Lessons from the Climbing Wall
By Kelsey Allagood | August 24, 2022 |
In keeping with my brand of using my hobbies as writing metaphors, I was at my climbing gym the other day when I was reminded of one of my past WU posts, “Why You Should Tackle that Ambitious Dream Project Now.”
At the gym, my climbing partner challenged me to climb a route several grades higher than my personal best (indoor climbs are made up of individual routes planned out by a route-setter, and are graded based on difficulty). The goal was not to reach the top, but to go as far as I could.
Readers, I did not make it very far up that wall.
But I hadn’t expected to: I knew that this route was above my ability level. What I did learn in the few moments I spent there, though, was that the hardest part for me was not arm strength or where I put my feet—I’d struggled the most with the strength of my grip.
Turns out I might need to start working on my finger strength if I want to keep doing more difficult climbs. This is valuable information to have, and not something I necessarily would have realized had I not gone out of my comfort zone.
In that WU post I mentioned above, I argue that we writers sometimes hold back from working on the things that interest us the most—that five-book space opera, that epic fantasy trilogy, that sweeping multigenerational novel—because they seem above our ability. And they certainly might be. But my experience in working on a book beyond my skill set was that it forced me to greatly improve my craft in a short amount of time. Like climbing a harder route, I learned something about both my abilities and my areas for improvement.
And this, as you can probably tell, got me thinking about other ways that lessons I’ve taken from rock climbing could apply to writing.
1. Know that good technique makes everything easier.
It’s possible to get by in rock climbing, particularly when you’re first starting out, without studying technique. Easier graded routes are laid out so that newbie climbers can treat them like ladders. It makes sense when you’re first starting out and need to work on building your strength and comfort on the wall before getting into the finer points.
But once you start to move past those easier grades, it becomes less possible to just haul yourself up the wall on sheer strength. The climbs become more about finding the best way up the wall (for you). This is when the techniques in your toolbelt can become lifesavers.
With writing, you can definitely stumble your way through telling a good story by trial and error, by emulating other authors, and maybe by passively absorbing some craft tips from beta readers and editors. This was how I stumbled through my early writing efforts. Did it work? Sometimes. Did I ever feel frustrated because I knew that I could write better, but didn’t know how to improve? Often. Did writing get far easier and did my skills improve exponentially as soon as I started actually learning the tools of the craft? Definitely.
When I reach a point in my manuscript where I feel stuck, instead of feeling frustrated (or, well, instead of feeling only frustration), I can go through my mental toolbox and often identify where something went wrong. Perhaps my character lacks enough agency, or I didn’t properly define the stakes. Having the words to describe these issues is invaluable for improving them.
2. Realize that more than half the struggle is mental.
There will be times when I reach a point in a climb and think, “I can’t make this next move.” Usually this will be because my next move requires muscle strength I don’t think I have, or because the next handhold is too far away for me to reach. That latter obstacle is a common problem for those of us vertically-challenged climbers, especially when the person who set the route was clearly tall. That’s when having techniques in my toolbox can come in handy (see #1). But sometimes, no amount of technique can overcome the limited length of my arms. When that is the case, I have to rely on more dynamic movements—which sometimes means straight-up jumping from one handhold to another.
Even though I’ve been blessed by the phobia gods to not be afraid of heights, that lizard-brain fear of falling is still very real for all except the most adrenaline-addicted of us. And when I’m purposefully putting myself in a very unsteady position, where I will fall if I fail to grab the handhold, that fear can kick into overdrive, and get me to think, “I can’t.”
Sometimes I fall. And each time I do, I get a little more comfortable with the idea of falling.
But far more often than I would have predicted, I stick the landing. It may not be the most graceful move, but I’ll make it to the top of the route. What this tells me is that my “I can’t” voice, while trying to protect me, is often simply holding me back.
There are also many times when I’ve stopped myself from writing something because I fear I won’t be able to do it well. Whether it’s a prickly, complicated subject matter or a more experimental story structure, that “I can’t” voice tells me not to bother, not to even try. I’ve seen this both in myself and in other writers when it comes to self-selecting out of opportunities, like submitting to certain journals or applying to competitive residencies, because we don’t feel “good enough.”
And like climbing, sometimes I’ll fall. But each time, I get a little more comfortable with the idea of falling.
But other times, I’ll stick the landing. And the result may not be the best thing I ever have or ever will write, but it will exist.
3. Trust your gut (and your feet).
Like many of us (I suspect), I’m a chronic overthinker. Call it people pleasing or gifted child syndrome, but it’s tempting to do all the research I can into rock climbing tips and techniques so that I can climb “the right way.”
But like most things, there are advisable ways, easier ways, and safe ways of climbing—but no “right” way (aside from not putting yourself or others in harm’s way). The best way to climb a route for me will be different than for someone who’s six feet tall.
What this means is that I’ve had to learn to trust my gut on the wall, and to find and make the moves that work best for me.
In climbing, “trust your feet” is a common piece of advice: it’s an admonishment both to not expend unnecessary energy tap-tapping your toe against a tiny foothold to assure yourself you won’t slip, as well as to believe and trust in your own abilities.
There is so, so, so much writing advice out there (says the person writing an advice post) that it can feel overwhelming. Several years ago, when I was teaching myself some craft skills for the first time since high school, I became so overwhelmed with writing advice that I felt frozen, unable to move without violating some inviolable writing rule I’d read somewhere.
It took some time (and a break from the internet) for me to recalibrate, and remember that the only advice that matters is that which helps me write—and complete—something that I’m proud of. Everything else isn’t worthless, but I just wasn’t the audience for it.
4. Lean on others.
This is a twofold lesson: both climbing and writing have one-on-one and community relationships that play different but equally critical roles in a writer’s success.
When climbing tall walls with ropes, the climber is almost always supported by a belayer. Belayers keep climbers safe by keeping the appropriate amount of slack in the rope, stopping falls, and, when outdoors, keeping an eye on the climber’s environment. Climbers and belayers are in constant communication during a climb, and a good belayer-climber relationship is defined by trust.
With writing, my relationships with my beta readers have been incredibly important to my growth. I trust them to be supportive and encouraging while being forthright and honest about the quality of my writing, and I believe them when they give me areas to improve. They see the bigger picture that I sometimes struggle with when I’m in the midst of writing. Meanwhile, they trust me not to take their constructive criticism personally, and be genuinely interested in their feedback.
Community support is also necessary. One of the things I like about climbing compared to other gym experiences is that it’s far more collaborative than competitive. Nearly every time I go, I see complete strangers offering each other encouragement and tips in good faith. When someone is doing a particularly difficult climb, by the time they near the top, they’ll often have a small crowd cheering them on.
Isn’t that what we all love to see in creative communities, as well? Not to get sappy, but the Writer Unboxed community feels similarly supportive, rather than competitive or transactional. But whether that’s here or in another setting, finding a supportive group of peers that are genuinely interested in your success goes a long way toward making the struggles feel worthwhile.
Are there any lessons you’ve taken from your hobbies to apply to writing? Should my next post be about how knitting is also like writing?
Kelsey Allagood (she/her) is a writer, occasional photographer, and trained political analyst specializing in the causes of war and systemic oppression. This background led her to begin writing fantasy fiction steeped in the anthropology of conflict.
Her writing can be found in literary magazines such as Barrelhouse, GRIFFEL, Menacing Hedge, and Wanderlust. Her photography has been featured in RESURRECTION mag. She has also written on peaceful resistance movements, art as a form of political resistance, and countering violent extremist ideology.
Kelsey has a Bachelor’s Degree in international and cultural studies from the University of Tampa and a Master’s Degree in conflict resolution from Georgetown University.
She lives in Maryland with her husband, mother, and a rescue dog named Henry.
[coffee]
Hey Kelsey — Another apt metaphor! Relating pretty much to all of your excellent points, I think there’s something to be said for the exuberance of inexperience–of trying something that we probably have no business attempting. Your attempt at the climb two levels above your current level proves it. Not that you were unaware, but sometimes ignorance really is bliss.
You also demonstrated how much we take away even from failed attempts, not only in identifying where we need to improve, but in recognizing strengths and abilities we didn’t even realize we had. Which builds confidence and momentum. I’ve long said that this gig is about momentum and perseverance, and that the former fuels the latter.
Can’t wait to find out about how your next hobby informs your writing journey, lol. Seriously, thanks for a very wise and encouraging essay. I’m inspired to watch you climb. Hope you can hear me cheering way up there.
That’s so kind Vaughn, thanks :) Momentum and perseverance are really at the heart of it, aren’t they? There’s a reason I tell people who hesitate to call themselves “real writers” that if they care enough to keep working on improving, they’re as real as it gets. I sympathize with the desire to stay comfortably in range of what I’m good at, but it can also get awfully boring.
What should I try next? Spelunking? Deep sea diving? Feels like there are plenty of metaphors for us pantsers in exploring unlit spaces…
Nowadays, I undertake only novels that challenge me. There must be something in them that I don’t yet know how to write.
Currently, I’m working in a mid-20h Century mode, a kind of romantic suspense story related by a proper narrator with the slang and sensibility of the time. If there’s an arc it’s an existential one. (Sartre has a cameo.) I am out of my depth, right where I want to be.
I’ve been published (under other names) so that goal is fulfilled. Now what I seek is not glory but growth.
“There must be something in them that I don’t yet know how to write.” I love looking at writing as a process of discovery, of testing our own limits and finding out what we’re capable of. And feels far more satisfying than tying everything to the validation of others (not that there’s anything wrong with wanting that, too).
Also, we love a good Sartre cameo :)
I just love this. I find connections to my writing process in so so many things, among them, my graphite drawings. Layers and layers and lays…!! Your connections, made here, are priceless. I especially resonated with the big scary project which is basically what I took on from the get-go, and the long learning curve that can often paralyze. I’m also struggling with an article idea that I can’t quite find my way in to. I told my husband that I don’t think I have the chops. Then get them, he said. After reading this, I decided that writing the piece will teach me. Thank you, and may you stick all the landings!!
YES Susan that’s awesome!! I’m sure you’ll write an awesome article!
Love the way you wove climbing into writing. It made so much sense to me. I’m apt to bite off more than I can chew in writing, and I agree. It makes you push yourself to get better, and to make that leap to the next level despite a fear of falling – failing.
I’m the same way—if I’m going to overestimate my abilities, I might as well make something useful out of it. Thank you for reading, Constance!
As a fellow lover of the allegorical experience as it pertains to writing, I love this post. I especially love your advice about not getting so caught up in the learning of a thing that you aren’t actually *doing* the thing. That’s definitely a stumbling block for me, and one I often see in authors I work with. We all do love adding craft tools to our toolbox, don’t we?
Also, I’ve been toying with the idea of trying rock climbing, and your post makes me want to even more. Plus that’s where it sounds like my six-foot height might come in handy. 🙂
Thank you, Tiffany!! It’s so easy to fall into that trap of “if I only can perfect X, Y, or Z, writing will be no problem.” Which is never true. Writing will always be a problem :)
And I hope you like climbing if you give it a try! It’s the only exercise/sport I’ve ever enjoyed, even without the TPA (tall people advantage :) )
My nephew-in-law is one of the premiere rock climbers in the world. He and my niece travel the globe, climbing the most challenging sends known to mankind. So. Yes. Something I had not compared until today. I’m letting it sink in, because it makes sense. Because it hits close to home. Because climbing, to me, is as frightening as it is exhilarating. And sometimes, so is writing.
So cool!! Frightening and exhilarating are perfect words to describe writing (and climbing). Thanks for reading, Pamela!
I definitely fall into the “not fond of heights” camp, but that made me love this metaphor even more. I could vicariously climb the wall instead. ;-) I think I’ve been eyeing the next handhold this week, just out of reach…so the next time I’m at my desk I will picture that leap of faith and try trusting my feet!
As a knitter, I’m curious to see what you do with that activity as a metaphor, should you decide to try it! This summer I’ve been learning to garden…I’ve seen lots of gardening metaphors for writing, of course, but it’s fun to experience the actual activity versus think about it. In particular, I’m enjoying the “try it and see what happens” approach, as a recovering perfectionist.
Oh yes, as another gardener and recovering perfectionist, gardening has been so helpful for teaching me to just let go of control sometimes! After the 800th time googling “what’s wrong with my plant” and reading that it could be too little/too much water, too little/too much sunlight, too little/too little/too much potassium, too little/too much nitrogen etc etc ad infinitum—I’ve learned to embrace gardening as a series of experiments. Much like everything I write!
Thanks for reading, Alisha!
Hi Kelsey,
I loved your four principles. I’m currently mired in the first one. When I was innocent, I just wrote what I thought/felt. Now, having had to excavate my story from my first draft, my innocence is gone. I am aware of technique, structure, genre, and at least some of the other things that determine the impact and satisfaction of reading a good story (because that’s what I’m trying to produce). I miss the innocence and have to trust that my efforts to learn will enable me to absorb and apply technique. Anyway that seems to be my current hurdle.
I also appreciate your comment that just articulating things–giving them a name–is so helpful. It takes me from not knowing what I don’t know to knowing what I don’t know. That’s a foothold!
Thank you.
Thanks so much, Bob! I also sometimes miss the freedom I felt when I was just winging it, and I think at times that ignorance even lent itself to a bit more experimentation on my part—how can I know something is against the rules when I don’t know what the rules are? But at the same time, I’m grateful that now I have the words to diagnose when something isn’t working in a story, instead of fumbling around in the dark hoping I land on the right fix. Knowing what I don’t know, as you said, is the first foothold toward getting better. Thank you for reading!
Kelsey, I really enjoyed reading about your climbing and how much it’s taught you about writing (and vice versa, I think too). Thank you. I’m discovering that discipline and creativity in one area often leads to discipline and creativity in other areas as well. Some sort of virtuous feedback loop. So when I practice the piano or sing challenging music (think polyphony) it bleeds into my writing as well. I can’t wait to read about your knitting adventures :)
When I do go back to my writing and that novel that has been slumbering in my files for ten-ish years, I will so much more trust my gut instead of trying to think about what I should do or what my publishers asked me to do (that was a mistake for at least one published novel!). I used to be a personal trainer, or guess I still am, and I would tell clients to listen, to pay attention, to trust that feeling that things just feel right or when they don’t, when the body is out of line or they are taking on too much weight, etc, to adjust. Awesome post!