Chapter 1: The Weight of Public Failure

Let me share a personal anecdote about a significant public setback I experienced. Just six months after my debut as a playwright, I unveiled early drafts of a new play. This ambitious piece explored themes such as the corrupting influence of power and the inherent kindness of humanity. Spanning over two hours, it demanded five elaborate sets and cast 38 actors to fill various roles.

I was convinced it was a masterpiece. After all, just months earlier, I had witnessed my first play come to life with costumes, sets, actors, music, and lights, captivating audiences night after night. At just 21 years old, I felt invincible.

But reality hit hard…

My script had its first public airing at a playwright's workshop, presented in a laid-back concert reading format. The audience comprised students, professors, and curious onlookers eager to see what the creator of that previous work had concocted. However, they were far from impressed.

My so-called brilliance went unrecognized. Instead, I was met with an avalanche of constructive criticism on how to improve my work—suggestions to reduce the overwhelming cast size, tighten the narrative focus, and better establish the rules of my fictional world. You could practically see my confidence shatter in that moment.

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I felt my face flush and dashed outside to chain smoke at the first opportunity. My script never resurfaced. In hindsight, perhaps that was for the best; the concept wasn't as strong as I initially believed.

Experiencing public failure is tough. I've had my share of it. A few years prior to that play, I had walked off stage during a local poetry open mic after a disappointing sonnet reading. The year before, I received a handwritten rejection note suggesting I pursue a career in cleaning instead. Before that, I endured public breakups, awkward teenage years, and embarrassing attempts at basketball.

Public failure is a painful reality for everyone, despite what our highlight reels suggest. Adolescence itself is a time filled with public missteps—a period we’d rather not revisit.

As we mature, discussions about public failure tend to fade, replaced by the more generalized concept of "fear of failure."

Why haven’t you finished that book?

Why do you remain in a job you dislike?

Why do you obsess over articles on writing instead of simply sharing your stories?

The answer often defaults to fear of failure, which is misleading. Let’s be honest: how afraid would you be to fail if no one else ever found out? Would you write that book if you knew no one would judge its quality? Would you pen more poems if the bad ones vanished from memory as soon as they were read?

Absolutely, you would. We all would.

What truly hinders us is the fear of being seen fail.

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That fear is what prevents us from taking risks. It explains why we obsess over tips and tricks for maximum readership or viral success, spending more time on strategies than on creating.

This fear of public embarrassment is why that whimsical short story about a cupcake and donut remains hidden. It’s also the reason you hesitate to write the opening line of that love poem. Indeed, it’s why countless submission opportunities slip by unnoticed.

Public failure feels shameful. Private failures, on the other hand, are easier to manage. You can carry your shame alone, isolated from the world that could judge your work. This is why many choose to shy away from the risk of public failure.

But consider this: what’s the absolute worst that could happen if you took the leap? What’s the worst outcome of sharing that story you’ve been yearning to write?

Someone might not appreciate it.

That's a possibility.

A group of people might dislike it.

That could happen too.

Some critics will inevitably voice their opinions, letting you know how they feel. Yes, that’s likely to occur, much like how some individuals simply enjoy tearing down others’ efforts.

Your work might not get published or generate income. Rejection letters could come your way, or even harsh reviews from critics. Yet, that’s as severe as it gets. No one will execute you for poor writing, and those who criticize your work are hardly mob enforcers or hostile fans.

And what if you choose not to share your work?

Photo taken by the author.

If you decide to keep your work to yourself, playing it safe, what then?

No one can predict the outcome. Not you, not me.

You might avoid public humiliation from a less-than-stellar piece, escaping the ire of readers. The Grammar Police will certainly overlook you. No one will criticize your work because no one will see it.

But what if that unique piece you could create would resonate with someone? Maybe your blog post could inspire someone to pursue their passions. Perhaps your story could uplift someone struggling with loss or provide solace to a young person feeling alone in their room. It might even save a life.

Yet, you’ll never know…

At least not if you let the fear of public failure hold you back…

Chapter 2: The Importance of Sharing Your Voice

In "Public Failure: A Prerequisite for Success," Olivia Omega Wallace discusses how embracing failure is essential for growth and success. She emphasizes that every setback teaches us valuable lessons that pave the way for future achievements.

In a candid talk titled "Let's Talk About Failing in Public," the speaker addresses the stigma surrounding public failure and encourages open conversations about it as a means to foster resilience and creativity.