Failed Writer's Journey: It is Okay to Fail

I have been, as mentioned, rather ill the last week and a half. I am out of the hospital, but the infection that sent me there this time, as opposed to the dehydration that sent me there before, has not entirely cleared up. Eating and speaking are difficult, and this is the first time I have had the energy for anything but family or work in days. It is a reminder, to get all sappy on people, that writing is hard.

Writing is not, at this point, a remunerative profession. There are very few ways into the middle-class life as a writer and fewer jobs that serve as apprenticeships where people can live on their work as they learn. There may be junior programmer potions; there are almost no junior writer positions. Most writers eek out what working time they can as they can, squirreled away from time with friends and family. A lot has to go correct for that writing to take place, and almost anything — childcare emergency, extra time at work, a week and a half playing tag with a hospital — can steal those moments away.

That is partly why I roll my eyes at people who give advice insisting that you have to write every day. No, man. I have to survive every day. Writing sometimes ain’t on that list. It is also why I don’t mind labeling myself as a failure, something some readers have objected to. Because I have failed, and that is okay.

In the last four years, I have completed four novels, sent out two, written one terrible screenplay and a handful of short stories. None of them has come close to being published. That is failure. You can sugarcoat it all you want, but I have conspicuously failed to get other people to give me money for my writing. More importantly, I have conspicuously failed to write something compelling enough for another person to say “yes, I want to help that get seen in the world”. I have not, by my own goals, succeeded. I am not, in any meaningful sense, a writer.

But I also did complete several works. I also did enjoy the process of writing each one. I also, I hope, became a better writer with each page. Which is why I am okay with being a failure. The process has, I think, brought me some measure of contentment. Writing, for me, is enjoyable. And enjoyment has value. And failure, of course, brings its own rewards.

Failure brings with it the possibility of improvement, the spur to try amore, to ry different. It allows for reminders that life is not just a competition, that there are other things you can and should be doing to be a complete human.

Am I ever going to successful? Probably not. As noted, writing is a hard business to break into. I have no connections, no MFA, no special biography that makes me uniquely suited to write a specific story, no platform (though I love each and every one of you reading these) to speak of and, obviously, not yet an appropriate level of professionalism in my writing. But that’s okay. Lots of people fail at lots of things and they are usually better for the attempts. That may not be the most inspiring message, but it is often the best we have.