The Liberty of the Failed Writer

Failure is liberating to the writer.

Failure here means the failure to reach any sort of audience – to be insignificant, unheard, irrelevant. Though there are many motives for writing – “This is the curse – write!” – it is a liar who claims that they would rather be unheard, would rather their work influenced no-one.

I assert that such failure is liberating. Anonymous toil has its benefits. One of the projects I work hardest on – the “Mid-Week Bible Video” – has a core audience in single digits. Most of my essays on culture are read by between 20 and 40 people. My work is of profound irrelevance – and yet the Mid-Week Bible Video feels like perhaps the most valuable thing I write (and record) each week. Why?

Let me illustrate by means of an anecdote. Whilst a New York Police Commissioner, two of Teddy Roosevelt’s friends came to him to ask him about the increasing hype surrounding him – did he also think he would be President one day?

He flew into a rage at them, demanding they never ask him such a thing again. Once he had calmed, he explained – that though he might desire such a post, if he dwelt on it he would lose the very fire that made him effective, the risk-taking integrity that was making his name. He would begin to make politic decisions. He would become useless – even if he did become President eventually.

An enormously productive time in my writing and reading life has come during a period a great uncertainty, personally and nationally. Why? For any number of reasons – but one, I suspect, is my complete insignificance.

When I sit down to prepare the Mid-Week Bible Video, I read Hodge’s Commentary on Romans (our current series), I read the section of Watson’s All Things for Good that will be included in the video, and I check the catechism question for the week. I then spend several hours writing the Bible study. I then spent around an hour recording, prepping, and uploading the video to Youtube. It is some of the best work I have ever done.

My minute audience was initially half-demoralising, but is now a spur; this small audience wants the work I have to give them, and makes no conflicting demands (though critique is welcome). And their very small number focuses my mind and spirit on the work in hand – the explanation of the things of God and the feeding of Christ’s sheep. The complete lack of adulation I receive forces me to write because it is worth writing. The work takes on its own life, rather than having false life given it by the gloss of applause.

I think this sort of popular failure has a clarifying effect on the writer. Do they write because they must, because they are convicted of their subject, or do they write purely in hopes of an audience? Whilst diligently seeking wise criticism, the anonymous writer can focus on the purification of their work, so that it achieves the highest interior and formal excellence possible.

There is, I think, a wider sanctification possible too – if the failed writer chooses to eschew any bitterness at the fickleness of the crowd, they can instead turn that criticism inward, at their own inner mob, baying for the bread and circuses of public plaudits. They can render that internal gaggle quiescent, and truly rule themselves by means of the spirit and intellect.

Eventually, if such a self-ruled and fully convicted writer becomes prominent, they may be able to retain focus and integrity in the face of their audience. That is precisely when they can be useful to their hearers – when they aim to please nobody but their daimon.

For any aspiring writers of talent, then, I heartily wish you failure. I hope your articles receive a dozen views each for years to go. I hope every hack around you gets invited on to podcasts, or gets a column on a blogroll site. I hope you receive little praise and less money. This could be the greatest gift possible for you; it may make your work worthy if fame comes calling.