Tips for Child Athletes and Writers
By Matthew Norman | September 26, 2023 |
Earlier this year, my wife and I noticed that something had changed with the way our eleven-year-old daughter was playing lacrosse. The spirit and joyful recklessness that we’d seen on the field the previous season had been replaced by an unfamiliar tentativeness. Where she once sprinted like a mad woman, she now jogged. Where she once fired shots at will, she now passed to teammates who were no more open for a shot than she was. Where she once reacted instantly, she now appeared always to be toggling through some invisible checklist in her head.
In the car after games, we were supportive, of course, because she’s eleven and we aren’t monsters. Kids are kids, right? They go through stages. Their bodies change. Their energy levels fluctuate. As the trend continued, though, we started asking questions.
I should note that although we were both athletic as kids, my wife and I know virtually nothing about lacrosse. Growing up where we did in the 80s and early 90s—me in Nebraska, her in way-upstate New York—lacrosse simply didn’t exist. Consequently, our questions were limited to generalities. “Why haven’t you been running as hard lately?” “Did you not realize you had an open shot there in the second half?” “Are you having fun? Because sometimes it kinda looks like maybe you aren’t.”
Like a lot of kids, our daughter often turns quiet and sullen in the face of even the gentlest criticism. When it came to this, though, she was quick to defend herself. “You don’t sprint all the time in lacrosse. Plays have to develop.” “They want us to pass more. We get in trouble if we shoot too much.” “It’s not like I can just goof off out there. I gotta pay attention to stuff.”
To me, a middle-aged man who hasn’t played an organized sport since dial-up modems were the rage, every word out of her mouth sounded like classic overthinking. I tried to articulate this in a way that I thought might make sense to a kid. It was toward the end of the season, and we were arriving at a tournament. Before my daughter hopped out of the car to join her team, I stopped her and said, “Just go out there and be an athlete, babe.”
I realized immediately, goddammit, that I was totally talking to myself. Ugh.
AN UNFAMILIAR TENTATIVENESS
Some context. Back in June, I published my fifth novel, Charm City Rocks. I’m not going to overstate how well the book has done—sales have been modest, at best—but so far, it’s made a much larger splash than any of my previous work. Early buzz was great and included some starred reviews. People Magazine featured it on their “best books of the week” list, which marked the largest media hit of my career by a longshot. The book went into a second printing, which, I’ll be honest, I barely even knew was possible. I got invited to bookstores and to zoom with book clubs all over the country. Additionally, at least anecdotally speaking, Charm City Rocks picked up traction on social media in a way that’s been entirely new for me. My other four novels tended to go on sale on Tuesday then pretty much be gone by Friday in terms of staying power. Now, though, a few months after publication, Charm City Rocks is still quietly part of the book discussion.
This has all been lovely, of course, but as I sat post pep talk in my car awaiting yet another lacrosse game a few months ago, I realized that modest success had gotten in my head in an unhealthy way, and, consequently, my current work in progress was suffering. Frankly, things weren’t going well.
For the first time in my writing career, I was being tentative and self-conscious. I was hemming and hawing. Where I once consistently hammered out 1,200 words a day, I was struggling to hit half that. Even the simplest narrative decisions came with a whole string of mental follow-up questions. “Will readers who liked the last book like this?” “The last book didn’t have any sad parts. Should this not have sad parts either?” “Reviewers used the word ‘charming’ a lot. Is this book charming enough?” “Should this be a love story, too?” “Am I swearing too much?” “Am I not swearing enough?” “What does ‘charming’ even mean anyway?” “Am I drinking too much caffeine?”
In other words…classic overthinking. I was writing like a kid on a lacrosse field who was afraid to make a mistake. Ugh.
JUST GO OUT THERE AND BE A WRITER, BABE
Writers, like athletes, are at our best—particularly in the drafting stage—when we’re being decisive, following our natural instincts, and not suffering over every stupid little thing. Duh, right? Like so much good advice, though, that’s easier said than done. Here are some practical tips for getting out of your own dumb head and just being a writer.
Tell the Voices to Shut Up
Well, not all the voices. As a writer having voices in your head is the whole point. But the voices that are constantly asking unhelpful, nit-picky questions need to shut up. That’s because those particular voices represent the self-conscious part of your brain that’s all hung up on being safe and avoiding mistakes. “Will my mother-in-law be offended by this?” Shut up. “Am I being too edgy here?” Shut up. “Will people who like romantic comedies think this book is adorbz enough?” Shut up. “Is this right for my genre?” Shut up. “Should I even be writing this in the first place?” Shut up. “Am I good enough?” Shut! Up!
Stop It with the Comparisons
One of the hardest things to avoid as a writer is constantly comparing yourself and your work to other writers and their work. We know who’s famous. We know what’s selling and what’s trending. We know what is and isn’t getting picked each month for the three or four book clubs that create instant bestsellers. While being aware of the ins and outs of the marketplace is an important part of being a professional, constantly comparing yourself to others is a losing proposition. First of all, it’s depressing, and who wants to be depressed? Secondly, and more important, constantly comparing yourself to others runs the risk of turning you into the kind of writer who sounds like a watered-down version of someone else. And if, like me, you ever find yourself comparing yourself to…well, yourself, stop that, too. Every new piece of writing is its own thing and should be treated as such. Plus, the only thing worse than sounding like a watered-down version of another writer is sounding like a watered-down version of yourself.
Embrace Your Instincts
Like the voices in your head, thinking is a big part of writing. But try not to think too much. You have a set of natural instincts that make you the specific writer you are, and you should always err on the side of following those instincts. If you feel like you should be writing in first person, don’t force yourself into third just because you read somewhere that third person is more literary. If a character presents themselves to you as being a head taller than every other character, go with it, because there’s probably a good reason. If you feel like your main character comes suddenly to life whenever he’s around his brother’s ex-wife, accept that he might be in love with her and do everything in your power to have them keep running into one another even though your real-life brother might think that’s weird. Maybe that example is too specific, but you get the point. Don’t fight your instincts—embrace them!
Have Fun Out There, Kiddo
We’ve all heard the comparisons. Writing is like mentally dry heaving. Writing is like pushing a piano up a hill. Writing is like giving birth to a cactus. (Ouch, I assume.) Okay, yeah, we get it: writing is hard work. But if you aren’t enjoying what you’re working on, what’s the point? Choose subject matters that you feel passionate about. Write about people for whom you have endless affection. Create characters with whom you want to spend time with—even if they make troublesome romantic choices. Joy is the most contagious emotion in all of art, and if you’re enjoying what you’re writing someone out there will enjoy reading it. And if they don’t…well, tell them to shut up.
Have you ever found yourself being overly tentative in your work? If so, how’d you break out of it?
What’s a book or piece of writing you’ve read lately that the author clearly enjoyed writing? Was their joy infectious?
Have you ever had a writing success or failure that “got in your head” and negatively affected your WIP?
What’s a piece of general life advice you’ve given or heard that could easily be applied to writing?
What’s your favorite “writing is like ____” comparison? I personally like the idea that you’re pushing a piano up a hill. It’s tough, and you can complain about it, but there’s only one way that thing is getting up there. You gotta keep pushing.
Matthew Norman is the author of five novels. His latest, Charm City Rocks, is out now from Dell. His debut novel, Domestic Violets, was nominated in the Best Humor Category at the 2011 Goodreads Choice Awards, and his second novel, We’re All Damaged, was an Amazon bestseller. His upcoming novel, Grace & Henry’s Holiday Movie Marathon, will be out in October. He lives with his wife and two daughters in Baltimore and holds an MFA from George Mason University.
[coffee]
As an athlete, I really get the analogy between the joys of “thoughtless” competing and the joys of “thoughtless” writing. Supposedly, one is “just” physical and one is “just” mental, but they both thrive when we embrace our instincts. I hope both you and your daughter are able to take this advice!
Hey, Carol. Thanks so much.
I had a mentor early on ( an agent running a writer’s group, which is a whole other story) who harped on not using ‘to be’ verbs and avoiding beautiful writing. I was too green to put these things in to context and became paralyzed attempting to comply. Luckily, two ladies in the group did an intervention on me. So, I relate. To all of it. And if I had to compare writing to anything, it would be running a marathon.
Back in grad school I heard someone say, “The first sentence of a story or novel should set the tone for the rest of the story or novel.” It’s cool, though, I was only completely frozen for like a year or so. Ha. Thanks, Susan.
A wonderful read, thank you! I needed this today. I’ve definitely been too careful for fear of messing up. Too often, we forget erasers and delete options exist. We literally can’t screw up THAT badly! 🤣
Hey, Lily. Exactly! God bless the “backspace” key. I try to think of first drafts as me just racing to get to the revision stage.
Did you ever read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance? I loved that book all through high school and read it often. One major lesson I drew from it is that we all have an internal Quality/Excellence monitor that knows when something is good. Translated into writing: when I’m able to be honest with myself (not a given), I know if something I’m writing is on the right track, and how it needs to change.
The trouble for me has been when external critics give the opposite feedback. When you know that this is the book that you need to write, but the current political climate says you’re not allowed to write it, then what? It would be far easier to give birth to a cactus. And that’s coming from a woman who has given birth naturally (no meds!) three times.
Hey, Kristin. Yeah, external critics can be so tough, and they can really derail you. As for the current political climate, I don’t know the specifics here, but I say just write it. :) Books are like ghosts–if you don’t write them, they haunt you forever.
All good, Matthew, and here is the gem I love: “Every new piece of writing is its own thing and should be treated as such.” I believe that holding that thought front and center is a fine way to maintain beginner’s mind, keep the writing fresh, and listen to the writing itself as it speaks louder than those voices and with more authority.
Thanks, Anna. Yep. Every time I write anything it’s like I’m learning to be a writer all over again. Every. Time.
Thanks, Matthew — just the perspective I needed today as I struggle to find the hook for a new project, judging every idea I have before I give it time. Too much thinking, not enough listening to the story voices (as opposed to the critical voices).
Sounds like you gave your daughter some good things to ponder. I hope she’s able to find her love of the sport again, or figure out how to decide whether it’s right for her.
Thanks, Leslie.
Matthew, wow, great observations about your daughter and applying those lessons to our writing life. Thank you so much. I hope your daughter will always retain the joy. I’ve gone through periods where I was writing to the market, putting aside my pet projects. No writing is a waste but the business side of things often robbed me of joy. Returning to my notebook, focusing on stories themselves returned the joy.
Good luck, Vijaya. Hope the notebook treats you well.
Well, this is delightful. Just what I needed to read today as I’ve been wrestling with the instinctual approach versus taking into account feedback. Both are valuable, but it’s easy to swing too far in either direction, and I appreciate the reminder that to balance them. I’m just going out there and editing, baby. :)
Matthew, the voices in my head are a talented chorus of “no”: “Uh-uh, better not,” “That surely won’t work out,” “You call that an idea?” and “Oh, hell no.” But instead of telling them to shut up (believe me, I have), you have inspired me to make them work against each other.
So when they next intrude, I’m going to tell one, “Wow, you know what XXX said about you?” and tell the other the same about #1, and on. They will kill each other, and then I can go back to typing.
Good post! I will still push a piano up a hill, but your thoughts give it wheels.
Matthew:
While I agree with your essay, I had a different take on your conversation with your daughter. It sounded to me like she was starting to take her game more seriously — not just goofing off, but working to improve her technique and sense of teamwork. Just like writers need to balance the urge to scribble madly with knuckling down and learning the nuts and bolts of the craft. Writing with joy is essential, but so too is channeling that joy into something readable.
Hey, Christine, A very fair point indeed.
You’re funny – and right on the money.
If I finish the structure, I have to write the final draft, and everyone is going to hate how it works out in the end, however justified.
I’ve been working toward this ending for 23 years – and NOW I get cold feet? Good grief!
If they hate it, I’ll have the three volumes of my mainstream trilogy sitting on a shelf in my room at the nursing home – the way I started this whole project. For ME. It is the only way the story CAN end, and I like it, and so far most of the bad things from readers HAVEN’T happened. But those three (hardcover now that Amazon allows it) volumes, sitting on that shelf, telling THAT story is what I’ve been aiming for what feels like forever, and we’re dong this. So there!
Go get ’em!
DOING :)
But did your daughter have fun? 😂 sorry, the mom in me overtook the writer.
Great post. Hope your daughter gets her groove back in lacrosse.
I particularly like your question about life advice that might help a writer. At a sales meeting once, a sales leader was asked, How do you know when to listen to the voices in your head?” He took his time before providing an answer, one I try to keep in front of me. “I listen to the ones urging me on, and try to avoid the ones telling me to hold back. I think of them as the positive vs. the negative. I probably make as many mistakes as anyone, but they are mistakes I’m more comfortable with, I learn from them.”
It reverberates with a proverb that I came across recently that’s attributed to the Cherokee nation, “Let your dreams run wild! Then be brave enough to chase them.”
Thanks, Bob. Back when I worked in advertising, a boss of mine liked to use the expression “full-speed mistakes.” Those were more forgivable than the tentative, unsure-of-yourself mistakes.
It sounds as if the desires of the coach got inside your daughter’s head, kind of like the words of the external reviewer or critique group that enter a writer’s head. It is as if ‘overthinking ‘puts to much emphasis on thinking at the expense of the intuitive joy of her athleticism. The joy of athleticism, and the joy of writing, are FUNdamentals (a term I am hijacking from the physical literacy movement), in both writing and sport. :)
Matthew, your words resound like a gong in my head. As a serious plotter, I sometimes work too hard to control the plotline and characters and forget the fun of letting the characters loose and going with the flow. The creative stage of writing needs freedom to explore, fail, grow, and fly. Thanks for reminding me to have fun with it.