There comes a time in everyone’s life when they finally fuck up. Every soccer player will eventually miss a goal they should have made. Every writer eventually produces a piece that inspires weak smiles and false congratulations. Lil’ Wayne made that rock album. Michael Jordan flirted with baseball. Ang Lee directed “Hulk.”
I’m not delusional enough to believe that I’ve ever created anything anywhere near as great as the works of the artists I’ve listed above. But in recent years I’ve become accustomed to artistic praise. Every play I’ve written and directed since high school has received accolades from peers and onlookers, relatives and friends, and occasionally from awards organizations. I’m used to pats on the back and people telling me “You’re going places.” Until this past Wednesday, I had never experienced that feeling of creating a work that a good number of people simply didn’t like. Or even worse, hated.
This past Wednesday I released a webseries called “The Internationals.” I wrote the webseries with a friend (professionally produced playwright Will Dubbs ’14) and experienced, award-winning filmmaker Neo Sora ’13 directed the pilot episode. We had a great time filming the first episode, with actors whom I’ve worked with in every play I’ve directed at Wesleyan. We showed the pilot episode to a few other friends, reviewed our footage and script countless times, and released it when we deemed it ready. I prepared myself for the pats on the back, the accolades, the, “you’re going places.”
And then a funny thing happened. They didn’t come. I waited for the compliments to flow in through Facebook. I waited for the snarky praise of the ACB. I waited for the complimentary texts from friends I hadn’t heard from in a while. And for the most part, the compliments were absent. Instead, I found to my horror multiple comments like “horrible writing,” and “worse than cancer.” Bombastic Internet statements for sure, but it was cutting nonetheless that anyone would feel that way about something I’d had such a large part in. I posted the first episode on the Facebook thread that I keep with my best friends from home, only to find their praise delayed and tepid. I didn’t spend the day bawling in my Butt C single, but my face bore a frown and I found it difficult to get up and do much of anything but mope.
There were plenty of people that said they loved, liked, or enjoyed it. The cast was deemed by my friends from back home to be “incredibly sexy” (and yes, they are). And as best as I can review something I helped create, I was and still am proud of it, and am delighted with the work of Will Dubbs, Neo Sora, and the talented actors involved. But for one reason or another, I had for the first time helped to create something that didn’t click with a large number of people. Something that wouldn’t see me “going places.”
So what does it mean to fail? Had I “failed” because a good number of people disliked the show’s first episode? Perhaps, to a certain extent. But I’m going to go out on a limb and say something that might sound trite. What’s life without a taste of failure? What’s life without the occasional girl that doesn’t want to go out with you, the lost game that induces silence in the locker-room, or the test emblazoned with a red letter ‘F’? That wouldn’t be much of a life at all, and certainly not one worth writing about.
This Sunday we’ll be filming the second episode of “The Internationals.” The cast, crew, and I plan on doing everything we can to make it a good episode, incorporating constructive criticism from friends, teachers, peers, and yes, even the ACB. The episode is about an RA who tries, and spectacularly fails, to throw a successful pregame in his room. I know that my experience this week will inform the way I contribute to the depiction of this character’s disappointment and my future outlook on creating an artistic work. And for everyone else that has ever put their work or skills out there and felt knocked down, I encourage you to take the advice of the masterful ‘90s British one hit wonder band, Chumbawumba, and get back up again.
I’m going to indulge in self-awareness to disguise my desire to end with a cheesy line, and inform you that this was the first thing that came up when I Googled “disappointment quotes”:
“Disappointment is to a noble soul what cold water is to burning metal; it strengthens, tempers, intensifies, but never destroys it.” – Eliza Tabor.
Steves is a member of the class of 2013
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