Can Failures Be Doorways

Where writing experiments can take us by surprise

I am trying to avoid saying every crisis is an opportunity.

This story is not about a writing emergency — more a miscalculation.

Once a month, I meet with three writer friends to share what we have been working on, or we read aloud new writing based on a prompt. Bento Box was our most recent one. The random, quirky prompts seem most inspiring.

Bento Box sparked and re-ignited memories from the 1980s. I started writing brief snapshots about when I taught in Japan. Next, I shared them on Medium.

The Shortform Publication seemed ideal. I was surprised by how easily the stories flowed. The Shortform editor, Nancy Blackman, helped to trim the stories. She was incredibly supportive, as was the publisher, Tom Fenske, who accepted the first full Bento Box of stories.

I appreciated that people read them on Medium, but I realized later that I had made some mistakes.

The first error was one of my Achilles Heels — my tendency to be obscure.

I did not explain the intent of the Bento Box Stories to readers. The stories did not progress in chronological order. Instead, they followed the associative logic of memories.

I am grateful to the Medium readers who sampled at least one Bento Box story. I was not expecting much of a positive response from my writing group when we met last week.

I read five stories aloud to them, expecting polite support and practical feedback. I anticipated suggestions about how to organize the stories or restructure them.

That is not what happened.

I should say first that I have been friends with the three other writers in this group for at least twenty years. All of them are phenomenal artists whose creations — essays, books, films, lectures– I love and admire.

Also, they are familiar with my writing. These friends have read, heard, and watched me perform writing experiments over the years. I trust them more than I trust my instincts.

So when they praised the five Bento Box stories I read aloud, I was shocked. They started riffing — generating feedback faster than I could absorb it. My writing group liked how the stories flowed — one into the next without any linear order. They found the relaxed, friendly tone of the narrator appealing and liked the dreamlike quality of the brief snapshots.

I spaced out a bit as they conversed. I remember at least one of them saying Bento Box Stories could become a book.

I thought, Whoa. Let’s put the brakes on for a second.

I wish I could remember everything they said. The other Achilles Heel of mine — I tend to shut down when I encounter praise. I understand why I have this reaction, but knowing that does not always deter this gut response. When I receive unexpected compliments, my urge heads towards flight instead of joy.

I recall their collective advice — to continue writing Bento Box Stories, six at a time, with 4–6 cycles. The friends were also adamant that I stop publishing them on this platform.

I wrangled with that suggestion, but I think, once again, they were right.

We often talk about the sheer enjoyment of books as physical objects, more aesthetically appealing than stories on a screen. What’s more, I love to write in the margins of my books, as do others in the writing group.

I intend to keep writing Bento Box Stories to see what happens next. I have imagined simple illustrations that could accompany each story. I do not want to get too far ahead of myself here. If these stories do become a book, the process will unfold step by step, as most things do.

Thanks to everyone who sampled from the Bento Box Stories.