I’m not the most patient person, so the last two months have been difficult.

As I’ve watched my wife start and finish at least three new pieces of artwork since the beginning of the year, I’ve fumbled and fallen with one I started just before the beginning of 2012.

As crazy as it sounds, I’ve been trying to make toys for my kids.

Starting with a clay that hardens when baked, I’ve been crafting figures that fit their interests along with their existing playsets.

It’s a nice distraction from the daily grind, but only when it’s working well.

This week spelled some disaster for the project.

After unsuccessfully pouring a rubber mold to cast copies of figurine I’ve meticulously built for John since late December, I discovered the miniature sculpture became sealed inside a silicone grave. I rescued the piece with a box cutter, but his arms broke off inside the mold.

I spent some needed time sulking over the turn of events and contemplated smashing the little bugger with a hammer.

I declined, resolving myself to losing just three weeks of work instead of eight.

Barring any other errors, I hope to successfully create a mold next weekend after repairing the figurines arms and weapons.

Failing brought some humility along with the anger, and hopefully it will bring some solutions, too.

It’s easy to succeed. Learning from failure is far more difficult.

The same tenacity was discussed with me this week as author Leo Murray poured over the details of his first novel, “Blackballed!” Murray, like me, faced significant setbacks.

He overcame 30 years of dead trees turned into paper and lost data files, finally using technology to bring his fictional story of corruption to life.

I hope this process won’t take me 30 years to repair, but the joyful Murray taught me something.

Failure makes us better people because we learn how to not repeat our past mistakes, technological or human.

This week, I plan to find as much joy in my creative outlet as he obviously has from writing fiction. I’ll adjust my methods, repair the working model, and pour a new mold.

I can only pray – for my sake and my creation’s – that I won’t make the same mistake twice.