Failure and Other Awesome Things (Patreon)

A few nights ago I tried to make spicy caramel corn (I'll attach the link for the recipe). "Tried" was the operative word in that sentence. While I do bake a lot, I don't do a lot of candy making, and caramel can be tricky. Now here's the funny part-I was pretty sure going in that I was going to screw it up. I'd had a really busy day, so when I finally had time it was late. I was tired and I wanted off my feet. But I'd planned on finally making the caramel corn and so I decided to do it anyway. That would be mistake number one.

Mistake number two came when I was making the actual caramel. It was supposed to be a "light golden color" and it got there and I thought, "Is that what they mean? Should I take it off now?" I was pretty sure it was ready, but then I thought, "Well, maybe they meant a darker golden color..." and I second guessed myself. Caramel goes wrong fast guys. I totally should have taken it off that first time. (I also should have used a bigger pot.) And then when I put the empty caramel pot back on the stove, I should have made sure the burner was off. It wasn't. So suddenly I have caramel corn with a just-slightly-burnt after taste, a smoke filled kitchen, a pot full of charcoal to scrub, and my smoke alarm is rather alarmingly NOT going off and I sat there thinking, "That could have gone better."

And if I'd listened to my instincts and trusted my knowledge base, it would of. But I was tired and I made poor choices. I didn't kick myself over it. (My penance would come when I had to clean up.) 

Lately I've been dragging my son more and more into the kitchen in the hopes that he won't turn out like one of the many, many male roommates I had over the years who didn't have basic cooking skills. (Plus, baking is science and math in food form!) Unfortunately, my son has inherited some of my less than stellar qualities. When I was younger, I wanted to do things perfectly the second I tried them and would erupt in frustration when that didn't happen. In my mind I knew what needed to happen, but my stupid body just couldn't keep up. I would berate myself for every and all screw ups. My son has a tendency to do the same. So cooking has been very good for him. Because in the kitchen, you generally don't make the same goof twice. Screw ups tend to be dramatic. Like when I was a kid and learned to pay attention to tsp, tbsp and cup when I put a freakishly large amount of cloves in a pumpkin pie. (It was a very dark brown. My mom thought it was HILARIOUS.) For my son, he learned not to put a hot pan on the counter top--and we have the scorch mark to remind him. Or when he didn't check the burner and turned on the wrong one and blew up the lovely dish I'd left on there. Both times he panicked and got upset and I made sure he was okay and showed him how to safely clean up the mess. Then I told him, "Bet you won't do that again." And he mostly doesn't. But cooking is a very good demonstration of learning through failure. As long as you don't hurt yourself, you can start over and try again. Each time, you perfect the recipe and method a little bit more. It's an exercise in patience...something I sorely needed as a kid.

Failure is seriously the best teacher, and yet we all fear it. But you really need to fail. If you're not failing, it means you're not pushing yourself into new things and growing. Which is a really good way to go stagnant, friends. If I don't try new recipes, everyone in my house will get really bored with my food, including myself. No one will want to eat it. With each recipe I ruthlessly screw up, I expand my knowledge in the kitchen. 

I thought of this today as I started my NanoWriMo project. I never do Nano--I'm usually editing during November. This month I decided to give it a go. Mostly because I've been paralyzed over my current draft, which isn't like me.  Logically, I know part of the fear is because it's something new and different. It's traditional fantasy, which I haven't really taken a crack at, and it makes me nervous. It's also starting from scratch after writing in the same world since 2008. That's some scary shit, y'all. Failing on a novel is a lot more terrifying and labor intensive than screwing up caramel corn. 

And just like with that wretched  caramel corn, I've known exactly what the problem is. I'm over thinking it. I'm getting bogged down in the world building instead of  getting pages it. If I was one of my students, I would be lecturing them about the need to get words on the page. And yet, here I've been, adding a word here or there, but not getting anything really done. 

Oh, I've been writing, sure. Stories for here, articles for Tor.com, etc., and short term that's great, but man, I really need to get working on that novel. Between the fear of failure, fear of trying something new, and the stress of too  much work, finances, and so forth, I'm not surprised that I froze up. 

But no more.

The beauty of Nano is you're writing to fast to think, really. You're putting the tap directly into your brain and letting the words flow out. The draft will likely be a hot mess. (As all of my drafts are.) But I can fix a draft. I can't fix an empty page.  

And I know better, friends. I really do.

So I started Nano today. I threw down 1800 shiny new words. I'm going back to trusting my gut and failing like a champ.

Go fail, y'all. You'll be better for it.

(Also, if you're into pumpkin bread, you should try the Smitten Kitchen recipe for that. I made it with the kiddo and it is the BEST.)