Overwhelmed with Writing a Book? Try These.

How do you not get overwhelmed writing a book? Well, honestly, "writing overwhelm" is not something most of us can avoid completely. It's normal, and probably even natural, to get overwhelmed from time to time. Writing a book is a big undertaking, with so many moving, developing pieces--all of which we hope will sing off the page in the final published product. So perhaps it's better to ask, how do we deal with writing overwhelm? This is what I want to talk about today.

If you haven't noticed, I almost entirely focus my blog on the writing craft. But every once in a while something outside that scope is brought to my attention, and I feel like I need to do a post on it. So while I won't be going deep into the nitty-gritty of plots and characters today, I hope this article is helpful to someone reading.

Here is what helps me with writing overwhelm, in the order I try them.

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Dealing with Self-Doubt as a Writer

Dealing with self-doubt can be an important skill to learn as a writer. While doubt often feels like a negative experience, it's actually arguably a natural, healthy one. Once you properly understand doubt, the trick is to keep it from becoming toxically unbalanced.

Quite a while ago at this point, a follower asked me a question that related to self-doubt. 

Now, I'm certainly not a psychologist or a therapist or anything like that. But I've certainly been plagued by self-doubt as much as probably any writer--and when I was starting out, likely even more.

I definitely don't know everything on the subject, and if you are dealing with legit trauma, you'll probably want to go to a professional. 

With that said, I think my views on it may be useful to some people. (They are also useful for me to revisit.) And I know there will be some people who disagree with what I say--and that's okay. No one has to agree with me on everything.

But maybe you will learn something new.

Because we all deal with self-doubt on occasion. 

And if you are a person who literally never experiences self-doubt, while many would likely envy you, I personally would be a little worried for you, for reasons that will make sense by the end of this article.

You see, contrary to what our culture seems to want us to believe, experiencing some form of self-doubt is a natural--and I'd even argue--healthy thing.

It only truly becomes a problem when it is so unbalanced, that it becomes toxic, that you let it stop you from doing anything, from living the life of your dreams.

If you can't tell yet . . . my take on this topic will likely be atypical.

But I do think it will be helpful.

First, however, I want to lay out some important groundwork. . . .

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Giving Yourself Permission to Write

We've been talking about craft a lot lately (I mean, that's what my blog is largely about!), but I've had something on my mind for a while that I wanted to do a short post on. So I decided to take a break from the deep stuff this week to cover it. Now, this won't be a post for everyone. This is mostly for the aspiring writers. But even those who are more seasoned may benefit from the reminder. . . .

Being a writer is kind of an odd path to pursue because you do a lot of the work alone. Don't get me wrong, there is a writing community, and writing groups, and online writing websites, but the actual process of writing is really between the writer and the page (most of the time).

And frankly, the average person doesn't have a clue of what that entails. Unless you are surrounded by writers, most people don't really understand or care about what you are trying to do.

On the other hand, a lot of people in the world want to be writers. But I've sometimes been surprised by how many people don't give themselves permission to write.

Because that's exactly what you need to do.

No one else is coming to make sure you do it. (Well, unless you set up an accountability system.)

You need to be the person who gives yourself permission. Not your spouse. Not your teacher. Not your neighbor. Not your mom or dad or writing idol.

This is on you.

Sometimes this fact can be a little scary. We may feel unsure or insecure. We may wonder if we really are writers. Not to mention that, in general, so many other areas of our lives depend on other people. Our grades are given to us by teachers. Our parents gave us rules. Our mentors told us what to do.

Sometimes, we might want someone to validate that we are writers before we write.

But ultimately, it's about you. You are the person who wants to write. You are the person who will be doing the writing.

You need to give yourself permission to do this.

You need to be your own writing advocate.

Sure, there may be some people who can help and guide you along the way, but at the end of the day, it's on you.

Because of the way our society is structured, I've more than once found myself seeking permission that I didn't need, to do something, even if I didn't realize that's what I was doing at the time.

I wondered sometimes if I could freelance edit, but ultimately, it took someone else to tell me on their own they thought I could. That's not a bad thing, of course, but I sometimes wonder if I could have been doing that sooner if I'd just given myself permission to pursue it, instead of waiting for someone to validate that idea.

Getting permission is not to be confused with getting advice. If you are unsure about something, it's often a good idea to get insight from someone else. But by definition, true advice is meant to help guide you, not control you.

A lot of things in the writing industry don't require permission. You don't need to get the go-ahead from someone higher up to write a book, to write a query, to submit to agents, to promote your work. Because for a lot of this industry, ultimately, you are your own boss.

This is not to say you shouldn't take your other responsibilities and obligations into account. Maybe you have a very sick child, and they need to be your main focus right now. That's fine. We all have lives and schedules to balance, and there may be seasons where you literally can't fit in writing.

At the end of the day, though, this is your thing, this is what you want to do, and it's on you!

Isn't it wonderful that you don't need anyone else's permission to do it?

If you've been waiting around for some kind of sign to write because you want to, this is me giving you permission to give yourself permission. How much and how often you write is up to you and your goals and current lifestyle. But please remember you don't need anyone else's permission to write something. 

I know this is a simple post, and usually I cover much more complex concepts. But this simple thing is an important thing. Every great writer had to give themselves permission to pursue writing.

Now go write!

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Arrogance vs. Confidence, Self-deprecation vs. Humility

One of the most popular posts of all time on my writing blog, has surprisingly, little to do with writing. And yet, at the same time, seems to have everything to do with it. When my blog was a baby (less than a year old), I wrote a post about the differences between confidence and arrogance, and humility and self-deprecation. It still gets regular hits.

Which wouldn't be a problem . . . except, since then, I've refined and updated some of my ideas. 

And I'd like people to have the more refined version. 

So this is sort of a repost, but not really a repost, and sort of not about writing, and yet totally about writing. 

Because let's be honest--on our own writing journeys, it can be easy to zigzag all over the place between these characteristics, whether it's because we've just finished a manuscript that is obviously bound to be the next great American novel (or . . . insert whatever country you hail from) or because we've just found out our editor hates our characters. It's like one of my favorite writing memes.

So, I want to talk about the differences between arrogance and confidence, and humility and self-deprecation--and how to discern each.

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What to Do When You Want to Quit Writing

We've all had it. That dreadful thought that passes through the mind: Maybe I should quit. 

It's often depressing. 

And discouraging. 

And to be totally honest? Completely normal!

So I wanted to do a post talking about it today. But before I get too far into this, I need to explain some things.

There is a difference between "passing thoughts" and "intentional thoughts."

Passing thoughts are what they sound like, thoughts that just enter your head, don't carry a lot of weight, don't really take much root, and pass right through your mind.

All of us have passing thoughts.

When people ask others things like, "Did you ever think of giving up?" and the person replies "No," it's a little misleading. The reality is, all of us, all of us have passing thoughts about quitting. The thought will just naturally come to mind when you are struggling. How can you really go years without it ever crossing your mind? You can't, because inside, you know it's an option.

When someone says they never thought of giving up, what they really mean is, they never thought seriously about giving up. It was never an intentional thought.

All of us will have passing thoughts of doubt and quitting. I know I do!

Most of us will probably even have serious thoughts of quitting. 

 

And really, that's not necessarily a bad thing. Doubt and skepticism are super important parts of the human mind. They keep us safe, alive, and grounded. They help us learn to discern better and to think more critically. They even help us to grow. 

 

I mean, if you never experience doubt and skepticism, then there is a good chance that something is . . . wrong. (But, hey, I'm not a therapist or anything!)

 
And in reality, this is sometimes more of a spectrum than an either-or situation, because there are different levels of seriousness.

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Exactly Why Failure is Key to Exceptional Success

Over the last few years, I've heard a lot of people talking about how important failure is in our lives, and yet, I feel like no one has adequately explained *exactly* WHY and *exactly* HOW that works. More and more I've been gaining a greater understanding of failure, and today, I'll attempt to share what I've learned. Will I succeed? You be the judge. 😉

But before I get too far, I want to take a moment to acknowledge two different ways the term "failure" is used, because that affects the meaning of this post.

Some people use "failure" to mean giving up, the final quit. In this sense, the phrase, "You only fail if you quit" is true (I've said that same phrase on my blog).

Other people use "failure" to mean any kind of mess up, mistake, or error.

A lot of us use it both ways, which can make a conversation about it confusing.

While in the past, I've usually meant the first definition, today I'm using it as the second definition: mess up, mistake, error.

There are so many interconnected parts of failure's purpose in life, that it's hard to know where to start, but I will begin with the familiar and build up to the most profound and important.

(Why) Failing Sucks

This is definitely the most familiar. We've all failed, and we've all known what that feels like.

No one genuinely enjoys failure. It's not fun. And it can make you feel stupid.

The more failures you accumulate, one after another, the more frustrated and disappointed you will become.

To be honest, I've been dealing with this a lot lately.

You see, I have a few specific scenes left to fix in my manuscript, and I can't for the life of me figure them out. I literally worked on it diligently for over a month. And while I made some headway, it wasn't much, and I'm largely just as stuck.

So, I've been accumulating lots of failures. And naturally I've been dealing with regular feelings of frustration, disappointment, and even depression. Heck, I've even gotten to the point of asking existential questions.

But guess what? Any normal person in this same situation would feel those same feelings. I mean, seriously? Over a month? For me that means I've spent about 80 hours on it. Who wouldn't be frustrated? Disappointed? Depressed? Questioning life choices?

This is completely normal. And contrary to how you feel, it's not actually a bad thing. Sure, your emotions are a part of you and your existence, but you need to learn to rise above them, not be ruled by them.

Recently I read this in an article:

What feels like struggle and frustration is often skill development and growth. . . . In other words, what looks like failure is often the foundation of success.

I've heard others talk about how feelings of confusion are actually simply signals to your brain that you are about to learn something new.

These emotions may feel negative to your well-being at the time, but they actually aren't bad, and they definitely aren't evil.

They simply mean you are entering a skill development phase. This is completely true, and in the process of this post, you'll see why, specifically.

Now, some of you may have actually been embarrassed for me when I said I've spent 80 hours trying to fix a few scenes; maybe you even thought you were better than that. Maybe you are 🤷‍♀️ but this is also another reason why failing sucks. Not only do you naturally deal with feelings of frustration, disappointment, maybe existential questions, but you have to deal with others, our culture, and society, which has often taught us failure is something to be ashamed and embarrassed about, in other words, it's not accepted. In other words, we have even another reason to avoid it.

To be fair, it's almost impossible in our classrooms and society to adequately incorporate failure, for reasons I'll explain later. It just doesn't work--it's not realistic.

Why Exactly Perseverance is so Important

Because failing, especially repeated failing, naturally invites feelings of frustration, disappointment, and depression, along with ridicule, shame, and embarrassment, it requires something else to carry you over to those new skills: perseverance.

It's such a cliche, that you might want to skip ahead, but trust me, you don't.

Like we said, failing is not fun. But often failing means you have the opportunity to learn a new skill. But you can only learn that new skill if you keep going. We've all been taught this.

But there is something else to be gained: experience.

The first time you run into a specific failure and choose to push on to success, your experience is like this line, small and thin. I kind of think of it as a little indentation in a trail you took.

Yes, Paint has been useful for my blog again! Notice the thin line.

The next time you do that, your experience is like this line. It's a little deeper, a little stronger, in the trail.

The next time you do that, your experience is like this line.

The next time you do that, your experience is like this line. Bolder, clearer, stronger, like a deep rut in the path.

This line is more obvious/clearer. It's "stronger."

All of our choices and experiences accumulate within us. Every time we choose to persevere to success, the clearer our path becomes next time, even if the subject matter is different.

Why?

Because every time we persevere and make it through a hard time, it becomes a little easier to make it through the next hard time. Because we've already done hard things, we can do more hard things (we can take the rut in the trail). We know we can. And even if this situation is something harder, our past experience informs us we are capable of figuring it out. It all accumulates and becomes clearer.

This in turn relates directly to growing in confidence. A lot of teens and young adults struggle with confidence. Why? Well, one part is because they have not yet accumulated enough experience to perceive the clear path. How are you supposed to be confident in which way to go, if you've never gone that way before? It might seem like a fool's confidence to pretend you know. This is where the concept of faith comes in. You need to exercise faith the first few times, but once you accumulate experiences, the paths and consequences become clearer. You don't need to "try" to be confident. You will be, because you know.

Each experience builds.

Sure, prior to that, you may need to get help and direction, from tools or people who already know the way. You exercise faith by trying it out, getting results, and evaluating that experience. As that accumulates, eventually you will be confident and know.

Unfortunately, though, this sort of thing also happens in the reverse. . . .

Imagine you have the choice whether or not to persevere.

And you quit.

First path of quitting

And the next time you quit.

And the next time you quit.

And the next time you quit.

Quitting becomes the more obvious path to take. It's a "stronger" path because you've taken it so many times.

You've now accumulated a bunch of quitting experiences, making it even harder to take those first few journeys of faith. Why? Because all you've ever done is quit. Worse, because that is what you've always ever done, you may just assume you are doomed to do that to yourself again.

There is hope.

And do you want to know a secret?

I think the first few leaps of faith almost always suck, regardless of past experiences. Because you don't yet know. Leaps of faith are scary! They've made me restless for nights on end, made me want to throw up my breakfast, made me have existential questions. But to this day, I will tell you that none of them have been as hard as the first significant one I took, exactly because it was the first one I took. (I won't go into the story because it's long and personal.) I realize that might sound depressing for a few people, but think of it this way--all the other leaps will likely be easier because you already did it once!

And sometimes, it's helpful to not put the faith in yourself; after all, you don't yet have the accumulated experience to give you the knowledge that paves the way to confidence. It might be easier to imagine putting your faith in God, the universe, "Truth," a mentor, or someone more experienced than you (for me it's God, but not everyone shares my beliefs). Trust them, and then leap. Then see what happens and evaluate.

I realize like with everything, there are exceptions. There always are, especially when you talk about abstract concepts like, faith, perseverance, and failure. Since they aren't concrete things, we have to use generalization to even create the concept in the first place (though some would argue we do that with all words of language, but let's leave that for the college classrooms today).

Perseverance is important, because without it, you'll never get the skills needed to find exceptional success.

Sure, you can get some success without failure and perseverance, but you'll never get exceptional success.

One Difference Between Consistent Quitters and Exceptional Success . . . ors

In my current journey of regular failures and bouts of frustration and disappointment, et. al, I've been listening to a lot of speeches about failure when I get ready in the mornings. In fact, I've listened to some speakers talk about studies that have even been done on consistent quitters and consistently successful people. One key thing really stuck out to me.

Observers have noticed that consistent quitters internalize failure.

Consistently successful people, don't.

There is a typical process that goes on when you are trying to do something difficult.

1. You start working on something
2. It gets hard
3. You can't figure it out
4. You try and fail and try and fail
5. Because you fail so much, you beat yourself up, and decide you suck.
6. You keep trying (or quit).

People who are consistently successful, skip step five. Because they don't internalize the failure--they don't make it about them being no good, but only the problem itself being very difficult--they don't quit, and they find more success.

This is way easier said than done.

Years and years ago, I was always a number five stepper. ALWAYS. And you know what? It was the worst! Sometimes I'd even crawl in my bed when I got home and cry. (It didn't stop me, apparently, cause I'm still here--so even if you are a five stepper, you can keep going!) I never imagined in my wildest dreams that I could do everything I wanted to--without feeling that way. I just thought it was a normal part of my process.

Now, I admit I would be embarrassed if certain people I knew read that, but I want to include it because I believe there are people out there struggling with the same thing, and I want them to know it's possible for it to go away.

I'm not a therapist or a doctor. But as I kept forcing myself to persevere over and over again, something weird happened.

I accumulated experience.

Which meant I accumulated confidence.

At some point, I stopped internalizing failures without really realizing it, because I knew I could overcome the problem--because I did it over and over and over again. I could do hard things.

I'm not saying thoughts never cross my mind that could affect my self-esteem--they do, to everyone. No one is immune to passing thoughts. It's a natural thought process of failure. Of course I'm going to question things, because I'm disappointed and not figuring things out, and I'm trying to figure them out, troubleshoot, evaluate, why it's not working (is it me???). But because I have accumulated experience, it doesn't take root.

The Keys to Exceptional Success: Unparalleled Discernment and Precision

But even with all this, failure has a purpose that in some ways is far more important than anything we've talked about. And this is a process that I think most people don't adequately explain.

They may say things like, "You learn more from failure," but they don't clearly explain how or why; they just brush the surface.

For the last two years, I've been thinking a lot about discernment, and what it is, how we develop it, and why it's so important.

Guess what?

This relates directly to failure. In fact, accumulating failure can give you unparalleled discernment and precision, which is exactly why you will have the potential to become exceptionally successful.

In classrooms and in textbooks, we tend to talk in "black and white" terms. Either something is right, or something is wrong. You either solved that problem correctly, or you didn't. Sometimes this even goes into religion. You either kept that commandment, or you didn't.

But the real world is way more complicated than that. Some people want to believe it's still black and white, but it's not. I don't care how vehemently you preach that to me, reality and experience has taught me life is way more complicated and complex than that.

This is where life experience comes in. You've probably all heard the idea that you can study about a subject all day for years, but until you accumulate life experience, you won't be able to do whatever you are trying to do, as successfully. This is because the subject, like almost everything, has a whole entire spectrum of grays--not just black and white.

It would be impossible to teach and cover all those grays in a classroom, textbook, or sermon--the grays, in some ways, are infinite. And if we did try to teach all those grays and exceptions and such, not only would it take up waaaay more time, but it would muddy and take away from the main successful routes, the white over the black, the basics we are trying to teach.

But let's get deeper.

Gray isn't one color. It's a type of color.

So maybe you are introduced to black and white. But in the real world, you run into gray. And you don't know how to interpret or approach it. It doesn't fit in exactly with what you were taught.

Discern the gray

As you deal with that, you learn to discern that gray exists.

But guess what? Gray is a type of color.

So you go along in life, and then you run into a different gray. Now not only do you discern gray from black and white, but you need to learn to discern how this gray is different than the last. What kind of gray is it? To what degree is it black? To what degree it is white? Does it have other colors mixed in?

And as time goes on, you encounter another gray.

And another.

And another.

And eventually . . .

even if the shades are almost exactly the same . . .

you can discern almost imperceptible differences.

This is the same sort of process that happens when you accumulate failures (though obviously I'm using a metaphor to make it more accessible), as long as you persevere until you succeed in each one.

In other words, you develop a level of discernment that was totally inaccessible without those encounters, because you can't know them, until you accumulate the experience of them. And as you accumulate the experience of them, you more easily discern them. (I know I just talked in circles, but hopefully you get it).

You can identify steel gray from pewter gray.

But identifying is only half of it.

Because you persevered to success over and over again, you know how to handle the pewter gray when you see it again.

In other words, you develop an exceptional level of precision, that anyone who has given up repeatedly, can only dream of. (Seriously.)

As you encounter pewter gray and address it over

and over

and over

again

The path becomes clearer.

But if you never have the experience of having to learn how to discern and address it (in the point of this post, aka, fail and overcome it), you'll never fully know it, to the same extent, of that specificity.

As your exact discerning and understanding of the specific thing grows, so does your wisdom concerning it.

What is the difference between having general "knowledge" and having "wisdom"? It is discernment. General knowledge is just learned information. But wisdom has a level of discernment. And it doesn't stop there. Real wisdom is discerning how to apply knowledge the right way to the right situation. Wisdom comes from learning to recognize and reconcile opposites.

Okay, hold your horses there, because I just used the word "opposites." The truth is, I want to use a different word, but haven't found the right one that fits yet. When I say "opposite" I don't necessarily mean direct opposites (black vs. white), but some degree of opposition, some degree of difference, i.e. pewter gray vs. steel gray. It's recognizing that and knowing the precise way to address it.

Satan wasn't kidding when he told Eve that if she partook of the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil (opposites), she'd have the "wisdom of God." But people don't understand the significance of that idea, because they only think of direct opposites, the black and white, not all the grays that exist in between, (i.e. "Is it evil to steal a loaf of bread to feed your starving family?"). I do not believe we are meant to go through life with our "color-blinders" on, only perceiving and labeling everything as black or white. We can never become something more until we discern the other shades.

What's weird is that until we can discern, we cannot accurately judge. Which adds a whole layer to the idea of not judging (in the "condemning" definition) others. The idea that we even have the level of discernment, the capacity to decide who goes to Heaven or Hell is laughable, because it implies we believe we have obtained the same capacity of discernment, of wisdom, as God. (ROFL!) But this is a tricky concept to talk about, because the word "judge" has multiple definitions. "Judge" can be used to mean something like "discern," but it's also used to mean something like "condemn" or like, "sentence." We should really only be concerned with the first one most the time (unless we are law enforcement or something). This is also why it's possible to "hate the sin, love the sinner," so to speak.

Anyway! (A slight tangent that I felt was worth mentioning.)

Repeated failure and accumulated experience (of persevering) literally enhances and broadens our capacity for discernment in ways that cannot be obtained otherwise, which means we can literally perceive things others cannot, which means, we can develop an exact level of precision that others cannot. Which means, we can actually get closer to a state of perfection, in whatever we are pursuing, that others cannot. Which means we have the potential to succeed in exceptional ways, usually way beyond that of those who don't fail.

Sure, there are naturally gifted people, who fail less, but they are rare. Most highly successful people are ordinary people who have failed a ton. And unless naturally gifted people work for it, they may never reach the same level of discernment and wisdom.

This is why you hear people say things about "experience." "I'm looking for someone with experience." What they are really saying is that they are looking for someone with discernment, with wisdom. But here's the funny thing. Just because someone has been around longer, doesn't necessarily mean they are more discerning, wise. Because if they never risk failure, choose to see the shades of gray, persevere to success, they may never develop the same level of discernment as someone much younger who does that all the time. Maybe this is why some young people "have old souls."

Since I became an adult, I've been amazed at how easily others will quit the simplest things.  Someone will ask me how I styled my hair a certain way, I'll tell them what to do, they fail, and they say things like, "I'm just not good at that. I tried it and it didn't work" (internalized failure). I try to explain I sucked at the hairstyle my first time too--in fact, maybe the first ten times. But here's the thing. They didn't see how bad my hair looked those ten days. They only saw the results.

I realize that not all of us want to succeed at everything badly. And in fact, it's unrealistic to put 100% effort into everything we choose to pursue. We may have different priorities, run into new interests, decide it's not what we thought it was, and move on. That is 100% okay.

On the other hand, part of me wonders, if that person quit at trying a hairstyle after their first attempt--what else is that behavior affecting in their lives? After all, most things you don't get right the first time! Then again, maybe they just decided they weren't that interested . . . which weirdly gets back to discernment--I don't have all the factors to judge for sure, and it's very important we learn to discern ourselves and our own motives, honestly.

Still, I think a lot of people probably give up too quickly, mainly because of my earlier point: failure isn't fun. It can hurt and even be humiliating. And the growing process of learning discernment and a new skill is difficult and uncomfortable (but so, so worth it). If you look at what I've outlined in this section, it's clearly a refining process.

As I've been working at solving the scenes I'm stuck on, it does feel like refinement in a lot of ways.

At first I set out with some ideas on how to fix the scenes.

But one way failed.

Then another.

Then another.

Then another.

And another.

But in the process of my attempts, I'm slowly stripping away what does not work, getting closer to the solution. And refining my discernment and precision, in ways I haven't before. So I'm gaining wisdom.

What's crazy . . .

. . . is the more you do this . . .

. . . the more exceptional you can become . . .

. . . and the more exceptional you can become . . .

. . . the more you can stand out . . .

. . . so you'll be unparalleled in your realm.

We all think competition is fierce--and it can be. (And there are always some elements out of our control.)

But imagine being so exceptional, that few people are even in your level, or in that category. In a sense, there is actually less competition where you stand. After all, frankly, most people will quit before they get to that level. Maybe it's because they internalize failure. Maybe it's because they don't slow down, identify, and overcome the problem, but instead just keep starting over and over and over again. Maybe it's because they choose not to see gray. Maybe it's because failing so many times invites feelings of frustration and disappointment (though weirdly, the more often you experience that point, the more clearly you can see how to deal with those feelings and that they will eventually pass). Or, maybe they decide they aren't that interested in it. It is a personal choice after all, and who am I to judge (condemn)? I'm still trying to learn to judge (discern), myself.

All I'm saying is that overcoming repeated failure is a refining process that enhances our discernment and precision in ways that are unparalleled. As long as you are learning (and applying what you learn), you are succeeding, to say the cliche. Or in other words, "You only fail if you quit" (I love playing with the ambiguity of English words). I've heard these cliches . . . but now I know them (or perhaps more appropriately, discern them).

Often those who have had exceptional success, the masters, have failed a million times, whether that is Edison or Mozart. In an article I recently read, someone called it the "10 Years of Silence," noticing that many music masters didn't have any exceptional success for ten years (where they were failing behind the scenes). It's precisely this refinement and perseverance that enabled them to become masters at all.

Now, everyone remembers them for their successes, not their failures.

***

I realize this is a post that is different than what I have been writing lately, but I feel that understanding the purpose of failure is critical to success, especially in writing, where we are literally working with black marks on a page. Learning to discern accurately is critical--it's why we have writing groups, writing conferences, teachers, and editors. 

I also realize it is a little rambly, but it's a pretty abstract topic, and when I thought of cutting out certain points, I thought that those points may resonate with a particular person. So you'll have to forgive me (this is just an informal blog post after all, and I wanted to get it up today). Hopefully, though, at least one thing in here was helpful to you!

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Lessons on Failure: Kingdom of the Sun

Before Disney's Emperor's New Groove existed, there was a previous movie titled Kingdom of the Sun with a fleshed out story line . . . that got canned. Manco was the emperor. Pacha was eighteen. There were two other female characters and yes, someone still got turned into a llama, but it was a completely different film. You may have seen my social media post about it a few weeks ago, and you'd think that would have been enough for me, but around that time period I unintentionally went down a bizarre rabbit hole--Disney's and Pixar's failures.

It started with me looking up stuff about Lion King (my fave 😍), with the remake (not my fave). The remake took a direction I strongly disagree with--they didn't make their characters emote (fancy term for showing emotions in body language and facial expressions). This is one of the most basics rules of visual storytelling, particularly with comics and animation. Scott McCloud does a great job explaining this in his (comic)book, Understanding Comics (worth reading if you are in the storytelling industry even if you don't write or really read comics, like me). To me, this was a bad decision, for storytelling. Which led me to wonder about the other bad decisions Disney has made.

I was taking a staycation during this time and started learning about their poor choices when relaxing (I'm weird). In fact, there is a whole Youtube channel called Defunctland that specializes in failed (or stolen) theme park ideas. I also took the time to finally study up on the whole "Lion King is stolen from Kimba" controversy (spoiler: the art concepts are totally stolen. WAY too many similarities to be coincidental). To be honest, I haven't kept up with Disney over the last several years, but this journey I took was fascinating.

You see, as consumers, we mostly just see Disney's successes in their finished projects. Even their poor movies are still pretty decent. We almost never see the major failures, the sweat, the tears, the arguments. But I was learning all about these things, and Disney has had a lot of them.

One of the most fascinating was Kingdom of the Sun. There is a whole documentary on creating it, which Disney has banned, but you can still watch it on Youtube if you search "The Sweatbox." It's an hour and half, but since I was on staycation, I watched all of it.

Part 1: Kingdom of the Sun

Like I mentioned in my Facebook post, Kingdom of the Sun was meant to be a musical movie in the same vein as Aladdin, Lion King, Beauty and the Beast, Mulan, and pretty much all the other Disney Renaissance movies, but set in South America. The entire story was written out, storyboarded, cast, even actors had recorded their lines. All musical numbers had been written (there were six), and 20% of the animation was completed.

The original story starred Pacha (who looked like Kuzco), voiced by Owen Wilson, who meets Emperor Manco and switches places with him (think The Prince and the Pauper, loosely) while an evil sorceress, Yzma, plans to block out the sun forever with her minions (a talking talisman and three mummies). It included a romantic line, where Pacha fell in love with Manco’s fiancé (Nina) while he was in disguise, and Yzma does turn Manco into a llama, and he works with a female llama herder, Mata, to get home. It was based on Inca culture and magic. And Yzma summons Supai (the Incan god of death) to engulf the kingdom. At the climax, Pacha and Manco work together to stop her, Pacha ultimately saving the kingdom by lassoing the sun (which was apparently supposed to have consequences, or rather, give an explanation on how the sun functions in today's society).

Oh yeah, and also, the movie opened with an Incan inspired creation story with the gods (probably similar to Hercules).

The creators literally spent years working on this thing (I thought they said three in the documentary, but now I'm questioning if I heard right). In the documentary, you can hear and see how excited they all are and how hard they are working. One character designer talks about how he wanted to animate for Disney most his life and even immigrated to America to have that chance; he is thrilled to work on a female villain for the first time. Others rejoice over actors saying lines in just the right way. Sting sweats over creating six songs that encapsulate the story and embody his own standards of quality. People are traveling to Peru and doing research. Others are going through Disney's animation vaults to get inspiration. Everyone is putting in their blood, sweat, and tears.

And then Disney canned it.

Which must have really sucked. Bad.

One of the Disney critics said the pacing was weird and off. They couldn't quite tell if the movie was trying to be a drama, or a comedy, or a romance, or an epic story . . . and there was a lot going on. I'm not sure exactly the ultimate reason it got canned, but . . . it did.

Needless to say, the creators were heartbroken.

We've probably all been there. 

I mean, maybe we've never worked on a movie for Disney that got trashed, but I think we've probably all had similar moments. I know I've thrown out whole scenes I've spent weeks on. Heck, I've also thrown out a whole novel manuscript and started over. A lot of us have whole books that have never been published. You see, in our creative journeys, we all have our "Dark Night of the Soul" scenes; we all have our "All is Lost" moments.

And maybe like Kingdom of the Sun, it even is "all lost."

But never forget, it is the successes that are usually remembered, far more often than the failures. And in fact, the successes almost always matter more than the failures.

Because you always do more good in the world by sharing your talents.

And none of us can succeed without failing.

That's just the way this life works.

So what did the studio do after Kingdom of the Sun got canned? Well, a whole new story.

Part 2: The Emperor's New Groove

After their massive failure, a lot of the creators were in pain. They essentially had to throw away the entire thing. The director even got kicked off. He talked about how much it hurt, like losing his baby. He'd put his whole heart and passion into it.

But Disney still had to put out a movie. So the entire story was stripped down. Way down. In fact, I don't know that you can even call it stripping because so much of it was different and totally new. At one point, there were actually six different scripts being worked on--SIX. (And one even took place in Jamaica). Almost all the characters got thrown out, and all the original music was thrown out

In the documentary, Sting voices how disappointed he is that his songs for an epic musical were trashed, and how he now has to come back, years later, to write a new song that's a totally different tone. Those behind Yzma's character grieved over how she went from an evil sorceress summoning the god of death to destroy the kingdom and sun, to a woman who simply wants to become emperor.

And guess what? Other than being sad about letting things go, those behind the creative process still found this movie very difficult. As I was watching this documentary, I couldn't help but be somewhat baffled that all these Disney professionals are struggling with some of the same things I struggle with. Storytelling is STILL hard, even for the professionals. They're trying to get the pacing just right. They are trying to get the lines just right. Every beat counts. The timing needs to be perfect for the humor. Does Pacha need a family? Does he not need a family? He needs a family to drive home the theme at the end, but the family is boring. It's Kuzco's birthday. It's not  Kuzco's birthday--that takes too much explaining. The real story is about Pacha and Kuzco. The ending this way is undermining the theme. Can we make the opening great with such an unlikeable person as the main character? Disney's story critics worried they wouldn't be able to maintain such extreme comedy for a whole film. Every line, every frame, every character design needed to be exact.

It seemed they were trying and failing a hundred different ways.

But somewhat surprisingly, some creators remarked, that's just how the process goes. You try and fail and try and fail and shape and fail and fix and fail.

It reminded me of something I've said before: Your story is broken from conception to publication, and sometimes, even then its still broken.

So why do we get so frustrated about it? Isn't that just the process?

Anyway they built up a completely different story (Hey, and we even got Kronk out of it!). And we got an entirely different tone. Everything seemed to be finally coming together. . . .

Until the music score. 🤦‍♀️

They hired someone talented to do that. But when they did the screen testing itself, it was terrible. It wasn't that the music was bad. Or that the show was bad. It was that they were bad, together. The music emphasized the animation too much, to the point that the jokes weren't funny, because the music over delivered them.

So again they started over (but just on the music this time), hiring someone completely new.  (You'll notice that the music score for Emperor's New Groove is rather mellow--that's because the film literally couldn't handle something more dramatic and still remain effective.)

As a writer, I have to say I've had similar experiences. I might have two great ideas, but they don't work together. Sometimes, it's just too much, and I need to make one aspect less dramatic. It kind of sucks, but it happens.

Once the score was handled, at long last the film was completed.

And you know what?

The Emperor's New Groove was a success! I've never met someone who's watched that movie and hated it! Hands down it's in my top ten Disney movies.

But look how much they failed in the process. They threw out an entire movie script (and several others). And they scrapped about a million and a half things! But they kept going.

Success isn't about getting it right the first time. It's about getting it right, period.

And even the best of us have to trash our material from time to time.

Creating anything truly worthwhile is hard and it sucks sometimes. But perseverance matters more than raw talent. And even if you have to throw something away, it doesn't mean it was a complete waste. Pull out the llama, or rework the plot, completely change the tone, put in your shoulder angel (or devil). If they can do it, so can you.

Maybe Kingdom of the Sun could have been great. Or maybe they were right in shutting it down. We'll never know.

But someone, somewhere is going to create something great—why not you?

***

If you are interested in learning more about Kingdom of the Sun, you can watch the documentary here.

The Emperor's New Groove album actually has some the Kingdom of the Sun songs on it, despite them getting scrapped from the film. (Have you ever noticed how the ending credits sound like something that could have come from The Lion King?) They even kept the original recording of Yzma singing about her evil plans.

The songs are: "Snuff out the Light," "One Day She'll Love Me," "My Funny Friend and Me," and "Walk the Llama Llama"

If you want to get an idea of what "Snuff out the Light" would have looked like, watch part of this video (I think it looks cool with the Incan style shots):

Interestingly, Emperor's New Groove marked the end of the Disney Renaissance--a time period when Disney made animated films that followed the same structure as musicals, with wide sweeping shots of huge settings, epic story lines, and dramatic crescendos. Eventually they would go back to that approach with Tangled and Frozen, and again prove it to be highly successful.

***

I realize this is a different sort of post than what I usually do and probably a little rambly, but I really wanted to share. Hopefully you found it as fascinating as I did. I may or may not share some of Disney's other interesting failures in future posts.

Also, this week I will be a panelist at FanX. If you are going, feel free to say hi!

Here are my panels:

 20 Years of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
Friday September 6, 2019 6:00 pm to 7:00 pm

By Grabthar's Hammer, What A Panel: GALAXY QUEST 20 Years Later
Saturday September 7, 2019 10:00 am to 11:00 am 

Why We Love Neville Longbottom
Saturday September 7, 2019 3:00 pm to 4:00 pm

I'm also helping out with a little panel in the kids section at twelve on Friday.

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6 Skills Fiction Writing Will Give You

Pursuing writing long-term changes you. In fact, pursuing any skill long-term will change you. At least in some way. Whether that's self-discipline or physical dexterity. Often the life benefits of writing are far from tangible, so they can be hard to measure. But on days where writing and editing feel like the worst, it's helpful to look at how they can lead to valuable skills. Heck, it's helpful to look at that even when writing feels like the best!

So today I want to share six skills that can develop from fiction writing. (Though I'm by no means a psychologist. These are just my personal opinions.)

1. You Can Come Up with New Ideas

A lot of writing is brainstorming. A lot. The older I get, the more I realize that our minds really are similar to muscles. The way we think, and how often we think that way, strengthens that thought process, and from there we develop thought patterns. They've done studies, and people who complain a lot literally change their neural pathways, and if they do it long enough, it creates a figurative "rut," making it more difficult to stop complaining. (BTW, the opposite is true--those who think more grateful thoughts have more grateful thought patterns.) How and what you think matters.

Now turn this another direction. When you are a writer, you have to come up with lots of ideas. Over time, you may gain certain insights about the process of doing that, like how the first ideas that come to mind are usually the most cliche (that's why they come first), and how you have to ask and address a lot of questions to hone a usable concept. As you brainstorm over and over, through hours, days, months--years--you may learn (if only subconsciously) to consider things no one else in your circle has even thought of. You may come up with ideas and perspectives that may sound brand new.

I'm not saying that all of us become magically innovative and that it's quick and easy--brainstorming new ideas can still be rather difficult (because they are new ideas!) and definitely can feel like work. But if given the time you need (almost every first idea is a cliche), you can probably come up with new ideas.

2. You Can Ask Questions No One Else Thinks Of

Part of writing a story is asking and addressing a lot of questions. This happens in the brainstorming process, it happens in the writing process, it happens in the editing process, and it happens in the beta-reader process. Some of the most important key elements of brainstorming are to ask, "How?", "Why?", "What if?", and "So what?" This bleeds into the writing processes. How does this magic actually work? Why does that character act that way? What if X event happened? Why do we care about this goal (so what?)? Not only do you need to ask and address questions for content, but then you have to ask and address questions the audience is going to have, based on how you tell the story. You have to consider the different thought processes that different types of readers will have, and subtly speak to those.

Beyond that, you also have to consider what I think of as "negative" questions. Instead of asking how your magic works, you also have to ask how it doesn't work, and why. What are the limitations? What if this character doesn't behave how most people would? What if that villain wasn't actually evil? What if the protagonist doesn't get what she wants? Then what?

You have to consider and ask a lot of questions (even if some of them happen subconsciously). And then solve or find answers for them.

Outside of writing, this skill can help you become more insightful. When you ask questions no one else thinks of, you find answers and information that no one else realized they needed. You might be able to solve or prevent problems others didn't foresee. Or you may come to realizations, connections, and epiphanies that were inaccessible before. All in all, you will probably become sharper than you were before pursuing writing.

3. You Can Bring Specificity to Vagueness (Something Highly Undervalued but Extremely Important)

When you first get an idea for a story, the idea is usually vague. It might be a small concept or insight, or a notion, or even just a general aesthetic. And guess what? From that point to the point you finish writing the book, you are essentially taking vague concepts and notions and trying to make them specific and concrete. The warm, fuzzy, love feeling you got when you had the flash of inspiration that your protagonist should fall in love? Yeah, you actually have to write that into language. That is specific. AND concrete. Because that's the only way the reader is going to experience that same warm, fuzzy, love feeling about your protagonist falling in love. It isn't always easy, but that is essentially what you are doing over and over and over again, day in and day out. (And one of the reasons why some say you should stay true to the vision you have of the story, not necessarily all your initial concepts of it.)

Guess what? In the real world there is a lot of vagueness. Because it is vagueness, it's hard to explain. But what's weird is that I've found that often vagueness relates directly to language. Think about it. When you experience something vague and try to explain it to another person, the reason it often feels vague is because you can't find the right words to communicate the experience. This could get deep into the trenches of linguistics and philosophy, like how how we think is influenced by the language we speak, creating a kind of circuitry; and how we are all limited by the imperfections and figurative "ceilings" of our own chosen tongue. But let's leave that for the college classrooms. Suffice it to say that writing helps you learn how to take vague things and translate them into something more specific.

Other than being equipped with the power of words, this is also done by asking questions. When we encounter something vague, we ask questions to find its boundaries and limitations so we can categorize it. For example, if you saw a new animal you've never seen before, you'd look at the boundaries of it--how many legs does it have? What kind of skin does it have? You'll ask questions until you can categorize it into something more specific. Mammal -- herbivore -- some kind of primate. This is an accessible example to illustrate the point.

Why does this matter? The less vague we are, the better we communicate. The more specific we are, the better we can discern subtle nuances and variations, allowing us to come to better insights, conclusions, and innovations. Imagine a world where all of our emotions were categorized as either positive or negative. Our whole life experiences would be different. There is no concept of "mad" or "sad" or "hurt," only "negative," and there is no concept of "happy," "peaceful," and "energetic," only "positive." It would impact everything of our human existence--how we interact, problem solve, communicate. We would not be able to fully discern all the nuances, like the differences between "happy" and "thrilled." If we cannot discern the nuances, the differences, the boundaries, we cannot progress in our understanding concerning that topic.

This is one reason why I'm slightly annoyed with the new thought process concerning Adam and Eve having to experience everything to be able to tell the difference between good and evil; today, people say, "That's a dumb idea, because the taste of broccoli doesn't change the taste of chocolate." But that's not the point! The point is that until we can grasp differences, boundaries, nuances, specifics--we cannot know new things. And if we cannot know new things, we cannot discern, and if we cannot discern we cannot grow and increase in intelligence and we cannot govern appropriately. (Sorry, tangent.)

It kind of makes you wonder about all the things we don't now know because we lack the necessary specifics to discern. . . . Anyway, that went deep quick. See what I mean about these skills not being tangible? One thing worth mentioning in this category is that you'll also be able to help put specific words and concepts to things others can't explain, which can be really validating and a relief to them.

4. You Can Listen and Communicate Better

On the surface, you wouldn't think this relates to the last section, but it does. A lot. (Notice how much all these things actually relate?) Writing helps you understand language better--that might not be a process you are conscious of, but it will eventually happen. Different words carry different meanings: "happy" vs. "thrilled." They're different. As you pursue writing, you'll become more aware of specific word choice. As a result, when people speak to you, you'll hear the specific word choice, the nuances, the connotations, the implications, because the difference between someone using the word "broken" over "damaged" is very real to you. And you probably won't even have to consciously think about it. You'll be able to hear the difference between "annoyed" and "resentful," and as a result, you'll also have better recall for exactly what someone said--because the specificity meant something to you.

Likewise, you'll be able to use that understanding of specificity to communicate better to others. But it's more than that. When writing a story, it's not just about communicating with words. It's also about communicating through characters' body language and action. It's about what's not being said and the way it's not as much as what's on the page. So you'll probably become more aware of body language and when people are holding back something. Again, it may not be something you are fully conscious of, but it will probably happen.

On the other hand, functioning this way can be a problem and annoying. People may tell me something, and because I hear specificity automatically, I may hear something more than they intend. I once had a brief argument with a family member who said the grill was "broken," when in actuality, it turned on and worked all right, it just didn't get very hot. To that person, that meant "broken." To me "broken" means the grill doesn't work hardly at all and you can't cook anything on it. Once we realized this, we started laughing. But the reverse happens. I'll say something as specific as possible to someone else, but later get annoyed that they "misheard" me--in reality it's ridiculous for me to expect others to hear the exact same things I hear in words (at the time, I didn't realize this is what was happening, but now that I know, things are better). So, specificity is very important and helpful, but on the other hand, you have to keep in mind that most of the world isn't so specific when communicating.

5. You'll Be Able to Find and Predict Intangible Patterns and Outcomes Quicker

Much of storytelling deals with cause and effect, choices and outcomes, events and results, rising action, climax, and consequences. As the famous example goes, "The king died, and then the queen died," isn't a story, but "The king died, and then the queen died of a broken heart" is. Outcomes and consequences make story. As writers, we look at these relationships a lot: Why is this character doing this? (I need to go back and consider what caused this motivation). What if the love interest dies? (What are the outcomes of that?) When the antagonist is defeated, how will that change the world? (Consequences.) What is the origin of my protagonist's fears? (Cause.) Even within writing a scene, we may mentally be jumping to the past, considering the characters' or world's history, the future, what needs to happen to get to the climax, or even sideways, what is happening off page at the same time and how that will affect things. But we may only really be writing directly about the "present." As a result (see what I did there?), we are used to zooming out to look at the big picture within minutes of zooming in to look at the smallest picture. We look at cause and effect and how that result will go on and on into the future.

In the real world, that would seem to result in us being able to do the same thing more easily or quickly. Maybe we don't predict the stock market or weather, but we can probably pick up on cause and effect patterns on more human or societal levels. We might be able to predict more easily how someone is going to respond because it's easier for us to look at their choices and outcomes of the past. Sometimes it might seem like we just know. Factor into this the abilities to consider questions others may not, to listen better, and to bring vague things into specifics, and this can be an incredible and helpful asset.

This can happen on the small scale, like noticing a pattern in your child's behavior that gives you insight on how to parent them. Or it can happen on a much larger scale, like how public events and societal choices funnel into a new zeitgeist (or I guess the term I hear people use today is our societal "climate," which is essentially what "zeitgeist" means). After all, when we are creating our story's theme, we are essentially simulating the same thing.

6. You'll Become More Empathetic and Tolerant

Studies show that those who read are more empathetic. Isn't that great? And it makes complete sense. Literature is pretty much the only medium where you actually put on another person's "mind" and "body."

Now look at the writing process. You are essentially doing that twofold. Writers often have to know more things about their characters than the audience. In some stories, they may have to know their protagonist more personally than they know other people. And their antagonist often has to view themselves as the hero of their own story. Every time a writer is sitting down to write, they have to filter the story through a viewpoint character, they have to take on the thoughts, worldviews, body, and experiences of someone else, whether that person is a hero, villain, antihero, male, female, black, white, biracial, gay, straight, child, parent, thief, scapegoat, priest, drug addict, whatever. Even if the writer fails to convey that perspective exactly right, they are still actively engaging in the activity more often than most non-writers. If you are sincerely, genuinely trying to see the world from other people's perspectives over and over again, what's going to happen? You'll probably become more empathetic and tolerant.

Empathy is like a superpower. How many times do you hear people say some rendition of, "I wish someone understood me"? I hear it all the time. Empathy satisfies that. Empathy enables you to connect with and love all kinds of people as they are on a personal level. And when you are at that level, you can see better how to help others and what their needs are, whether that's with an understanding ear or offering sincere advice. But most of all, you can see better how to be genuinely kind to them. Empathy of course has its place and limitations, but this is one attribute that can for sure change the world. And when you share what you write, you will be helping others develop more empathy.

Like empathy, everything I've touched on here has its limitations, and these are all generalities (and concepts I'm trying to put words to). And I worry that in talking about the non-writing benefits of writing, that I've inspired arrogance. Rest assured that you are special . . . like everyone else. Really, like I said at the beginning, any skill you pursue at long-term will change you, even your thought patterns. So if this post makes you feel more confident, great! But you don't need to go marching around like you are better than non-writers. (Give me a break. The last thing we need in this industry is more elitism.) But my point is, pursuing writing will change you! As a side effect, it may give you skills you weren't even looking for. And that, my friends, is a wonderful thing--whether you publish or not.

There are of course loads of other benefits as well, such as developing perseverance, patience, self-discipline, precision . . . but I wanted to focus on skills related more closely to writing. It does help develop all those, but so do many, many other pursuits. And of course, there are negative effects that can happen as you pursue this, but that's for another day.

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