How to fail beautifully as a writer, as a human (I'm an expert)
I call this blog the resilient creative because a.) creative resilience was already taken and b.) I like to think that I know a thing or two about resilience.
Part of resilience is about finding ways to deal with failure. And I often feel I have failed more than most people I know. Is that true? Maybe not, but it sure feels like it.
As writers, we quickly get used to failure that can appear in various ways. We can get rejected, which I think is the most straightforward way of failing. Or, we can fail by quitting or comparing or not believing in ourselves.
At Ohio State, I was recently asked to help create a class for undergraduates that centers on resilience and, specifically, how to bounce back from failure.
To go beyond the empirical, I’ve been diving into studies and therapies and business theories and poetry and interviews to come up with the most engaging way of helping students understand what makes a person able to handle failure and even thrive because of it (rather than despite it).
Especially when the failure is recurrent. (What do we do then?)
As mentioned, I fail a lot. Writers do. I have piles of rejections. In fact, as I started packing to move, I found a little chest full of paper rejections from the years I first started submitting my writing to literary journals in my 20s. The chest was full.
I’ve had books flop and publication processes go horribly. Once, in my late twenties, a story I thought was my greatest work to date was published in a college journal I won’t name. It was a print journal from a prestigious place, and due to a lot of experiences I won’t name here, I wanted every word to be perfect. I edited and proofed and had friends check it.
When my copy came in the mail, I felt the bubble of excitement as I tore open the envelope. The journal itself featured a poignant image and felt silky to the touch. I flipped to my story and saw the title and smiled, then I read the first line. Typo.
I’ve failed at jobs. I’ve failed at getting jobs. I’ve failed as a friend. I’ve failed in initiatives as a business owner (I tried to put on a literary conference for Unleash last year that utterly failed). I’ve failed myself in conversations. I’ve presented job proposals to get funding I desperately needed and was ignored. I’ve had relationships with agents and friends fall apart. I’ve been ghosted, notably by my best friend when I was in my early 20s. I’ve been illogically upset numerous times due to a failure of emotional regulation.
Failure is not fun. And even if you’re used to it, the numbness of perseverance is not real. Unless you’re heavily medicated, it hurts.
“Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” —Samuel Beckett
In my research, and while reflecting on my life experiences (which a blurber of my forthcoming essay collection called “tumultuous”), I realized what it takes to fail … if not well, at least with some artistic flair.
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