I have always found serendipitous links between literature and life stimulating. "Into the valley of Death / Rode the six hundred." I probably don't need to tell most of you that this line comes from Alfred Lord Tennyson's 1854 poem, "The Charge of The Light Brigade." Coincidentally, I just published my six hundredth Vocal contribution (most are mediocre poems, but there are a few works of fiction and some silly essays about hockey and annoying linguistic trends in the mix). I ought to thank L.C. Schäfer, Rachel Deeming and Gerard DiLeo for keeping L.C.'s "publish once a day for the whole of 2024" challenge alive; it moved me to keep writing despite various, distracting existential givens. The other participants wrote microfictions, whereas I was primarily a poet, but we all got it done. Please read their work, as they not only published once a day for a year, but all three have extraordinary wit and skill:
I am stumbling into the valley of death myself (aren't we all, at different velocities, with varying amounts of grace?) and before I dwell therein for good, I would like to write a work of fiction that reveals what I make of the facts, ugly as many of them are. I have learned that I can write every day, sometimes effectively, and honor an agreement with other scribblers, while teaching well enough to stave off starvation. I am motivated to carry on.
I think this new project is going to have to be a mingling of three elements: first, magical realism, because the only story I have written to date that has generated significant excitement is this one:
Given that it is written in the mode of dark, pitifully erotic magical realism, I think I ought to stick with that. I've done some research and boring, academic writing in this area, though I'm no expert. I don't think you really know what magical realism or absurdism or postmodernism actually mean until you've pulled them off yourself, well or poorly. You ought to give it a shot before you pretend to understand it. That goes for most things, in fact.
So, I'd like to try again. I will probably fail again, in most respects, but the blunders in "Bathtub Jinn" were not offensive enough to ruin the reader's experience completely, so there you have it.
My ancestry is Irish and I find life to be increasingly absurd, so I'm fond of Beckett. In "Worstward Ho!,"--allegedly, this was an alternative slogan for at least three political campaigns in the last few years--in 1983, Beckett offered up this thought, which I think is the best formula for learning to write well that I have encountered: “Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” You know you're failing badly when no one likes what you're doing well enough to try and figure out why you are doing it that way. So, I'll see what I can learn from failing better at something I failed to do in an amusing or provocative fashion last time.
Secondly, it's got to contain some academic satire. That must be the case because I wrote my doctoral dissertation, which few will ever read, about literature of this kind from Aristophanes to David Lodge. I live and work in the demimonde in question, and since the pandemic, it has been thick with risibly implausible vice and folly. I've got the target, though the wit may be wanting, to borrow from Swift, who understood satire. He created works of satire that I have relied upon to teach others what satire looks like, and how astonishing its effects can be.
Therefore, I will write what I know, in a way that will allow me to show what I think is laughably wrong with the microcosm in which I live and move and have my being most days. I'll try not to be preachy or dogmatic. I think the skillful satirist makes you laugh, and then grants you the liberty to figure out why you are laughing and how you should change yourself or the world as a result, by your own lights. You might not be moved to do anything at all by satire, of course. That's the point: try, knowing that you will fail. Just fail better each time.
Thirdly, I think it will have to be a tragedy. That's really the most potent plot there is, if you pause to reflect for a moment. In fact, Aristotle seems to imply (I don't have enough knowledge of Ancient Greek to pretend to have any certainty about the matter, though some translations are amazing in their own right) that tragedy is good for the soul of a democracy. I think the democratic soul is looking ragged these days, so that seems the right approach. One must have a spine, i.e., a plot, to hang the whole thing on.
It sounds a bit pompous to talk of offering a salve to the soul of a democracy, doesn’t it? But suppose as many of us as are able to, in our own, peculiar idioms, made a modest effort to do something of the sort. Would that further compromise the health of the patient? Following Hippocrates, doing no harm is the first rule in such cases. Whatever else you can manage is really a happy accident, and worth a shot. I think that applies to teaching, too.
Some of the themes I have in mind have already been auditioned in other genres here on Vocal; here are three cases in point:
I will stick with the ones of which I am fondest that readers seem also to dig. I think I had better get at it pretty quickly, as I am mortal, and facing all of the “challenges” that entails, as are we all.
I have learned a great deal from writing for Vocal: I have tried to abandon sesquipedalian verbiage for more lucid, concise language. Haikus and senryūs, if you keep trying to produce good ones, can teach you to invest a few syllables with maximum, semantic density. I have come to understand that a joke can be as edifying as a grim lecture, and I recognize, more clearly than I used to do, how important it is to let characters speak for themselves as opposed to turning them into polemical sock puppets.
I am really eager to write a substantive, nuanced narrative that will amuse the reader and also offer him or her or them (so many pronouns, so little time) some wisdom. I'd like vainly to think that some humans will read and enjoy it after I am dead. That will probably sound pretentious and obtuse, too.
However, I know how little I know about the setting and the plot and the themes, and therefore, I have a sense of how much there is to be known about them. That modest wisdom can be faithfully represented in fiction. The potential characters, I have a firm grip on. An apprentice, a master and a mischievous, lusty spirit will do for a start. I'll begin with a few short stories, aspiring as I do so to drop the ones that don't amuse readers and knit the others together to form a larger whole.
A bit of furtive research about the average length of viable manuscripts inclines me to synthesize the aforementioned short stories into a novel of roughly 86, 920 words. A manuscript of that length could be taken seriously by an agent or an editor, but one word at a time. 164 days separate this Tuesday, January 14th, when I am not obliged to teach, from my 53rd birthday, which will take place on June 27th; 530 words per day will combine to form a manuscript of that length, if my arithmetic is sound. I might not publish all of them, and an occasional poem or essay will probably coalesce along the way; I might digress to write under the spell of a challenge, but that is my plan.
Do you think I’ll fail better?
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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“He Kept Going When No One Was Watching — And That Changed Everything”
No one ever noticed the days he almost gave up. There were no messages asking if he was okay. No one wondered why he became quieter. No one asked how much effort it took just to keep going. To the world, he was just another ordinary man. His name was Ayaan. Ayaan’s life didn’t collapse in one dramatic moment. It slowly faded. Missed opportunities. Rejected ideas. Silent disappointments. Every failure was small, but together they became heavy. He had dreams once. Big ones. Dreams that kept him awake at night, imagining a future where his hard work would finally matter. But over time, those dreams began to feel unrealistic—almost embarrassing. People around him seemed to move forward effortlessly. They celebrated promotions, achievements, and milestones. Ayaan watched from the side, smiling politely while feeling invisible. At work, his efforts were ignored. Among friends, his voice faded. At home, expectations weighed heavily on him. Slowly, a dangerous thought settled into his mind: “Maybe I’m not good enough.” That thought followed him everywhere. It followed him on crowded buses. It followed him into sleepless nights. It followed him every time he tried again and failed. One night, after scrolling through endless success stories online, Ayaan closed his phone and stared at the dark ceiling. His chest felt tight, not because of pain—but because of exhaustion. He whispered quietly, “How long do I keep trying?” There was no answer. But that night, Ayaan made a decision—not a loud one, not a confident one. A tired decision. He decided to keep going, even if nothing changed. The next morning felt the same. The same routine. The same doubts. The same fear of wasting his life. But Ayaan showed up anyway. He worked when no one praised him. He studied when no one guided him. He practiced when no one believed in him. Some days, motivation disappeared completely. On those days, discipline took over. He reminded himself: “I don’t need applause. I need progress.” Weeks passed. Nothing dramatic happened. No sudden success. No recognition. No miracle. But something subtle began to shift. Ayaan became calmer under pressure. He learned to sit with discomfort instead of running from it. He stopped comparing his journey to others. The silence that once scared him now became his training ground. Months later, a serious problem appeared at his workplace. It was complicated, risky, and easy to blame on someone else. Most people avoided it. Some pretended it wasn’t their responsibility. Ayaan didn’t announce himself. He didn’t seek attention. He simply started working. Late nights. Mistakes. Corrections. Learning. There were moments he wanted to quit. Moments when fear whispered, “You’re not ready.” But he answered back, “I’ll learn.” Slowly, the problem began to disappear. Not perfectly—but steadily. People noticed, quietly. One afternoon, his manager called him into the office. Ayaan expected criticism. Instead, he heard a question that stunned him: “Where did you learn all this?” Ayaan paused. How could he explain years of silent effort? How could he explain working when no one cared? He simply replied, “I kept going.” That moment didn’t change his life overnight. He didn’t become famous. He didn’t suddenly become successful. But it changed something far more important. His belief in himself. For the first time, Ayaan understood that life doesn’t always reward effort immediately. Sometimes, it watches. It watches who continues without praise. Who improves without recognition. Who grows in silence. Years later, Ayaan looked back at the version of himself who almost quit. The man who felt invisible. The man who thought no one was watching. And he smiled. Because he finally understood the truth: Life was always watching. Not to judge. Not to rush. But to see if he would keep going when it was hardest. The world doesn’t reward those who only work when they’re seen. It rewards those who build strength in silence. And sometimes, the moment that changes everything doesn’t come with applause. It comes quietly. After patience. After effort. After consistency. That is when everything finally begins to change. Final Message Keep going—even when no one is watching. Especially then.
By Inayat khan5 days ago in Motivation
Comments (9)
Lay it on us, we eagerly await some uplifting verbiage on the sad state of the world. 600, 53, 163, 530… numbers are the foundation of the world, although we writers want to think it is words. I wish you the best in 2025 (oh! Another number!)💕
Congratulations on 600 stories, D.J.! The Arid winners were some of the very first pieces I read when I returned (became truly active) on vocal and I remember Bathtub Jinn. I can’t recall taking note of any failings but that it made quite an impression. Good luck on your endeavor for 2025!
Good luck with your goals! Lofty but those are the best kinds, I think. They really push us to learn about ourselves. You can do it!!
You'll do it. I'll buy it and read it, more importantly. I did my dissertation on Swift. "A Modest Proposal" is biting satire at its finest. I'm glad you are stretching your fictional wings. I like your prose as much as your poetry so I'm excited to see what you produce. I also love David Lodge, although it's a long time since I've read his work, probably 20 years. I must revisit him. You're bound to fail better. Failure is, after all, the new success. Thanks for the shout out too!
It was today that I learned what a sesquipedalian is and realised that it by itself is a sesquipedalian, lol. Also, no matter what you write, I'll be here to read it. I wish you all the best! ✨️❤️
530 words a day, after a post everyday last year. You sure don't make things easy on yourself, but I have no doubt you'll succeed, or at least fail spectacularly. Hold on. Would that be a good thing? 🤔. Also, congrats in hitting 600. 👏
First of all, congratulations on your 600th Vocal piece—that's quite an achievement! As for whether you'll "fail better"—it sounds like you're already well on your way to succeeding, even if the journey involves bumps along the way. Creativity thrives on exploration, and with your wit, insight, and determination, I have no doubt you'll craft something worth reading. ✨
Good luck with this new challenge! Fail as best you can until you succeed!
530 words a day! Phew!!! Definitely doable. Maintaining consistency would be my nemesis. Way to challenge yourself, D.J. Best of luck!