Failing Forward
Failing Forward
Long-listed for The Failing Writers Podcast 2023 Flash Fiction Competition and what that means to me
I discovered The Failing Writers Podcast last year while looking for distractions on my hour and a half daily commute into San Antonio. I was working on my writing while in undergraduate studies. I don’t remember exactly what I wrote in the search bar, but it was probably something simple and straight forward like “writing podcasts.” One of the first to come up was The Failing Writers Podcast1. Okay, a quick admin note; we’re a handful of lines into this thing and I’ve already written The Failing Writers Podcast three now four times, including the subtitle. I’m going to refer to them as failures, I mean the failing writers because writing out The Failing Writers Podcast every time is beginning to feel like I’m the sort of person who tries to correct your pronunciation of Neanderthal. Yes, yes, we all realize it’s supposed to be pronounced with a hard t, but you know what? Merriam-Webster lists nē-ˈan-dər-ˌthȯl2 as its second pronunciation and you sound like a pretentious know-it-all when you correct people with nē-ˈan-dər-ˌtȯl, so back to the failu— back to the subject at hand— discovering the failing writers.
I appreciate irony and a good ol’ self-deprecating dig, so I was intrigued. Also, I end up with coffee and cabernet rings on a lot of my writing, so I think their logo is great! The intro was original and there was something about their voices which made me smile. Maybe it was nostalgia for my cousins across the pond, or some nostalgia for the King’s English, or the friendly banter. I’m not sure, but regardless, I was immediately enthriced3. The tea drinking worldwrites who we affectionately refer to as failing writers are Jon Rand4, Tom Turner5, and Dave Baird6. Oh, and of course, one of my daughter’s favorite voices opens, closes, and lures you in with a soothing tone and whimsical flair, is the show-siren herself, Katie Rand7. My daughter says, “She sounds like Marry Poppins, but she’s a lot funnier. I like her!” You better watch out Dame Julie Andrews DBE… Katie is hot on your tail!
I’m not sure what role(s) each have in the production of such an epic failure, but it works. They have a variety of interesting guests, great original music, amazing fan submission readings, but most importantly, they demystify the craft of writing and encourage everyone to pick up a pen and put down some words. My daughters and I listen to their podcast on the way to school most mornings, and with two complete seasons in their catalog, and more than a dozen episodes and counting in the bag for the third season, there is plenty of content to digest. I particularly enjoy listening to older episodes. I find, as new skills are incorporated into my writing, catalogued episodes take on fresh meaning. It’s a bit like listening to a killer song in a language you don’t understand, and then being on a date with someone who does and listening to them explain what it means. And really, writing has parallels with every creative art in one way or another. I can see painters or musicians or competitive livestock showmen getting as much out of the podcast as I do.
But enough about them. What about failing forward? As I’ve mentioned I came to discover the failing writers last year and basically binged two seasons. (Hold on, hold on… I promise I’m not buttering them up anymore) But with a home purchase, and driving the girls to and from school, and driving myself to and from school, I somehow missed the return of the third season. When I finally noticed that it was underway, I began playing catch up. They announced their annual £500 flash fiction writing contest during Episode 14, but I was weeks behind. “Time for the hazing,” I thought and chalked this year up as a missed opportunity.
I sent the guys an email letting them know that I was enjoying the season, and just came across the competition details, but had too much on my plate to commit to a
writing competition. In truth, I had— still have— several pieces in other competitions and was working on another short story at the time. As a Marine, I respect a good thrashing. Pain retains and shame retains, and both are powerful motivators. Knowing when and how to push someone to be better is a skill, and knowing how far to push someone so they believe it’s even possible is an art, but knowing when to insult a Marine so that he decides to show you why he is better than you think he is… well that’s magic! It may be dark magic— maybe even dangerous magic— but it’s magic all the same.
Glad you finally bothered to give season 3 a try, you laggard!… I think you could probably find room for a cheeky 500 word story about failing... but.. y'know... you do you.
Laggard!? A cheeky story about failing!?!?! What the hell? Did this guy just try and punk me? I’m kidding of course, sort of. That was the email I received (in part), and I did laugh and think it was funny, but then I closed my email and thought, “I just got called out. Am I a writer, or as he suggested, a laggard?” I’m telling you… these guys give it as good as they take it, and I knew I had to write a story and compete.
The competition is pretty straight forward.
It couldn’t be more than 500-words, not including the title.
It had to be in English (I’m pretty sure that was a requirement, but I might be misremembering).
It had to express a theme of failing.
That’s it. No entry fee, no fancy submission portal. Just write the best flash fiction you can in no more than 500 words and make sure a theme of failing is apparent. I spent about 2 hours drafting my story and another 30 minutes or so revising. I had a glass of wine with supper and then went back for to proofread it and fired it off the same afternoon I received the email.
I’ll be honest here. I’ve competed in a 250-word micro-fiction writing competition and a couple of 500-word competitions now (an essay is coming in the next month or so with my latest submission to NYC Midnight and will include judges feedback both good, and bad, so be on the lookout for that email). Distilling a complete story in 500-words is not easy. I’m not sure what the prevailing sentiment about flash-fiction writers is, but if it’s anything less than outstanding, I’d suggest trying yourself. It’s hard— it’s real hard. Every single word choice is crucial, and somehow you still need to evoke an emotional response. I believe it’s possibly more crucial in micro- or flash-fiction than in any other format. Did I mention you only have 500-words to do so? For some perspective, you’ve read 1,169 words up to this period, right here (not including the tile, subtitle, or this parenthetical). You should give it a try. It will improve your writing, guaranteed. Write a complete story for your kids or your grandkids, or for your next camping trip— beginning, middle, and end, with fully developed characters and a message or theme. It’ll make you scratch your head! Makes my head smoke.
The judge recommended in the announcement episode the competitors should spend some time on their story. Write it and then let it simmer for a while, days or weeks even. Then come back to it and revise before submitting. Luckily for me, I keep a small notebook of story ideas, so, despite being weeks behind my competitors, I was able to look through the notebook and select one of my ideas for a story I thought might be written in flash-form.
story about a father-son trip. ironic. tragic. shame.
My notes showed, “story about a father-son trip. ironic. tragic. shame.” Pretty short description, but I remembered where I was when I jotted the note down. I was on a flight back from Texas where I had wanted to visit with my son, but my schedule was such that we barely saw each other. It was the sort of excuse one tells themself to mask their shame. I knew that I should have made more time. I knew that I had failed as a father. And there it was— I had a story— or at least the feeling behind a story.
“Would you like the window?” was my submission for The Failing Writers Podcast 2023 Flash Fiction Competition, and I offer it to you now for your reading pleasure.
“Would you like the window?”
Small ripples danced on the surface of Martin’s wine. The tray table was small, so when it bounced, the plastic cup flipped and wine spilled in his lap and the empty seat where John, his son, had been sitting.
This was the first father-son trip he’d been able to squirrel away enough cash for since the divorce and his stomach was inside out. Martin knew, at 16, John would much rather have been with his friends, or trying to get his girlfriend’s bra off, than spending time with him, but Martin believed this was his last chance before John got too busy. Martin could see the text message now— Sorry, I haven’t got time, dad. Man, I’ve fucked this all up.
“Dad, you feel that? Aw man, where am I gonna sit?”
“Hold on a sec. Here, take my seat while I grab some napkins.”
“Yours is wet too.”
“My lap caught most of it.” Martin shuffled side-to-side. “Just sit here. I’ll be right—”
A mechanical shriek filled the cabin. John squatted in the aisle and covered his ears. Martin looked out the window and flames trailed behind an engine. He forced fingers away from his own ear and reached for John over the arm rest with both hands, but John wasn’t there.
John whumped against the roof, and the stewardess and her cart wisped past his head. Martin’s arms slammed rearward and there was a snap. His right forearm hammered, and the stewardess’ screams ended with a cymbal’s crash near the aft-most restrooms.
John slapped flat on the crumb-covered aisle. He wobbled to his hands and knees and a stream of thick crimson poured onto the carpet. John turned to his father, still buckled in the seat, and his eyes darted and were wide. John had three distinct lips now and Martin could see where his son’s teeth had been.
Martin grabbed his son’s shoulders, but only the left hand closed on his shirt. A rubber arm refused to help, and his right hand rested palm-side up in the fold of his elbow.
Martin yanked John across his lap and lobbed him into his seat. John vomited and his eyes rolled.
“Help me, son. I can’t get this fucking thing buckled with one arm.” John’s third lip was snagged on the jagged remnant of a tooth. Martin saw his son flip his bike after jumping a ramp they made for his birthday. The same tooth wiggled for days, and Martin’s wife said, “You stupid shit; you’re gonna kill him one day.”
“Dad.”
“It’s okay, John. It’ll be okay. Help me, son.”
Martin’s stomach lurched in his throat and John began to float into the console where the masks hung like quivering bodies from creaking gallows.
The shriek increased to a higher pitch and threatened to burst his ears, and then Martin’s face smashed into a tiny screen. He thought John tumbled forward limp, but everything was dark now.
Pressure seized Martin’s chest.
“Son”
Martin’s ears flooded.
“Joh— .”
I don’t know how many submissions were entered in the competition. They said hundreds and hundreds before announcing the winners in Episode 19, but it didn’t matter to me. I went into this competition with little expectation of success— zero, in fact. I just wanted to show them I wasn’t a laggard. I just wanted to prove to myself that I wasn’t. I mean, what sort of person calls themself a writer but won’t, or can’t, string 500 words together? The judge had advised to write, wait, and revise, which I didn’t do. The failing writers had just said, hundreds and hundreds of entries came in from all over the world. I had done more than string 500 words together, that’s true, but not much more. There was feeling behind it, sure, but you could cry your heart out over a piece of toilet paper and that wouldn’t make it good writing— and certainly not a winning story.
And mine wasn’t a winner. Far from it in my estimation… Compared to the winner (you can check out a perfect story in my opinion here by skipping to around minute 34:00), my entry is elementary at best. An interview with the author, Manu St Thomas, can be heard here8. However, it appears the failing writers saw something in it. “Would you like the window?” was long-listed by either Jon, Tom, or Dave and that means something to me. It means I failed. That much is certainly true, but it also means that I failed forward.
Being the virtuosos they are, they announced some of their long-listed failing-fans in a customary ditty.
It was late when the episode was released, and I was driving Isabella home from a birthday party, so I was really focused on the road more than the episode. I didn’t hear it. Isabella started to scream and said, “They said your name, dad! They said your name!”
“What?”
“They just said Aaron Courts and airplane. Your story was about an airplane, right?”
“Hold on. What? Back it up. Let’s hear it again.”
“I’m tellin’ you dad, you won!”
We played it back and sure enough (assuming “Aaron Court” is me and the “aeroplane collision” is my story) I was long-listed.
“See dad,” Isabella squealed. The girl was beaming. “You won. I’m so proud of you, dad.”
Failing never felt so good. We listened to the rest of their song and most of the episode before we got home. I took some time to explain what being long-listed meant but agreed with her— I had won something. I had an idea, I wrote an original story, I put my story and voice out there, and I submitted that story to an international writing competition for people I don’t know to judge… and they liked it. They didn’t like it the best, but they liked it. And more importantly— the only thing important in the end— my daughter was proud of me and my story and told me so.
If that is failing, then let me fail at everything I do.
Semper Fidelis,
Aaron Courts
p.s. “Would you like the window?” has been revised since submitting it to the failing writers. It is now a whopping 566 words. What amazing changes have occurred and what could those 66 additional words have done for the story? Well, they’ve certainly made it better, and in my humble opinion, they’ve made it exponentially better. But don’t worry, “Would you like the window?” will be available to read as part of a collection of short stories I’m writing and compiling as we speak, and I think you’re going to like it.
Editorial note: The Failing writers interviewed the author of the winning story and I have added a link to the interview on 11/13/2023. Additionally, links to the author’s other published works are provided in the footnotes.
Neanderthal Definition & Meaning - Merriam-Webster. Just click on the -ˌthȯl (speaker) icon near the top and regain your confidence in not sounding pretentious.
Enthriced Definition & Meaning - The Failing Writers Long-time Fan Dictionary. Entrhiced is a transitive verb which means to attract artfully or adroitly or by arousing hope or desire and to hold spellbound once the desired state of delectation has been conjured in the subject or object of interest. It is a derivative of the adjective Enthricing.
Jon’s bio states “By day, Jon Rand is a professional Voice Over Artiste. You’ll know his voice from the telly - He’s the bloke who sounds all serious, even potentially quite angry about wanting you to watch Keanu Reeves in Speed, Friday at 9, on Film 4. By night, however, Jon is an avid writer of fiction. The sort of fiction that almost no one will ever want to read. He also likes cycling, playing poker and eating food. Oh and dancing at weddings… but most of his friends are married now, so… you know… he doesn’t get to do that very much.” He can be followed on Facebook here, Twitter here, and LinkedIn here.
Tom’s bio states “Tom was brought up by wolves in the foothills of the Pennines. This explains a lot.”
Dave’s bio states “Dave used to be Head of Creative at the largest radio station outside of London, but he gave it all up to become a successful multi-millionaire writer. Fifteen years on, he's still yet to properly finish anything. Instead he does voiceovers, reading other peoples words for money. But the dream is still there.... just as far away as it ever was.”
Katie Rand is a professional voice over artist and Jon’s better half. Her bio says, in part, she has “A reassuring, quilted hygge of a voice which, from personal experience, can lull you into a state of happy submission or simply get you to do things you didn’t even know you wanted to do.” The personal experience might belong to Jon, but lulled listeners certainly are! You can learn more about Katie (and Jon) on their website here.
You made the ditty!! Congratulations!!