Sometimes you're not even sure which of your stories were
Sometimes you're not even sure which of your stories were failures. There are things I've written that I thought were complete catastrophes when I finished with them that have gone on to generate some of my most positive feedback.
The words of Len Wein — “Sometimes you’re not even sure which of your stories were failures. There are things I’ve written that I thought were complete catastrophes when I finished with them that have gone on to generate some of my most positive feedback.” — remind us of the mysterious nature of creation. They reveal that the judgment of the maker is not always the judgment of the world, and that what feels broken in the hands of the artist may yet shine as a treasure in the eyes of others.
To call something a failure is often the first instinct of the heart that longs for perfection. The creator sees the flaws, the cracks, the places where vision and execution did not meet. Yet the audience, unburdened by such inner torment, often sees beauty where the artist sees ruin. Thus Wein confesses that what he thought to be catastrophes became his offerings most cherished, a truth that humbles all who dare to create.
History gives us witness to this paradox. Consider Beethoven, who in despair cast aside his Missa Solemnis, thinking it too heavy, too dark, too strange for the world. And yet centuries later, it resounds in cathedrals as one of his most powerful works, celebrated for the very intensity he feared. Or recall Van Gogh, who believed his art was misunderstood and worthless, yet his brushstrokes now stand immortal, revered beyond measure. These examples echo Wein’s lesson: the worth of one’s labor is not always known to the laborer.
This truth carries comfort to those who strive. For if even the master doubts, if even he mistakes failure for success, then let none despair when their own work feels unworthy. The eye of the future may see what the present cannot. The seeds sown in doubt may blossom into fruits of unexpected abundance. To persist despite uncertainty is therefore the highest courage of the artist, the thinker, the doer.
Let future generations hold this wisdom close: do not cast aside your efforts as worthless too soon. For the gods themselves delight in turning ashes into flame, and what you believe to be a catastrophe may in truth be your most enduring gift. Trust that the work born of sincerity has its place, even if unseen for a season. In Wein’s words, we find not only consolation, but strength: that out of doubt may come triumph, and out of despair, a legacy.
YNYen Nhi
Len Wein’s perspective on creative failures turning into successes is a great reminder of the importance of persistence and self-reflection. How many times have we discarded something because we didn’t believe it was good enough, only to realize later that it had potential? This quote makes me question: how do we determine what defines a ‘failure’ in the creative process, and how can we cultivate the confidence to see our work through?
NYNguyen ngoc nhu y
Len Wein’s quote makes me think about how much of creative success is outside our control. Sometimes, we can be too hard on ourselves, thinking our work is subpar when, in reality, it may be exactly what others are looking for. How can we change our mindset to focus less on perfection and more on the act of creation itself? Maybe we need to trust the process more, rather than the outcome.
DGHung Dang Gia
It’s so interesting how Len Wein discusses the ambiguity of failure. His experience reminds us that the way we perceive our work might not always align with how it’s received by others. How often do we let our own negative judgment of our creations hinder us from putting them out into the world? Does this mean we should be more accepting of imperfection in our own work, and embrace the possibility of surprise feedback?
MDhoang mai dieu
Len Wein’s quote about stories he thought were failures turning into successes speaks to the nature of creativity. How do we balance the internal struggle of self-doubt with the reality that not every project will be a clear-cut success? His perspective highlights how subjective the process of creation can be—what feels like a failure to one person might be exactly what another needs. How do we redefine our expectations of success in creative work?
DDDuong Duong
Len Wein’s reflection on the unpredictability of success and failure in writing is incredibly relatable. How often do we doubt our work, only to find that it resonates deeply with others? His words make me think about how self-criticism can sometimes cloud our perception of what truly connects with people. How can we learn to embrace the unknown and be more open to the unexpected outcomes of our efforts?