Things I Forget to Remember: Writing Can Be Uncomfortable
By Sarah Callender | October 9, 2019 |
My sixteen-year-old, 5’7″ 105-pound son has found his sport: Cross Country. And holy singlets and short-shorts, are XC meets ever fun! We parents stake out our viewing spots at the starting line, then at the crack of the gun, we hold our breath as the mob bursts forth. We cheer and scream, searching for our own fast-skinny sons amid the herd, such a knobby-kneed-and-elbowed wave of boys. The moment our sons sprint past, we beeline for viewing point #2 for our next glimpse of the runners, after which we hustle ourselves–often through mud or a gravel parking lot or even a wooded section of the course, to catch glimpse #3 before we book it to the finish line to cheer our boys into sprint mode.
These boys, faces red and slick with sweat, race wing-footed toward the finish line with burning lungs and heaving breaths. They call it the finish line, but it’s really the starting point, the moment where the runners start to realize just how terribly-awful they feel. After crossing the line, some runners double over in pain or lift their arms over their heads, hoping this will help their lungs absorb unused molecules of oxygen.
At this finish line, the scene is primal. No shortage of body fluid. Some boys puke. Some blow snot or cough up gross stuff. Some nearly cry, and some do cry. Some fall over in a faint, causing the finish line marshals to rush to their aid, moving them to the side of the chute so they won’t get trampled by runners just coming across the line.
It’s a marvel to witness. It’s a torture to run. Or so it seems.
***
Tell me then, dear son: what makes you log so many grueling miles, day in and day out, rain or shine? What makes you choose a sport so solitary? Sure, you train with your teammates. You race with your teammates. You strategize how you and your teammates can get a good jump at the start, how you can keep yourself from getting knocked down or tripped up in the chaos that ensues at the starter’s gun, how during the race you can form a clump and fight to stay in that clump, silently willing your teammates to stay on pace, to push each other to near-exhaustion, saving just enough juice for the kick at the end, all the while, jockeying for ways to hunt the rival clump that’s six or eight or twenty strides ahead of you. And to stay in front of the rival clump that’s only a few strides behind.
But mostly, you’re on your own.
Some days, do you wish you had the physique for football or baseball, some sport where you’re not so alone? The one you’ve chosen only requires running shoes and tenacity. You run nearly naked, just a thin singlet and such short shorts, hardly anything to protect you from the weather and mud and elbows. I wonder: do you wish you’d chosen a sport with cheerleaders, with pads and helmets?
I really want to know: Why do you run?
After last week’s race, after you catch your breath and wrap your skinny body in a fleece blanket, after you tell me about how you paced yourself, how you knew, even in the second mile that you’d PR, you pause and shake your head. “This is the hardest sport I’ve ever done,” you say. “No one understands how hard it is.”
“So why do you do it?” I ask.
“Not sure,” he says. Then he shrugs. “I guess I love it.”
***
You, dear WU-er, must see the analogy.
We writers train alone. When we are lucky, we get to train alongside a clump of fellow writers, equally creative and crazy folks who push encourage cheer celebrate empathize alongside us. We write even on days we can’t bear the idea of sitting tush-in-chair, even on days when the weather’s not conducive to writing, when our schedule’s too packed to write, when we’d rather forego early-morning writing and sleep that extra hour before we head to work or wake our children. We write even when non-writers invite us out to do something that’s likely much more fun than wringing story droplets onto the screens of our laptops.
Sometimes we find ourselves in a slump, in a season where we don’t have the time for daily trainings at our laptops. Some days we wish we had never fallen in love with such a grueling task. We wish we had an easier passion: gardening or wine tasting. Maybe pickleball or bridge, something where we’re not so alone in our training. Something that doesn’t require the discipline to sit in solitude, carving stories from a block of what some days feels like steel, and other days feels like under-chilled Jell-O.
But here we are. And here’s the truth. My son doesn’t run a 16-minute 5K unless he trains six days a week. We don’t write a novel unless we return daily to our laptops, determined to log miles and miles of sentences.
Here’s another truth: Even if my son trains every day, he might not finish the season with a 16-minute 5K.
And we might not get published in the way we want or at the time we want, even with the discipline we have.
Nevertheless we persist. Through slumps and tedium. Through emotional injuries and a downpour of rejection. Why? Because the rhythm of a XC runner’s stride, of running shoes on trail and gravel, is the rhythm of our writing, is the rhythm of our fingers on our keyboard, is the rhythm of our heartbeat. There’s nothing like the Flow of a good day of writing. There’s nothing better than needing to write because we need to see whether our protagonist is going to be OK. There’s nothing more wonderfully odd than loving our characters as if they were our own children. We love our characters, the accomplishment of kneading the alphabet into stories. Sure, kneading can be arduous and tedious. And, watching a gluey blob of flour, yeast, and water rise into something so life-giving? Magical.
That’s the tension of both writing and running. There’s the tedium and the magic. The pain and the reward of post-run endorphins.
United States Poet Laureate Kay Ryan captures the complicated feelings of both writers and runners: “I like to run. Actually, I don’t really like to run but I’ve done it for a million years.”
Yes, that sounds about right.
What is my finish line? What 5K time am I chasing? I only know I’m in a season of writerly slump, but only because full-time teaching and family adventures slurp up all but a few of my once-free minutes.
But Thanksgiving break is coming, then Winter Break and Spring Break and summer. And on my breaks from teaching, I’ll get back on the trail. Until then, I’ll happily admire the XC runners as they train in Seattle rain, racing with their shoes pounding through sand, mud, gravel, and grass. I’ll be watching them chase their PRs, inspired by their desire to do something they love that feels so terrible.
What about you? What keeps your fingers racing over the keyboard? What do you do to stay in shape when you find yourself in a slump? Do you have any tips for writers experiencing shin splints or pulled hamstrings?
Thank you for reading and commenting, dear WU-ers.
Photograph compliments of Flickr’s Paul.
A Middle Grade novelist (and Middle School English teacher), Sarah Callender lives in Seattle with her family. Because Sarah dislikes cleaning anything that will just get messy again, she tidies the house and weeds the yard only when absolutely necessary. This allows her time to focus on her true–and somewhat fraught–passions: writing, Abe Lincoln, and Tony’s Chocolonely chocolate bars. Equally passionate about mental health advocacy, Sarah is a member of The Stability Network. Sarah’s first novel, LUCY IN BETWEEN, will be published by Margaret Ferguson Books/Holiday House in 2026.
Lovely essay, Sarah. And even in a creative slump, you manage to encourage the rest of us. Ah, those breaks from teaching will be rejuvenating. When I am pressed for time, I work on really short things–poems, teeny-tiny stories (we’re talking 100 words here), or scribbling ideas in my notebook. One of the best exercises I know is to get really concrete with my observations. Hang in there, Sarah, and cheer that man-boy along.
I used to run in my youth and enjoyed taking in the scenery (I’d run in a cemetery). And without conscious effort, solutions came to the fore. The same happens during my walks.
Dear Vijaya,
Yes, there is something so odd and true about walking … how the simple act of it loosens our minds and our stories right up. There is truth to it; I just don’t know or understand the science behind it.
And, thank you for sharing the reminder of snippet-writing. We can all–me included–find a few minutes every day to write even the shortest of stories or chapter-parts. Thank you for that.
And yes, cemeteries are magical places. :)
Marvelous analogy — it really captures how grueling and self-sufficient writing has to be.
Kristine Katherine Rusch has a similar piece on running: https://kriswrites.com/2015/09/02/business-musings-obsession-delusion-and-writing/
Thank you, Ken!
This is such a beautiful essay … my favorite is the high five on that morning run. Such a simple thing, the perfect reminder that we’re not alone.
She’s a fabulous writer! Thank you for taking the time to comment and share. :)
I don’t find writing to be solitary. I am surrounded by people I enjoy: women I fall in love with and men whom I admire.
Dramatic things happen as we journey. Life with them is emotional and full of meaning. There is plenty of time to savor life and ponder its surprises. There are conversations that sparkle and words that delight.
Honestly, the worst thing about writing is that sometimes I must stop.
Yes. But aren’t there some days where you find it rather torturous and/or frustrating? Days where you wish a different passion had tapped you on the shoulder?
So, just thinking about writerly slumps… I started writing “seriously” with the intent to publish when my youngest was 18 months old and he’s now twelve. The other day I was contemplating how I’ve always had limited writing time due to work and family. I realized that, even though I agonized over the decisions at the time, I really don’t regret that I haven’t obsessed over writing every day or meeting certain word counts, or whatever, even though I may have really changed the trajectory of my journey to publishing. I’m also feeling a lot better about making the choices to watch TV with them and only writing for 15 mins. instead of an hour, because it won’t be much longer and they’ll be gone. Writing will always be there, because I do love it. Commercial success (publishing, etc…) would make me a working writer, but not a writer. I am that because I write.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that even slumps appear to have their purpose on our journey to meeting our writing goals. Even my anxiety slump that really seemed to create a complete creative block appears to have a purpose. Having navigated through that dry creative desert, I am probably emotionally the healthiest I’ve ever been regarding my attitudes about writing and publishing, and am enjoying the process of creating all the more for it. I wouldn’t be at this place if I hadn’t had traversed the slumps. :)
Yes! That is so true, Lara. Every time I am forced to take a break from my writing (because of family or work or health) the break gives me something good and surprising (fresh eyes on my plot; the ability to see plot issues and problems in a new light, etc.). I hate the forced time away, but once I can get back to writing, the Bright Side Betty in me always sees the pros of that time away. And you’re right. Kids … they grow up so fast!
But you know my most favorite part of your comment? You “chose to watch TV with them.” I love that. Sometimes just sitting beside them and watching some show together is rather magical.
As for your anxiety slump? Gah. Those are the WORST. I’m so glad you’re on the other side of that … and that you can see the benefit in even that. :)
Steel and under-chilled Jell-O. Perfect, Sarah. Poetic, even. Because some days, that’s how it feels. But the other days…ahhh. I took to heart the 10,000 hour thing and am shooting for another ten, to build muscle and grit and more grit because I know I’ll need it. A couple of years back when family demands were pulling me in six different directions, I kept thinking about how water always finds its way around obstacles. So I gave myself a new superpower. Aqua girl lives. Thank you for a lovely post. It’s always good to hear your voice.
Oh Susan. I love that water analogy. How can clumps of hydrogen and oxygen carve out mountains and smooth rocks? It’s miraculous. Three cheers for your watery tenacity.
It’s always so lovely to hear YOUR voice.
Hi Sarah, a perfect analogy. And I know there are others. We humans fall in love with a challenge, a skill, a goal and though the road ahead is not an easy one, we keep on. What I felt reading your piece was the desire to have some sentence on a card, a small but truthful line, that I could pass to ANYONE who asks why I am still working on “that novel” or who frowns when I say I’m unavailable because I’m writing. What we writers do may not end with sweat and pumping lungs, may not always bring us to that imaginary finish line–but it’s often pure satisfaction, what makes the conclusion of a day worthwhile. And it’s always uplifting to have your perspective. When you have time to write, Sarah, please do–we need your thoughts.
Great analogy. Helps me understand long distance runners a little more. But just a little…
XD
Ha, yes! Just a little.
You are a superstar, Erin. I can’t wait to carve out time to read (via Audible) We Hope for Better Things.It’s next in line after The Odyssey. Needless to say, that one is for school; yours is for play/fun/leisure.
So happy for you, Ms. Marathoner. You are getting so much fab buzz!
Oh, thank you, Sarah! :) :) :)
Thanks, Sarah! One of my sons also ran cross-country, and what we learned from his coach still inspires me:
1) Cross country is all about personal best. Your only competition is yourself.
2) In a meet, the five fastest runners are important because they earn the team score, aiming for lowest finishing order.
3) Middle runners are just as important because if you can pass one of the competitor’s top five, the other team gains an unwanted point.
4) The last runners are just as important because the slowest runner in the world cannot hurt the team, is just as eligible to win personal best praise and stickers, and helps inspire the rest of the team.
This coach, with his emphasis on personal best and team spirit, and his enthusiastic encouragement of every runner, is one of my leadership heroes.
Writing really is like cross-country! Grueling. Personal best. Running with others. Wishing each other well.
Yes! I love this, Gwyn. You’re absolutely right. It’s one of the sports where you’re not competing with your teammates for playing time. I think that’s why the sport tends to attract a certain kind of kid. Skinny kids, yes, but also kids who seek and appreciate community with cool-geeky kids.
Thanks for fleshing out the analogy! Happy writing to you.
:)
I’m a few years ahead of you in terms of child-rearing, and I promise that the day is coming when you’ll have more time for your writing. Your son will be racing in college or some such and you’ll have more time for your own pursuits. In the meantime, the central task IMHO is keeping the faith and dashing around the block whenever you can. It’ll keep your legs in shape and the puking less likely when you’re free to reach the finish line. And it’s amazing what we can accomplish in sprints.
This lovely post, for instance…