Story Fail, Critique Win! Or, My Story Will Rise Again!

Red Bleed by Jon Coffelt

Another post about failing and just how awesome it can be!

I brought the first half of my novelette, Izzy Crow, to my local critique group on Tuesday night where it pretty much totally fell down. While everyone agreed that the writing was fine on the micro level (I like to think that I’ve achieved some competency in that area), the most consistent reaction overall was confusion. I want to elicit many emotions in a reader, but confusion is definitely not one of them.

While writing, I had hoped that I was pulling things off brilliantly. Yet I’m not surprised by my writing fail. Whenever I’m drafting I’m working hard to create the best story I ever have (my goal with each new project). I believe that you have to go into the first draft with a little hubris. A hubris born from an original idea so awesome that it inspired me to undertake the whole mad project in the first place. Hubris is also fuel for the engine that powers me through the thousands of words it takes to get the mangled corpse of the brilliant idea down on the page.

Another other thing that informs my first drafts is a piece of advice that I remember from last year’s Armadillocon. Unfortunately, I can’t remember who said it. It was during the opening session, when all the authors, editors, and various experts were arrayed across half the room, firing all their words of advice at us acolytes like so much buckshot. The advice was:

Don’t be afraid to fail.

A lot of things have to happen if you want to continue to get better. You have to show up and do the work and you have to learn the craft, but you can’t just keep coloring inside the lines. Failing is all about putting yourself out there. Trying something crazy, untenable, something nobody’s ever tried before, because if you always stay safe inside your zone of competency, you’ll never really breakthrough. I believe that to create something great, something transcendent, you have to keep making that leap. Or as Robert Browning put it:

"Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, Or what’s a heaven for?"

And that leap guarantees failure. That’s why failure is my friend. I really believe that you can’t find out what doesn’t work – until it doesn’t work. You can’t skip failing, just like you couldn’t skip falling down when you were learning to walk.

As for as the critique: I don’t bring a piece of writing to the group until I feel like it’s at a point were people can at least see what I’m trying to achieve. But by the middle draft, it’s been just me and the story for so long and I’m so deep into it that I can’t judge it any more. I really can’t tell if it’s great or terrible. And honestly, I’m usually a little bored with it too. Hearing everyone discuss what they saw – and didn’t see – in the story, can both reset my compass, and get me fired up about it all over again.

The group was able to tell me where they were confused and why, and what they were (and mostly weren’t) getting out of it emotionally. This is invaluable. They tossed around a lot of ideas that really got my brain cooking. Instead of coming home depressed that this piece of writing wasn’t working, I was excited and stayed up way too late restructuring, reoutlining, and sketching in the scenes that will make this into a different, but definitely better, story.

Quitting

Yeah, sorry Story A Day. Like National Novel Writing Month, it's a great concept and got me really worked up and (this is important) set me on a more productive course. I have generated and written more complete drafts in these past two weeks, than maybe ever.

This happened because I tried this challenge, but failing it has showed me something about my process. And this year is all about me figuring out my process. How to generate and manage new ideas while drafting material and shaping them into stories. And how to keep up with revising what I wrote last week. I would like to write a novel starting in 2013, but I don't want to entirely give up writing short stories so there's a lot to figure out.

I discovered that yes I can generate and draft a flash fiction story in a day, but I also found out that I cannot know how long any given story will be once I start writing it. Starting something requires an emotional committment, which means I must to see it through to the end even if doesn't happen for 6,000 words or more. Given my commitments I cannot hole up for 25 hours to write a novelette so Story A Day, while it's wonderful - is not a great fit for me.

So I've set some new goals. Actually they're old new goals as in ones I've set before, only this time I seem to be achieving them!

• Write 1,000 words a day (That gives me one standard length story a week or a couple shorter ones.)
• Keep up with revisions
• Try to submit one story a week (it won't be that week's story because, you know, revising)

For now to heck with deadlines. It's all about keeping things moving through the pipeline.

Rejected but not Dejected

Defoe's Manuscript of Robinson Crusoe rejected by the Publishers
by Edward Matthew Ward

Every writer must deal with rejection whether it's the gatekeepers of traditional publishing or no traffic at the Amazon Marketplace.

I'm not saying I'm immune to feeling down some days. Like this last Sunday when I got three rejections in one day. It can be tough. I'm submitting to pro and semi-pro markets, so while my hopes are high, my expectations are a bit more realistic. I do not say that to denigrate my work. Everyday I am working to tell better stories, to become a better writer, but I know that I am still climbing that learning curve.

I have been getting nice rejections. Some days it feels like those editors are killing me with kindness. Here is a sampling of editorial notes accompanying some of my rejections:

• "It's nicely written and I enjoyed reading it, but overall it didn't quite win me over, I'm afraid." 
•  "It was quite clever and we enjoyed reading it, but it's not quite what we need at the present time. We hope to see another submission from you sometime soon." 
• "P.S. A tough decision." 
•  "While it made the second round of consideration, I'm afraid it is not exactly what we are looking for at this moment." 
•  "There's good writing here, but I found that the speculative elements used in the story were too conventional for us." 
• "P.S. Almost made our second round." 
•  "While the writing was clean and clear, I felt the story didn't really do enough to enthrall the reader." 
• "You got close with this one ... Not this one, but maybe your next one. Send us another story."
• "Again, good writing, but not an irresistible story. Do you have another one you're willing to let us read?" 
• "I loved the feel and details of the world and of the society, and how they meshed, but I didn't feel as much of a sense of urgency or disquietude in the narrator's initial situation ... to seize me as much as I was hoping.  Please feel free to submit other work in the future."

It actually does feel good seeing all that editorial encouragement lined up. My rejections with a line from the editors out number my form rejections, so I take that as a good sign. I work for a scientific journal where manuscripts are put through a review process, and so I get to send out many rejection letters myself. I know what a rare thing it is to append any encouragement to a "no," as you never know what authors will read into the most innocuous phrases. Since these editors don't know me from Adam (more aptly Eve), even a few words means a lot.

Forbes recently ran a piece titled Don't Publish that Book! about taking the time to get good before putting yourself out there. John Mayer is quoted saying,

"The period of time before you become well known is an essential opportunity for you to find your voice and mature your talent."

I couldn't agree more. I feel like I am solidly in the journeyman stage of my writing. I'm getting better but I'm not quite there yet. All the rejections are part of the process. They inspire me not only to write but to strive to write better, to make each story just a little bit better than the last one.

The Best of the Rejection Collection

This book recently provided some salve for me, partly because some of the cartoons are hilarious, and while I love the New Yorker, yeah, there are places they won't go. It was the introduction where the cartoonist showed how many ideas he generates and drafts before submitting a few to his editors (who will only maybe pick one), that really inspired me. As I continue to look for the keys to the kingdom of storytelling, this made me realize that if I'm trying to create something superlative, I've got to generate a lot of material.

You don't get the cream of the crop without a crop.

The Uses of Failure

I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work. 
-Thomas Edison

We've all heard it before: failure is the path to success! Or something like it, and it's supposed to make you feel, what? Better? Does it? And what does that really mean?

Part of the problem is that the word failure covers a lot of ground. Today, it even passes for entertainment. Laugh at people's failures, post them on your Facebook page, share them with your friends... One thing the Fail Blog makes clear is that there are a million ways to fail,

and a myriad of ways to succeed.

To put it in the language of art, you fail in pursuit of a perfection that you will never attain. Oh noble failure. Honestly, this does not do it for me as a writer.

I think it's better to use failure the way an inventor or a scientist does. When an experiment fails you examine your results and adjust your methods and run it again. Keep what works and throw out what doesn't. Learn, grow, innovate, refine. Rinse & repeat.

The arrows on these signs should be pointing in the SAME direction.

Part of what inspired this post is Neal Stephenson's excellent essay Innovation Starvation, which is a big picture look at what I would call a collective failure of nerve. 

Innovation can’t happen without accepting the risk that it might fail. The vast and radical innovations of the mid-20th century took place in a world that, in retrospect, looks insanely dangerous and unstable. Possible outcomes that the modern mind identifies as serious risks might not have been taken seriously—supposing they were noticed at all—by people habituated to the Depression, the World Wars, and the Cold War, in times when seat belts, antibiotics, and many vaccines did not exist.

Creating, honestly creating, involves both mastering craft and breaking new ground. The world you inhabit while you are creating should feel just as dangerous and unstable as the world that gave birth to the space race and all the fabulous innovation that it brought to our world. You just have to keep trying, failing, trying to get better, to keep putting yourself out there. In the words of Samuel Beckett -

"Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try Again. Fail again. Fail better."