Samhain Publishing

The Agony of Defeat

Who remembers this catch-phrase from a weekly network sports presentation in years past?

I’ve been watching a lot of contests lately. The Olympics. American Idol. Survivor. Chopped. I find myself frighteningly able to identify with the participants, though I’ve never skied down a mountain slope, sang in public or cooked for anyone outside my family and friends. Nor have I braved a jungle setting to win a million dollars.

But as I watch the judges whittle the pool of wannabes down to 24 finalists on American Idol, and the ones who didn’t make it break down in tears, I think I totally get where they’re coming from.

If you’ve been writing for any length of time and submitting to editors or agents, chances are you’ve experienced crushing disappointment. Like trying out for American Idol, attempting to see a work of fiction published is not for the faint of heart. You can believe in yourself to the nth degee. Believe you have talent and what it takes to be published. You may, in fact, be quite a talented writer just as many of those who don’t make it on AI are talented singers. But for some reason, talent isn’t enough.

It’s difficult to grasp what else goes into the making of a success story in any field or genre. If you ever watched Top Chef or Project Runway, you know taste is subjective. An outfit you might think is stunning takes a hit from the judges. A carefully prepared dish, no matter how beautifully presented, may lack the components needed to save the chef from elimination.

When I watch a championship skier vying for a gold medal wipe out just yards from the finish line, I cringe. Oh gosh. How humiliating. How disappointing. Her chance at a medal are gone. And everyone watching saw her fall. On some level I can identify.

I’ve begun to wonder how many authors are out there who only saw one book published. I visit the library often and sometimes it seems the book I pick up is the only one a particular author has published. I don’t know, of course, if that’s because it’s the only one s/he wrote. Did they write more but couldn’t find a publisher for them? Did they lose their agent? Are they doing something else? Maybe they only had one book in them. Like the Olympic athletes, maybe they only got one shot.

You hear AI judges discuss the “it” factor. Something elusive that probably means something a little bit different to everyone. But that “it” can be fleeting. If you think of the “hot” stars in music, film or television, they have their moment in the sun, and then it fades. The fickle spotlight moves on to shine on the next lucky one for a little while. “It” can be hard to sustain.

Last night the performers were often criticized for poor song choices. They were told that nothing about them stood out. Or maybe something about them stood out too much. Some were considered poor imitations of artists who were already top-sellers.

Frankly, this sort of rhetoric sounded frighteningly familiar because it echoes comments heard in the writing/publishing world. “Do this. This is what we like. Except do it differently. But don’t do it too differently or it won’t find an audience.” (Or a publisher.)

Which is why supposedly one of the most enduring traits of successful writers and others is persistence. You simply don’t give up. Kids on AI sometimes come back year after year. We don’t know how many of those who didn’t make it onto the show went on to be successful performers elsewhere. Just like those one-book wonders I wonder about, they might be writing something other than fiction and doing it quite successfully.

I’ve noticed in the Olympics there are often returning competitors, who don’t want to give up until they medal. And sometimes on that third or fourth try, they do achieve that goal. It’s their time. They’ve worked, prepared, persisted. That’s when they win.

The ones who don’t fade into oblivion. You never hear from them again in the same context. Which isn’t to say they failed. Maybe their goals changed. Maybe they couldn’t handle the crushing defeat and decided to do something else.

If you ask a lot of writers if they wish they were doing something else, they might tell you yes. But they simply can’t stop writing.

I’ve known writers who quit, and there are days I wish I were in their shoes, that I’d been able to walk away and say, “I’m done.” But the sad truth is, this is what I do. Whether I publish lots of books or not. Whether I’m considered “successful” as an author or not. I’m hooked on the thrill of victory. And I’ve learned to take the agony of defeat in stride.