Fail, change approach, succeed
There are easier ways to get up the Eiger than the North Face
This the second in a three-part series of articles about dealing with fear:
Part 1: Three great ways to fail miserably
Part 2: Fail, change your approach, succeed
Part 3: Fail, but find a new direction
No-one sets out to fail, and that’s why it can hurt so much when it happens. And that is what makes it even harder to take responsibility for the failure. It’s a minefield. Last time I shared the three ways in which you can fail and how it can help you move forwards:
When you didn’t do enough: Learning so you can do the same thing better;
When your approach was wrong: Learning so you can pivot and achieve the same goal in a different way;
When your goal is wrong: Learning so you can see the bigger picture in a different light.
I’m going to focus on the second of these today – failing, pivoting, then approaching the problem from a different direction and ultimately getting it right.
Last time I told you about my athletic failures. Today I’m going to tell you about my creative and business failures. Buckle up.
Back in 2017 I started a (very) small business to design and publish board games. I had a great idea for a game, and I wanted to bring it to the world.
My first approach was to self-publish – this was a deliberate choice, with the aim of having maximum equity and therefore maximum personal benefit from any success I earned. I designed and manufactured a couple of hundred copies of my game, and started trying to sell it through my own new website, and through Amazon.
I sold less than a dozen copies and lost money.
I thought if you made something available, it would sell. I underestimated the importance of marketing. And I assumed that because my game was so fabulous, it would just sell. It didn’t, and most of the remaining copies are propping up the suitcases in the loft, as an enduring testament to failure.
I also realised, too late, that my graphic design was poor and that the game rules were over-complicated. That was because I hadn’t sought enough feedback – because I thought it was good enough, but deep down, because I didn’t want to listen to or act upon negative feedback.
Some months later, I attempted to crowdfund a new production run, with improvements in place. But the improvements were not significant enough, and I still didn’t have a ‘crowd’. The campaign didn’t fund – about 60 people showed an interest and pledged money, but that was only about a quarter of what I needed to make the project viable.
I had a medium-sized tantrum and turned my attention to other projects.
A year or so later, I finally had a successful crowdfunding campaign with a different game.
By then I had built up an email list of several hundred people. I had another go at crowdfunding the original game again.
It funded, by the skin of its teeth, but I made so many promises and compromises to get it over the line that I ended up losing money, again. But at least this time the game was produced, professionally, and I had now got my games into the hands of nearly a thousand people.
Two more Kickstarter campaigns followed, both successful. I had cracked it. I decided to go all-in on a campaign that would take my business, and my game designing, to the next level. I spent all the money so far made on proper artwork, proper marketing, building a bigger audience, and aimed to launch two games at once. If it worked, I would start making some serious money and the world would be my oyster.
It bombed.
The games were different enough from what my core following were into that it wasn’t a guaranteed sell.
I also managed to introduce some completely new failures to my growing portfolio – the shipping was too expensive; two games at once wasn’t the selling point I thought it would be…
I parked that part of my creative ambition for a year or so, then changed tack again.
By this time I had quite a few designs ready to go, but was increasingly disillusioned with crowdfunding as a way forward. It has the advantage that you own everything – all the equity, all the success, all the failures. But it’s an absolute ton of work – which is completely worth it if you’re having success, but starts to feel like an excessive investment if you’re not.
So I started pitching publishers. As anyone who has done this with their writing will testify, you need a thick skin for this, and you need to be ready for an awful lot of knockbacks.
The above, very brief summary, encapsulates nearly five years of excitement, disappointment, frustration, doubt and more. It’s been a bumpy old ride.
Where I’ve ended up is with a modest amount of success in a very specific gaming niche, and a much better understanding of how the whole industry works, and a good set of contacts.
Nothing created is wasted. Every project parked or retired is something you can come back to, or learn from. I’ve found that revisiting a long-forgotten project leads me to either realising that something was great and I can take it in a new direction, or seeing with new clarity everything that was wrong with it, from which I can then learn and move forwards.
The core aim in my case was to have some success in designing and publishing games, and to make some creative ideas and projects into reality. It’s important to focus on your real outcomes – check back on that, but don’t be afraid to change that as you learn more.
So in this case the goal was right, but I’d taken the wrong approach to achieving it, and made a ton of rookie mistakes along the way (going it alone, not getting enough feedback, hoping for the best…)
That particular part of my life remains a work in progress, and I don’t think there will be a finish line. Just like writing, there is a constant tension between finding and navigating your way past a series of rich and powerful gatekeepers in the hope of getting some of the action, versus going it alone. And, like writing, it’s a fulfilling pursuit, even if you and up with very little external success or validation.
But as you develop and evolve your approach will change, and it’s not a pre-determined path that works for everyone or even for you. At some points you will decide you want more freedom, that you’re doing it for the love, not the money or the numbers.
At other times you might change your mind and feel you need to get paid, or just to take an easier route and sign a contract to get something coming in and let someone take the strain for a change.
All of those things are fine – that’s the journey. There is no single ‘correct’ path, it’s just a series of interesting choices that can lead you to a whole range of different places.
Would it have been better to just succeed first time? Well possibly, but I would have learnt nothing, would have created less and would assume that I had a bulletproof formula for success. And I’d therefore be set up for an even bigger fall when it inevitably came.
If you fail when you’re on the ground floor, it’s manageable. You should hope for great success but not expect it. Falling from the top rung is far worse than falling from the bottom. Insert your own related metaphor here.
Writer Elizabeth Day presents the ‘How to Fail’ podcast. In her work on failing, she outlines five principles of Failure. In brief, she notes that:
Failure is going to happen – don’t pretend it won’t, but choose how you’re going to respond;
Don’t be defined by your thoughts and feelings;
Age and experience are an asset to you;
Failure is data acquisition, so approach failure in advance, with this in mind. What do you expect to learn? Then you can draw what you need from the experience and move on, without taking a failure as a personal affront;
We are strongest when we are open about our vulnerabilities.
I can now expect failure and be ready for it.
It’s not necessarily even a question of choice – it might not be possible for you to see the path you’re taking until you look back on it – and of course, when you embark on a particular project or direction, you don’t expect to fail, otherwise why would you do it?
No-one wants to fail. But you will, and that’s okay.
Maybe you haven’t failed before – I’m pleased for you, but also sad because you probably haven’t stretched yourself, put yourself out there. It doesn’t hurt as much as you think it will. But it does hurt.
Your disasters are potentially your finest hours.
Next time – what if your goal is wrong?
