, but it soon became apparent that I was good but not great. It was a heart wrenching fail and I quit. 

When I went to college I decided to be an artist. I doodled a lot but really did not have an original thought in my head. It was another personal fail and I quit again. 

Then, I latched onto writing. I failed at it for a solid eight years, but it was the one passion I refused to quit. Somehow I knew deep down that this was what I was supposed to do. By trudging forth amid a wasteland of rejection, I did figure out what I was made of – pretty tough stuff and a whole lot of stories. I’m just beginning to think I’m okay at this wordsmithing thing, but I have a long way to go to really master my craft and I am absolutely fine with that. 

How about you, Reds and Readers, what failures have you overcome? What did you learn from it?

Fueled by failure

 HALLIE EPHRON: Recently I was talking to my sister Delia, a fantastic writer, about how much easier it is to start a novel than it is to finish it. You start off with a great situation, a compelling character, and get the storytelling ball rolling. Then somewhere in ACT II, you come to a dead stop, suddenly unsure what should happen next. Whatever I had planned starts to feel anemic. The story has no oomph.

I recognize that moment. It's why I abandoned my first novel. It's only in retrospect that I realize what was going on: I knew what I wanted to happen, but not why it mattered. How was it part of my main character's arc? How was her past driving the story? And how was what happens in the novel going to transform her?

I didn’t even know to ask those questions, but I could feel the story lying limp on the page.

It didn’t come to me like a blast from the blue. I stopped halfway through and started something new. I finished it, only to realize it had the same problem when editors rejected that second novel.

But this time, one of them actually told me what was lacking. (She said: “I need to care about what happened to your protagonist before the novel opens and what’s going to happen to him after the story ends.” And I hadn’t made her care.)

I was able to make changes to that novel and sold it, my first two-book deal with a major publisher. That success felt sweeter coming after failure, and it’s a lesson I’ve never forgotten.

Which brings me to today’s question. Was there some aspect of being a novelist that at first you failed at, and did you take away any realization that made you succeed later on?

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: Such a great question! I wonder what failure means. Making a wrong decision, getting rejected, missing the point, writing a not-the-best chapter, having a not-the-best idea? I think the only thing about “failure” is to see it as a step along the way. I hate feeling disappointed and unhappy and rejected as much as anyone–and sometimes it feels like I hate it MORE than anyone–but my logical brain thinks it has got to be a part of the learning process.

It’s true, sometimes I think–okay, universe, I KNOW this already, so can we just get to the good part? But for instance–my first manuscript got turned down by a lot of agents. Then–I changed the query letter, and the SAME manuscript was flooded with yeses. Failure or success?

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING: I’ve been embarrassingly fortunate as far as selling my books goes, so I don’t have traditional tales of failure. What I do have is a track record, beginning with my sixth book, of being unable to finish a manuscript anywhere near the deadline, and that definitely feels like failure.

I thought most of the reasons I wasn’t hitting the mark were environmental, but I live alone (with an adult daughter who makes no demands on me) and I can’t say one hour-long dog walk a day is taking up all my work time.

So I’ve had to dig down and address my various issues, which is scary, and I’ve come to the possibility that I need to re-train my brain to do sustained, deeply creative work over a period of hours. I used to do it daily, and it’s felt like a failure to not have that kind of focus on command.

I’m trying to think about it like exercise. I used to swim regularly, and haven’t since early 2020, and I know if I ever get back to the Y, I’ll be starting all over again ab initio.

So I’m hoping the cure for failure is like adding one lap a day to my workout. Everybody into the pool!

LUCY BURDETTE: Honestly, there’s always something to fail at in this business. Succeeding (at whatever level) takes a ton of perseverance, and also the willingness to step back and learn.

I had a year’s worth of no thank you’s on my first novel, FINAL ROUND, and then the publisher who bought the series based on Cassie the golfer didn’t want that first book. I did try arguing my point, explaining why that first book was so important, but you can imagine how that went!

It’s been twenty years now, which amazes me, and I’ve learned so much about writing and characters and publishing. One idea that keeps me wanting to write even though it’s hard, is that I can always get better. I desperately want to be the best I can be. I’ve also learned that sometimes a rejection has nothing to do with your work–it has to do with what the publisher *thinks* they can sell.

RHYS BOWEN: In many ways I’ve had a charmed life as far as writing is concerned. At the beginning there were definitely a lot of rejection letters when I was in my twenties and writing for children and YA. A steep learning curve about why the books of my English childhood did not fit with current American childhood. Then a big piece of luck, being asked to write for a bestselling series.

When I moved on to adult mysteries it really was starting at the bottom again. My first print run for Evans Above was 2500. Hardcover. Not too many people are going to know about this book. So I worked really hard at the promotion side, visiting every bookstore, speaking to every book group that invited me, going to every convention. And then making sure every subsequent book was better. The second book in the series got nominated for a Barry Award beside Ian Rankin and Michael Connelly.

My one satisfying story of failure into success was In Farleigh Field. I came up with the story for this book about twenty years ago. I showed it to my then-agent who said nobody was interested in WWII and it was insulting to write about people living comfortably in Britain when those in Europe were suffering so much.

So I put the idea aside, but it continued to haunt me. I got a new agent, by the way. And when I felt that I was secure enough in my writing career I showed her the partial manuscript. She loved it. My publishers not so much. Too far from my brand.

So a new publisher, a big risk, and 400,000 copies later it’s still going strong.

The one fear after winning awards and writing books that sell well is that the next book won’t live up to what readers expect, that I’ll get a review saying “not up to her usual standard”.

JENN McKINLAY: Epic failure on every level. If failure were offered as a major at university, I’d likely have my doctorate by now. In what ways did I fail? I failed at character, plot, story arcs, point of view, you name it, I mucked it up.

I wrote six full length novels before I finally sold one at the age of 31. I thought I was on my way. Nope. After three romantic comedies, the market dried up. Romcom was dead and I thought that was it, that was my shot, the ride was over.

But, I’m a contrary person with a raging case of Oppositional Defiant Disorder. Want me to do something? Tell me I can’t. I’ll show you. I rolled into mysteries and my career took flight.

Looking back, I realize the best thing that ever happened to me was to fail repeatedly. It made me work harder, smarter, and most importantly to write for myself and no one else. Once I wrote what I wanted to read, the game changed completely.

DEBORAH CROMBIE: I took a creative writing course after I graduated from college, when I was first thinking I might just might maybe maybe attempt to write something. Not mysteries, mind you, those were nowhere on my horizon yet, but I was working on poems and literary-ish short stories.

The instructor (continuing education class) said I had no talent and should not waste my time. Or his. Who even was this person???? What a horrible thing to do!!

And I was so discouraged that I didn't write, seriously, for at least another ten years. Now I think about my time in Edinburgh, when I could have been scribbling away at a J.K. Rowling-esque blockbuster! Wasted!

But eventually I reached a point where I was determined to write even if people laughed at me, which they did. Then I sold my first novel six months after I finished it, but the fact that I never had to deal with the stacks of rejection letters doesn't mean that I don't live in constant fear that I can't really write or that the next book won't be any good. I think self-doubt and fear of failure is just a given in the writing life and the only cure is to keep working.

HALLIE: I agree wholeheartedly -- keep working, proving to yourself to yourself, over and over again.

Was there some important goal in your life that you failed to reach, only to come back to and succeed, and what made the difference?