If there’s one thing my house has a lot of, it’s pottery. My kitchen cupboards, of course, are stuffed with dishes I made. My office has become a conservatory filled with plants, partly because I love plants but partly because, well, you know: planters. My kids’ rooms haven’t escaped the invasion and hold teapot sets, piggy banks, lamps, candle holders, cups for pens and pencils, and jars for craft supplies. In every room, many pots serve their intended functions, and in every room, many pots don’t. There are teapots acting like bookends, decorative pots masquerading as junk drawers, water pitchers holding spatulas, and vases with bouquets of paintbrushes.
But very few of the pots in this pottery house are perfect. I sell the perfect pots. My house has become a graveyard of “seconds,” those pieces that dripped, cracked, crazed, or chipped, pots too imperfect to sell—and yet, to clingy me, too special to toss. Too pretty! The fact is, sometimes the drippiest pots are the most striking. Though all glazes will drip if they’re applied too thickly, certain glazes might drip simply because they’re heavy with flux and therefore drippy by nature. That runniness imparts such a lovely liveliness to a pot, a rush of color, a pooling of gloss, which explains why potters don’t banish such glazes from their studios. They’re worth the risk.
Not all potters hang onto their seconds. For instance, my first ceramics instructor, the very talented Bill Disbro, used to take a hammer to his pots that fired imperfectly before throwing out the pieces. I vividly remember these acts of destruction on the otherwise celebratory kiln-opening days. They shocked me and seemed like such a shame. After all, a Disbro pot with a glaze malfunction was still a million times nicer than anything seventeen-year-old me could have finagled. But he reminded me that pots stick around forever (picture a Grecian urn), and a thousand years from now, he didn’t want the dripper, cracker, or crazer in the world, representing his body of work.
I’m not such a stickler. Maybe I should be?
I exhibit similar attachment issues with my “seconds” in writing—all those not-so-greats, false starts, aborted pieces, and going-nowhere narratives. They’re still on my laptop. “Kill your darlings” is popular advice for writers, but whenever I manage to exercise some ruthlessness and take large chunks out of a piece, I save them elsewhere. I can’t kill my darlings. I can’t even kill my ugly ducklings. I tuck them safely in files where they can sleep tight indefinitely.
And then there are those pieces I regularly submit to journals that just as regularly get sent back to me, the ones for whom I harbor a lonely affection. If I truly believe in their worth, I won’t give up on them. Sometimes my steadfast hope pays off. I had one story, around three thousand words long, declined twenty-one times. The last rejection came from a prominent journal, so though I was disappointed, I wasn’t especially surprised. But then, get this: The editor of that journal contacted me later. With an acceptance! For the same story! His change of heart was the stuff of dreams. It made me think of previous heartaches (getting dumped, failing a test, being turned down for a job) when I’d fervently hoped for just such a fortuitous twist of fate.
Miracles happen. I need to remind myself of that—and also this: The rejections and acceptances are outside of my control. All I can do is create the best things I can and try not to be too hard on myself when I fail. And I fail a lot. Not everything I write is publishable. But even if it seems as if all I’m producing are “seconds,” I have to trust that the sheer act of practice is moving me closer to success. Maybe this explains why I’m so tender toward my dull clunkers. If it weren’t for them and the work they entailed, I’d never come up with any shiny gems.
Fantastic! Loved this so much. I just got something accepted I’m reading the proofs for today and it’s definitely a second. A story I love completely. This spoke to me so much. Bravo.
Laura, thank you! And congratulations on the acceptance. That’s so exciting!
I was curious as to what you had to say and I am glad I read your piece. This speaks to many of us on various levels. Thank you for sharing! Congratulations on your acceptance! Susan
Susan, thank you for reading my post. I’m so glad it spoke to you. Good luck with your creative endeavors this year!
“Dull clunkers.” Oh, I have quite a few of those. And I’m with you on the persistence and the loving of the process–and even of those missteps along the way. I look forward to reading your story–congrats! And I must say, this was the perfect read to start my thinking about resolutions, etc. Happy New Year!
Rebecca, you’re so kind! Thank you for reading and reflecting on this post. Your blog inspires me, too–so much! Happy New Year, friend. xoxo
Hi, Melissa!
Thank you for sharing your experience and wisdom. You give me courage and hope to keep writing and submitting. Everything has purpose and repurpose.
Oh, Donna, I’m so glad you found this post helpful and hopeful. I wish you wonderful luck with your creative endeavors this year! xoxo
Here’s to a year of miracles!
I will drink to that! Happy 2023, DeAnna! xoxo
I like it. Beauty isn’t perfect. I love pottery, too and we have much more than is reasonable. The artisan stuff is like a continuing conversation with the person who made it.
John, thank you! I love this: “like a continuing conversation with the person who made it.” I agree! There’s a lovely intimacy to be found in enjoying functional pottery and other handmade, useful stuff.
Lovely. What really constitutes perfection? Maybe it’s just love, and you’ve certainly demonstrated a life rich with that. This was a perfect bit to finish the year on. Thank you.
Andrea, this is so kind. Thank you for reading my post and sharing these thoughts.
I love this. I’m obsessed with the creative process itself, at least as much as the writing I do, and it always seems dismissive to me, the “kill your darlings” line and also the “shitty first draft” notion. Why is a first go at something in any way shitty? We would be nowhere without it. It represents our efforts, our leaps, our holding our breaths and pushing off from the side of the pool to head into deeper waters. If don’t love and take care of our darlings, where are we, really? Add to that the subjectivity of who likes what, when. The image of your house full of the pots that had “flaws” but are representative of your risks and efforts, and yes, caring for the ones you made as you also made the “perfect” ones makes me happy. It’s so interesting that we as humans hold all the flaws we hold, none of us perfect, but we want our art to be that way. A wonderful new year’s pondering here. Thank you and happy new year!
Billie, what a thoughtful, beautiful, and generous response! I love what you say about the commonly maligned first draft: “It represents our efforts, our leaps, our holding our breaths and pushing off from the side of the pool…” YES. Thank you for this. I hope you have a very happy new year, too! xoxo
I love this, Melissa! And I agree…seconds have a place too. Happy New Year!
Jackie, thank you for reading my post–and for this kind comment! I hope you have a happy 2023, too! xoxo