It is extremely difficult to discuss failure, especially failure as a writer.
Most pop-psychology looks at failure as simply the precursor to success. Failure teaches humility, relieves the anxiety of perfectionism, programs the mind to think of alternatives. But sometimes there are no alternatives.
Edgar Allan Poe created some of the greatest work in the English language, but could never quite make a living as a writer, as the American publishing industry was in its infancy at the time he wrote. He was essentially doomed to failure, and is not around to enjoy his posthumous success.
Ultimately a true failed writer is one who never gets published, or who fails to even finish that one novel, or that one story, despite years of effort—or at least years of performing “efforts” for friends and family. When one speaks of failure as a writer, the subject quickly changes to...success!
When I pitched a panel on failure to the Associated Writing Programs conference, it was difficult to get writers to agree to appear on it, and the AWP rejected my idea anyway. I mentioned this failure to a few friends of mine and they were full of success-oriented advice: “Do a panel on how mistakes lead to success!” “Find some really successful writers and have them talk about their early failures!” Ugh. Will no-one rid me of this troublesome notion of success?
On some level, I am a success. I’ve published roughly a hundred short stories, mostly in science fiction and horror magazines and anthologies, and occasionally in literary journals and crime fiction venues. I’ve published a number of novels and story collections as well, exclusively with independent presses. I am an un-commercial writer of commercial fiction so failure is guaranteed, even if independent presses weren’t constantly imploding, failing to ship books on time, falling down on the job when it comes to copy-editing, and the like.
It is extremely difficult to discuss failure, especially failure as a writer.
Most pop-psychology looks at failure as simply the precursor to success. Failure teaches humility, relieves the anxiety of perfectionism, programs the mind to think of alternatives. But sometimes there are no alternatives.
Edgar Allan Poe created some of the greatest work in the English language, but could never quite make a living as a writer, as the American publishing industry was in its infancy at the time he wrote. He was essentially doomed to failure, and is not around to enjoy his posthumous success.
Ultimately a true failed writer is one who never gets published, or who fails to even finish that one novel, or that one story, despite years of effort—or at least years of performing “efforts” for friends and family. When one speaks of failure as a writer, the subject quickly changes to...success!
When I pitched a panel on failure to the Associated Writing Programs conference, it was difficult to get writers to agree to appear on it, and the AWP rejected my idea anyway. I mentioned this failure to a few friends of mine and they were full of success-oriented advice: “Do a panel on how mistakes lead to success!” “Find some really successful writers and have them talk about their early failures!” Ugh. Will no-one rid me of this troublesome notion of success?
On some level, I am a success. I’ve published roughly a hundred short stories, mostly in science fiction and horror magazines and anthologies, and occasionally in literary journals and crime fiction venues. I’ve published a number of novels and story collections as well, exclusively with independent presses. I am an un-commercial writer of commercial fiction so failure is guaranteed, even if independent presses weren’t constantly imploding, failing to ship books on time, falling down on the job when it comes to copy-editing, and the like.
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