Thursday! 3-7: Failing Doesn't Make Me (or You) a Failure.

I’m afraid I have failed again.

No, that’s not quite right. I’ve failed several times. See, even though I’ve been running around, helping get my Dad to his appointments and my wife to work and taking some driving pressure off my Mom here and there, I figured I could work some decent writing into the gaps. I’d have hours waiting in the car for an appointment to end or a couple hours on a weekday evening. My notebook is not often far from me. The poems would, no doubt come. I even had plans for them!

Except the poems didn’t come. Nothing came, not even a solid poem idea¹. I even tried to put myself on deadline. That didn’t work either. No poems. No stories. Nothing I wanted to accomplish with my art got accomplished. I failed. What’s worse, I failed myself into a muscle tension issue that knotted my shoulders up so hard I could barely turn my head or sleep without pain. That was an unexpected fun little bonus!²

I had wanted to treat you to a little Christmas story as well — nothing big, but a thousand words or so. That didn’t show up either, not even a line.

So, having failed in nearly every creative venture I’ve attempted for at least a month, I am undoubtedly a failure, right? A real artist would have plowed through and done the work, made the magic, written the words! A real artist would have gotten up off the couch on those heavy evenings, shaken himself briskly, given himself a good talking-to, and gotten to it! That’s what almost every piece of writing advice I consulted over the past few weeks has said — just get up and write.

I failed, flat out. There’s no disguising it behind different words or a curtain of excuses. But, do you know what? I’m not discouraged. I’m not even sad. See, I know a little something about failure³: Failure isn’t a finality, but a lesson. The poems I failed to write aren’t gone forever. I can⁴ write them later — tonight or tomorrow or next week. The plan I had to write in the gaps didn’t work, but I know why, and that makes my next writing plan better because I know another way not to go about it.⁵

This isn’t one of those bright and shiny newsletters where I blow sparkly fairy dust up your cabooses about how every failure is just a success you didn’t have. Failure is failure. It stinks. It’s discouraging. It makes you think you’re less than you really are. But failure is also an opportunity. No fooling. Failure can give you useful information about your creative process. Maybe you’re too rigid in your plans or too less. Maybe you don’t give yourself enough room to shift from one mindset to your artistic mindset. Maybe…well, maybe a lot of things. Only you can know what they are, like only I can know what lessons I take from my failures.

I will tell you what I’ve learned about myself over the past month. Maybe you can use it yourself, or maybe you can take heart from it. After all, if I can learn something useful about my failure aside from Jimmie, you are a miserable failure, even at the thing you want to do most in the world, so you might as well quit, you might be able to as well!

First off, I learned I can’t set my mind to describe the abstract, as I would when I write poetry, when life events require I focus on the obvious and immediate. There is no “flicker mode” in me where I can swap my mental focus from a relentless, unexpected parade of necessary errands to describing the beauty of a sunset in a just so meter and rhyme. I don’t have that level of skill yet. I might, later on, but not now. I’ve also learned that too much planning, for me, is crippling. I spend all my time obsessing over THE SCHEDULE that I leave no room for flexibility. There might have been time in all the driving and waiting and running hither and thither for some calm reflection, a few quick notes, or even a short burst of creative work. I didn’t even look because I was so focused on ALL THE THINGS.

And there’s one last thing. This may be the most important thing, the thing I want you to remember because it’s true not only for me but for you. Yes, you. Right there. You. Ready?

Your failures do not define your art.

You are not the worst writer in the world because you didn’t get all your writing done this week. You are not a fraud because you had other things that had to get done — work or family obligations or health matters. Those are important, too. In fact, they may be even more important in the present moment than your art. Handle them well and without regret. Come back to your art as soon as you can, but don’t be frantic about it. Sit at your writing table or your drawing pad and start simply. Write a line or draw a figure. Take one piece from the stone or shape one handful of clay. Sing a little until you can sing a lot.

Because you will create more. It’s what you do, isn’t it?

Yes, it is. I know it is. And so do you, when you look all the way into your secret heart. Even if you failed, you’re still an artist and you will not be denied, not even by your own failures. You can learn from them.

So can I. In fact, I already have.

On the way out, I wanted to wish each one of you a very Merry Christmas. Please take time, even though you are busy and even though the world is dumb and full of nuisance, to soak in a little bit of the season’s love and joy. If you don’t know where to find it, drop me a note, okay? I’ll help you the very best way I know how. I’m glad you read Thursday! and I’m glad you’re here.

[Before you go on, take a quick moment to become one of my cool few patrons! For a shockingly low amount each month — $2, $5, or $20 — you can support my work, my art, and get the occasional exclusive bonus goodie.]

1. No kidding. I have a few lines that might one day become poems if I can crowbar them into a pleasant order.

2. It was not fun at all.

3. And I didn’t learn this in a day. It’s taken me half a century and some honest talk with a professional listener to get here. Please don’t take that long if you can at all help it.

4. And will. Believe that!

5. It turns out it’s almost impossible for me to be creative when my head is filled with worry, anxiety, and hurried plans.