The Journey to Publication, Writing

Failure, Shame, and Faith

I’ve been thinking quite a bit failure. And shame. And the confidence to have the faith that your path is the right one for you.

Why do we sometimes feel ashamed of our accomplishments (or perhaps lack thereof) and not want to share them? This makes me sad, for anyone feeling that way, and frankly for myself too, since I have felt (and do feel) that way.

First, I would never, ever want anyone to feel they somehow weren’t measuring up – or indeed, that they had to in the first place. Because that’s often how I feel. And I confess I probably wouldn’t always recap my weeks accomplishments to my writers’ group if I wasn’t the one collecting said recaps. 😉

Second, why do we do that to ourselves? Measure ourselves against one another – even when we KNOW our journey is our own, our path isn’t the same as anyone else’s, etc, etc. And I say the etc, etc, because sometimes that’s how I hear the words too. Yes, I might know-but it doesn’t mean I don’t still compare myself anyway, despite my best intentions and efforts not to.

And finally, what do failure and shame mean, and are they necessarily a bad thing? Sure, I might not have gotten as many words as someone else. Maybe it was a crappy week. Maybe it’s been a crappy month. Maybe it’s a crappy book. But where is the line? Where does a failure become something we learn from and move forward, whereas other things / events shame us, holding us back? Why is it some failures / mistakes are easy to classify as “a learning experience” while others seem more like signs we’re doing the wrong thing / on the wrong path / making yet another mistake?

The short answer is that I don’t know. Although I suspect it has to do with how some so-called “truths” are easier to accept or buy-into because they somehow fit some inner narrative we’ve created, whether it’s a false narrative or not. Therefore, it’s easier for me to be ashamed of the fact that I’ve written a heck of a lot of books (10 at last count, I think) and I’m still un-agented and unpublished. Since I’m a Gemini, I simultaneously get to think of some of those books as the learning experiences (aka failures) they were.

It’s where one draws the line that gets me. Is it just time that helps me shift some experiences and creations into that “learning experience” category whereas others –rightly or wrongly–remain in the “still worth trying or I’m a failure if I give this up” category? I’m not sure. But I’m always trying to move forward and understand. And hopefully understanding failure doesn’t have to mean shame. Nor, I hope, does it have to mean comparison.

I am me. I’m doing the best that I can. Sometimes that’s better, sometimes that’s worse, but I’m still me.

What do you think?

Wishing you a great week of writing, and remembering (and valuing) who and what you are, no matter who or what anyone else is. 🙂


The Journey to Publication

“Things Like That Don’t Happen to Us”

I entered a fairly substantial contest last year, and the finalist results just came out in March. It could have meant big things for my career, for a bit of focus on my writing, and I could practically taste what winning would be like, let alone a final. And then, of course, I didn’t even final.

Perhaps what’s most telling is how I say “of course” I didn’t final. Because it could have been compared to a kind of lottery win, something magical and unexpected handed out by the universe (no, I’m not going to go into contests on the whole – they are what they are.) Anyway, the reason I guess I was disappointed but rather unsurprised was because, as my mom likes to point out, “things like that don’t happen to us.”

“Things like that don’t happen to us.”

I repeat it as I consider it. Of what it implies and applies to. Of how I have somehow internalized this, perhaps the same way my mom did from her her. It applies to anything like winning the lottery, sudden found money, apparently contest wins, and anything else which might have required some amount of good luck and unexpected good fortune. I think it comes out of a stolid, middle-class background (perhaps even lower middle class) where the philosophy is basically, anything that’s simply given to you implicitly has less value, and shouldn’t be trusted.Luck itself, perhaps, shouldn’t and can’t be trusted, and everything should be earned by your own labors. What you should do is work, work, work … then die.

Now, I’m all for hard work – and I do work hard – but the idea that “things like that don’t happen to us” started to kind of bother me. Because as I thought about it, things like getting published – or even writing a book and attempting to get published – those things don’t happen to our family either. Why? Because historically, that isn’t what we would even consider. Our family is not one of innovators, of risk takers. Indeed, my aunt and uncle have their own business, and my brother is thinking of starting one, but it’s generally frowned on. Most of us stick with the first or second job we ever had until the day we require (there’s that “work, work, work, die” philosophy in action).

I am, I think, a bit of an oddball. And I’m proud of it.

Because here’s the rub: how do we know what will happen to us? We don’t. You don’t win the lottery if you don’t win a ticket, but your family lineage likewise does not determine and limit what you can or can’t do with life. Because it’s that same lineage that has somehow produced me, and I am a writer. On the other side of the family, I have a cousin working to become a singer – and she’s talented too. Maybe our generation is the one that wants to know why things like “that” don’t happen to us. You sure? Because I think you’re wrong. And I’m going to prove it.

Anyway, there’s the end of my rant. Do your family philosophies and beliefs stop you from reaching for the stars, or push you all the higher?

And, if you’re curious, here’s my cousin, Melinda Bailey, singing “At Last” via YouTube. If only my talent was so obvious. 🙂 Thanks for reading, and have a great week.