When a Success Is Also a Failure

About three years ago, I decided to check a VERY MAJOR item off my bucket list.  I, Allyson Leigh Crasnick, was going to write a book.  Not only was I going to write a book, it was going to be a good book.  In fact, it was going to be so good that it would inevitably become a best-selling series, just like Harry Potter.  From there, these amazing, life-changing books would be turned into a Netflix series which would be purchased by Mattel, who would release a line of dolls based off the characters in the books.  And not only would these dolls be popular amongst children and adults of all backgrounds and socioeconomic classes, they would ultimately be more sought after than Cabbage Patch Kids in the early 1980’s.  Yes, it was going to be that good.

A little context, if I may.  My first stab at a novel remains grossly unpublished.  Fever, which is loosely/heavily based on my early personal/professional experiences in nursing, remains stored away in a Word document on the $200 laptop I purchased when I first decided I would become a world-class novelist.  Yes, it’s that easy, buy a cheap computer and become an overnight success.  At least that’s what I thought, anyway.  It seemed straightforward enough at the time.

I had a blast writing Fever, joyfully reminiscing over the naivety and blissful ignorance that defined my early days in nursing.  I remember laughing hysterically with my husband and sister as we came up with hilarious (to us, anyway) concepts like The Wiggle Wagon (a jello-shot food truck) and a rescue kitty named Cat Benetar.  I was living out my dream and having the time of my life in the process.

Until suddenly, I wasn’t.  I’d spent hundreds, if not thousands, of hours writing Fever and I was exhausted.  I had bitten off way more than I could chew as a first time novelist.  Also, while I loved the beginning of the book, I hated the end of it.  It was cheesy and trite, the complete opposite of my real experiences as a young nurse.  At the end of the nine months I spent writing Fever, I was burnt out, discouraged, and ready to throw in the proverbial towel.

Now while I might have been despondent about the fate of my stalled novel, my enthusiasm for exercise had not waned.  Never one to underestimate the power of a good workout to cure what ails you, I laced up my sneakers one Saturday morning and headed over to Dynamics Fitness.  I’d been attending bootcamp classes at Dynamics for years and was looking forward to flushing out the excessive amounts of alcohol I had no doubt consumed the night before.

I should add that it was May of 2020 and COVID-19 was all anyone could talk or think about.  Four months prior we were living normal lives and now we were all contemplating which was worse—homeschooling our children or a lifetime spent in prison for killing said children.  Suddenly, three square meals a day and all the alone time you could ask for was looking like a pretty sweet deal. 

Sorry, I digress—back to bootcamp.  The masking guidelines were in full effect and quite frankly, everyone was miserable.  As if bootcamp wasn’t hard enough in its own right, I now got to gasp for air while wearing a soggy paper mask that smelled like stale coffee. Sigh.

Here’s where things get interesting.  While we were lining up for class that morning, I happened to stand directly across from a very fit and attractive older man.  This was completely unintentional.  And while I had noticed this slab of meat in class once or twice before, this time was different.  Due to simple logistics, I had no choice but to stare into his aquamarine colored eyes for the entire 45-minute class while we engaged in classic bootcamp behaviors such as the well-known elbow pump and the beloved “hoorah!”.  Yes, I am aware that I am not a Marine and that these actions are cheesy as hell.  I don’t make the bootcamp rules people, I just follow them.

Even though I could only see a third of his face, it was a very attractive 33.3%.  I could only imagine what the rest of his dreamy mug had had to offer.  In addition, his body was deadly.  Rounded shoulders, sculpted calves, shall I continue?  It was getting harder and harder to concentrate and just when I thought I couldn’t take it for another second, class was over. 

Get your mind out of the gutter, I said to myself, you’re a wife and a mother!  Just kidding, I didn’t actually say that.

But as I drove home that morning, an idea for a short story took place in my head.  “Silas,” I said breathlessly as  I walked through the door, “I’m going to write a short story!”

And there it was.

A short story, I thought to myself excitedly, the answer to all my problems!  I would prove to myself that I could produce a quality piece of writing, something that was good from start to finish.  Furthermore, it wouldn’t take long at all to complete and more than anything, it would give me the opportunity to fall in love with writing all over again.

Fast forward to seven months later, seven months of my blood, sweat and tears.  Seven months of waking up at 4 o’clock in the morning and spending every waking moment of my spare time with my nose stuck in my laptop.  Seven months of hope, seven months of sacrifice, and seven months of genuinely believing that my life was about to change for the better.  Seven months that culminated with De Novo.

Sidebar alert:  It's extremely important for me to articulate how much I adored De Novo.  I had literally fallen in love with the story and especially with the characters.  They were weird, they were eccentric, they were messed up—but they were perfectly imperfect, just like me, just like all of us. 

These characters—I had created them from nothing, from scratch, similar to what we do when we cook a baby inside of us for nine months.  Ruby, Paul, Sheila, Tiny and Hulk—I had spent more time with them over the past nine months with them than I had with anyone else (including my husband and kids when it came right down to it).  And unlike Fever, I loved the ending.  I loved it and I was incredibly proud of it.  I had tied all the pieces together and everyone had found their version of a happy ending, no matter how strange or unexpected it might have been.  The characters stayed true to themselves to the very end and I had, too.  My heart was full.

So I was finished with my book and blissfully happy with the result.  I was ready to sit back, relax and get famous.  It was only a matter of time until Oprah Winfrey and Reese Witherspoon came knocking on my door, fighting over the exclusive rights to De Novo.  With success all but guaranteed, I moved on to the next big question:

Was there any chance they’d seat me next to Taylor Swift at this year’s Emmy Awards?

Stay tuned for When a Success is also Failure: Part Two!