Best Mistake I Ever Made

I’d like to claim there was some level of order in my life after, say, fourth grade. Truth be told, I’ve since taken up the theory that our lives are not linear, but based on some sort of branching set of numerous nodes, linked by strands of woven fibers of gossamer and silk, and they all connect together in some sort of web. I developed this theory after six cans of Red Bull and a stack of old “Spider-Man” comics. Regardless.

I tried to write a novel in early high school. Who didn’t? It wasn’t very good. Whose wasn’t? I banged it out on weekends on a Macintosh LC with a black-and-white monitor. (The characters were pretty much black and white anyway so why not?) It was my pride and joy, for some reason. And then one day I deleted it. Oops.

I’m actually not certain what happened on this one. I think I overwrote it somehow. It wasn’t one of those drag-to-the-Trash things. Maybe I dragged an icon into the wrong placeâÂ?¦ hell if I know.

Forty pages of complete crap gone. I was hurt at the time.

So I started from scratch. And you know what, it got better. Still sucked. But I’d learned something. If something’s not working, kill it and start from square one. Whatever wheat there was that died among the chaff died nobly. But there was more wheat now. I had the experience of the first draft with the newness of the second. Like making a tower out of building blocks.

A couple of years later, I decided to pick up that ol’ novel idea. Good concept, embarrassing execution, wasn’t going anywhere, was never going to be finished.

I deliberately opened up a brand new sheet of fresh electronic paper and started from scratch. From nothing. Just as I’d once had to do because I was too stupid to use the computer correctlyâÂ?¦ I was doing the same because I was too smart not to write correctly.

Three months later I had the first draft of a full-length novel that I can still be proud of. Five hundred pages of seriously funny stuff with moments that can lift and break my heart by turns.

Learning to break the mold and start again has made me a better writer, filmmaker, scholar, worker, anything I am. It isn’t always the case that you need to do it, because humans are problem-solvers by nature, and we’re awfully good at working our way out of sticky situations. Sometimes you simply never get the option to do it (e.g. child-rearing). But knowing you have the option, and being strong enough to make the call and use itâÂ?¦ it’s a frightening power, but refreshing.

I am uncertain how to close this piece. Part of me thinks perhaps I’ll delete the whole thing and start again. Would you be able to tell I’d done it? Not unless I mentioned it. It’s an invisible art.

I’ll consider pulling the stunt though, just for kicks. Just as soon as I see how Spidey escapes from Mysterio’s trap. You know, he goes through tough stuff, but he learns from the experience. Interesting.