Waiting for Them To Get Thiem
If you follow tennis, you may know Dominic Thiem.
Currently at No. 8 in the Emirates ATP World Tour rankings, the 23-year-old Austrian has a way of making announcers sound uninformed about him.
An intelligent, moody player, he usually can be found at the baseline, discussing a point with himself. Occasionally, he looks over at his box, more often not. You know why people talk to themselves, don’t you? Because they’re the best conversationalists they know. Thiem is a good conversationalist and wastes little energy on fist pumping theatrics. He’s there to win more than to entertain. So he talks his way through it.
“Oh. Thiem did it,” one announcer for Sky Sports says, as Thiem’s one-handed backhand gets the attention of Stan Wawrinka, currently the world’s No. 3. It’s the quarterfinals at Larry Ellison’s BNP Paribas Open at Indian Wells last night (March 16).
“He can really motor around out there,” the second announcer says, seemingly taken aback.
It’s as if these commentators don’t know or don’t believe that Thiem has been as high as No. 7 in the rankings. He’s won more than $5.7 million in prize money so far. He has eight titles after spending most of 2016 on the road in a blitz of tournaments. This year, he’s won the Rio tournament on clay already. Last year: Stuttgart, Nice, Acapulco, Buenos Aires. In 2015: Gstaad, Umag, Nice.
“Combination thoroughbred and plow horse,” one of the announcers says, still apparently scratching his head as the artful Austrian keeps up with the Swiss.
“Pressure is building,” one announcer intones ominously. “Incredible how much harder those shots become to make.”
In fairness to announcers who call these matches, part of their job is to generate suspense, sex it up. It’s too bad that at this point in Thiem’s career, this often means casting him as a lucky upstart.
Thiem (pronounced “Team”) is the son of professional tennis coaches Wolfgang and Karin, who graciously handed his youthful development over to master coach Günter Bresnik. They could tell they needed top-level guidance for a son this talented. That bit of parental honesty has helped produce a formidably promising player who works punishingly long hours on the court, switches fluently from clay to hard court or grass, and faithfully reports to fans on his matches, both in German and in English.
Match after match, whether Thiem wins or loses, he’s articulate, respectful of other players, at once temperamental and yet in control of his temper.
“Man, this guy has everything it takes to be a champion,” an announcer said during his Rio-winning match. But he’s being made to pay his dues, proving that he’s a persistent performer, a standout in a field crammed with gifted competitors.
And that’s my provocation for you today. How hard do you find it is for others to see you as the writer you are? How fashionable is it for us all to wax skeptical?
Authors aren’t the only ones.
Wawrinka now is questioning the chair on a call. The Austrian watches. Thiem has pulled ahead of Wawrinka in the second set, 4-2. Is anybody in the booth ready to concede that the challenger has come up with unexpected grace and capability? Maybe begrudgingly: “Stunning. When Thiem’s in full flow on that backhand…” Yeah.
When They Can’t See What You’ve Got
So who among us doesn’t think we’re overlooked, right?
But like unbranded authors—especially those whose work isn’t quite the commercial norm—a radically gifted athlete or artist or surgeon or technologist has to try to stay on track without the benefit of the world’s approval.
“Thiem has taken the bull by the horns, if you will, here in this second set,” we now hear from the announcers. Golly gee. They have to admit: “Thiem’s been the aggressor. Wawrinka has just been trying to hang on.”
Great to hear the guys in the booth start catching on, isn’t it? Thiem plucks another point off Stan the Man in a forehand volley.
So are you a head case, too? Most creative types are. Easily unsettled by a doubting Tomas or Serena.
Not unlike Rafael Nadal, Thiem gets into trouble when his focus wavers. At 23, your focus can waver a lot. Andy Roddick won the US Open at 21. He’d spent his late teens getting there. These guys, like authors, are expected to arrive at full tilt, edited and designed. Too bad Adidas doesn’t outfit writers, isn’t it?
Tennis has to be played at an early point in life. It’s an awfully high-stakes, super-exposed business for young souls to handle.
“Boy, Thiem was a different guy in this second set,” one of the announcers now admits. In fact, it’s not unusual for Thiem to drop the first set, getting settled in, scoping out his opponent. he wins his second set against Wawrinka with the contained calm of Roger Federer, no hysterics.
At 6-4, 4-6, the booth now is sitting up. Finally.
For writers, the good ones, focus means suffering fashionable doubt. Skepticism is thought to be clever. Everybody’s a critic. They’re shocked, I tell you, shocked to find that you’re…good. Who knew? You did. And they should have. But they don’t.
Not until you make them pay attention. You may need to do some talking to yourself.
Thiem is in that stage of a career rich in potential: he’s busy getting our attention. My guess is that these so-show-us-what-you’ve-got stares from the stands aren’t always fun. But he’s working it well.
You may not have his youth on your side. But you’ll understand what he’s up against. He needs buy-in. And the most important one he needs that from his the guy he’s talking to: himself.
When you tell them you’re an author, do you believe it? If you don’t, the guys in the booth calling your match won’t, either.
“Now, that is truly magnificent,” one of the announcers says of a sweet return from Thiem in the third set. Graphics are coming up to show us Thiem’s “very accurate serving” in the second set. “It really has to be said that Thiem has hit the ball with more authority tonight.” Stars have come out over the desert.
Before Wawrinka’s next serve, Thiem blows on his fingers, trying to dry his grip. How’s yours? And how’s your baseline conversation with yourself? Do you believe yourself? Are you mentally strong?
Tennis, like writing, is a game of skill but a business of wits. The body, sure. But the muscles need minding. The mind needs focus. And the focus needs belief.
Thiem dances, waiting for the next serve, tied 5-5 in the third set of a match he’s about to lose. Today will be one of those days for him. Do you know a single writer who can’t relate?
How much of a head case is your match? What throws you off your game? Who’s the best conversationalist you know? And do you buy yourself? Really? No, really?
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About Porter Anderson
@Porter_Anderson is Editor-in-Chief of Publishing Perspectives, the international news medium of Frankfurt Book Fair New York. He and Jane Friedman co-own and produce @The Hot Sheet, the essential industry newsletter for authors. Anderson previously was The Bookseller's Associate Editor for The FutureBook in London. Formerly with CNN, CNN.com and CNN International–as well as the Village Voice, the Dallas Times Herald, and other media–he has also been a featured writer with Thought Catalog in New York, creating as a longtime arts critic the #MusicForWriters series. More on his consultancy: PorterAndersonMedia.com | Google+
Porter, Thanks for the interesting and relevant analogy. Amplifying your point is today’s NYT story about Nick Kyrgios and the internal and external issues he has had to confront and attempt to resolve on his way to defeating Novak twice in three weeks. Now he will face Roger which means that, even as he improves, the challenge keeps getting more and more difficult. It’s not just writers! It’s anyone who is working hard to get better and get established.
https://www.nytimes.com/2017/03/16/sports/tennis/roger-federer-nick-kyrgios-indian-wells.html?_r=0
Hey, Ruth,
Great to find your comment here at Writer Unboxed, thanks for reading and dropping a note.
And yes, I’d seen Chris’ piece at the Times this morning while on the way to Heathrow. (I’m four, not five, hours ahead of Eastern this week for London Book Fair, where the Daylight Saving Time change happens two weeks later than in the States — one of those areas I’d really love to see standardized internationally, lol.)
I confess that I have a bit less time for Nick Kyrgios and his place in tennis than some, but your point is absolutely right and his presence in the game illustrates it well.
There are infinite layers and categorizations of demons that can confront us. If I don’t see the disciplinary response in Kyrgios to his own conflicts that others see (and that Djokovic seems to be facing in reaction — I’m not surpried), that takes nothing away from the fundamental point that we’re all potentially stymied by struggles, many and maybe most of them of our own making.
What I think I see (and may or may not have put across here as clearly as I’d like) is a valuable lesson in self-regard. The buy-in that’s hardest to find is our own. You and I know how many writers find it easier to spot external gatekeepers as their nemeses. I see it happening even in some of the later comments here.
Time will tell us whether Kyrgios can understand himself as his opponent. One of the great gifts I see in Thiem (and the reason I think he can cruise right past Kyrgios when he’s ready) is that he seems to have understood better than so many where the toughest buy=in comes from.
But there, much analogy starts to lose its assist, perhaps, and the time seems to arrive when writers need to understand (at any age, and tennis players right along with them) that the real construct of challenge is self-made.
This may be why Federer’s gaze always seems so daunting. It’s impossible not to know that he has continued to answer his own challenges to his work and that it’s something you have to do many more times than once in your career and life.
I like that Thiem seems to be looking inward first. Talking to himself is a fine sign of this and he’s remarkably eloquent at it.
Just as an aside, someone years ago asked why I like tennis so much and never watch or follow team sports, and this is why. It’s a game you play against and for yourself. The person on the other side of the net is usually a stand-in for some aspect of your own character, whether in analogies like ours here or in actual practice on a court. My money is on the guys talking to themselves — they’re conscious.
And that, to my mind, is the key for all of us.
Thanks again,
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
That’s why I follow tennis, too, Porter!
Make them pay attention.
Indeed. The way we do that in fiction is with words and story. I see those as forehand and backhand: prose to whack the ball at high speed, story to force the reader back behind the baseline, on the defensive, worried and scrambling to keep up.
My baseline conversation with myself is about honesty, writing not as I think I should or even as I please, but in a way that honors the truths of the game and keeps me playing aggressively, as best I can at this stage of my career.
Fiction writers have it better than tennis players, though. We don’t peak when we’re barely old enough to drink. We age, mellow and grow wise–and, I hope, become canny strategists, racing ahead of the spectators, our readers, and playing for a purpose.
Excellent post, Porter. Jump over the net.
Hey, Benjamin,
Thanks for your good comment here. Sorry to be delayed in getting back by some travel.
I do like, “Fiction writers have it better than tennis players, though. We don’t peak when we’re barely old enough to drink.” At least there’s that, lol.
But what I really like is your focus on honesty and what’s authentic in your work. That’s hard and has its own analog in tennis, in which the men’s game has become a power-match in the last decade, its allure growing with the kind of commercialism that both sustains the sport and worries those who care about its integrity long-term and the mounting demands it’s making on its athletes.
If you can stay clear on what you’re doing with your writing and not let market and social forces run away with your best intentions, then you’re headed in a good direction.
Congrats and thanks again,
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
This post is amazing on so many levels, a great telling about tennis as well as terrific observations about writing. You’ve reminded me of a time I snagged a low level assignment at a respected publication. Things went awry, mainly with glacially slow response on their end with a time-sensitive post. Editor finally read it and said,
“This is actually pretty compelling material, but I worry about
how late we are with it at this point. . .
On another note, the writing is quite strong.”
My internal reaction should have been different. Regrettably, I did not keep repeating this encouragement to myself or use it to amplify my efforts as I should have, let alone even reply to it. Sigh. Thanks for opening my eyes to the importance of “conversations” with ourselves and how that can potentially impact how we are perceived by others.
Hi, Cathy,
Thanks for this really constructive use of the idea of talking to ourselves. I think you’re referring to something much more important than most of of remember it is, not least because we’ve heard it so much — we’re deeply influenced by the narratives we create about things.
An experience like yours in which a medium takes too long to use something (it happens much more frequently than it should) is infuriating and wrong. And yet, if we don’t talk it out with ourselves on some level, we can be led by it to think that we did something wrong as writers.
So there’s a use for talking to ourselves that’s healthy, important: setting the record straight. As frequently as we might want to have this talk with people who are handling our work wrongly, it finally is much more important that we have this talk with ourselves, as you say.
Nobody needs to hear from us like WE need to hear from us. How ironic, really.
To the degree that we see this in a clearly remarkable tennis champ or a fellow writer or a good politician (there are a few left) or a quiet teacher or a patient dog trainer, this is an instruction for all of us.
Society laughs at people who talk to themselves.
And just look at society.
Thanks again,
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Porter– I am, or more honestly used to be a hacker, so I especially appreciate your post today. But if I apply your clever analogy to my experience as a writer, the focus shifts away from the player–his talent, or his temperament. Instead, the camera comes to rest on the various people in box seats. They’re dressed in tennis blazers (silver instead of yachting gold buttons), and Lilly Pulitzer dresses. THEY are the ones deciding which players will be invited to this year’s match, who will be allowed on court, etc. There are lots of Dominic Thiems out on the Writers International warm-up courts, but how well they write will play only a small role in deciding whether they get to compete. Luck, and especially friends at the stadium entrance will be the deciding factor as to who gets to play. Until they turn out the lights, the rest of us will just keep warming up.
Hi, Barry,
And sorry, I thought I’d answered you, only to realize that I got pulled away.
I get what you’re saying.
But it worries me. It’s defeatist, populist, and it’s a bow to “gatekeepers.”
In point of fact, even in the ATP system (which is a corporate program that promotes and manages the male players of the professional competition tennis system), if a kid from Eastern Europe (I’m thinking of the Croatian Borna Coric right now, a beautiful young player with solid skills and potential) arrives and starts kicking ass in the first and second and third rounds of a tournament, he is advanced forward just as readily as one of the Big Four is.
While we need to set aside our tennis analogy at this point, what worries me is that you’re responding from a victim’s position. You’re imagining the stands filled with gatekeepers in their finery, thumbs-upping and thumbs-downing people at their whims. The proper response when judges of any kind are presented to you is to overwhelm them with your talent and your skills.
There still are places and situations in the world in which class and standing and pedigree matter, of course. Club memberships, business relationships, etc. But surely if you cast your experience as a writer as that of a pawn being tossed around by elites, you’ll get nowhere, right?
There’s no need for you to feel personally criticized here, by the way, because I’ve never read your work and for all I know it’s sublime — I hope so. But I have author friends who tend to define their lack of progress in the industry as being the fault of a business that “doesn’t appreciate innovation” or “has no time for unique voices.” What that normally means, I’ve discovered, is someone who’s writing highly quirky work that a publisher can’t risk the expense of production on. And so rejection in that case is actually quite logical in a commercial setting and not at all a dismissal by well-heeled overlords.
This may not be your case at all. But I do worry when I hear you or any author describing the industry as a bunch of royal-box-sitters acting in some way against authors (or players) who aren’t to the front row born.
You write your best. You adjust according to the realities of the world in which you live. (That might mean changing to a two-hand backhand or rethinking the tone and POV of your novel.) And you keep playing to get their attention. That’s it.
And, as ever, I wish you well, sir! :)
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
As a tennis fanatic, I love this post. (And I do believe Thiem will start making it to major finals soon.)
Hey, Michael,
Good to hear from another fan of Thiem — I agree that he’s bound for the top ranks and he’s handling the grind of the lower Top 10 really well at this point. A long year of many tournaments ahead, with Miami next. #bamos
Thanks for reading and dropping a note.
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson
Porter, I remember Kevin Costner in Bull Durham, getting ready to throw a pitch. He goes all Zen and tells himself to ‘clear the mechanism’. So what I’m taking away from your wonderful post is that attitude really is everything. Do I buy myself? Yes, because even when I’m about to indulge in a pity party, I know that’s not the writer talking. It’s the weenie. And the weenie only gets five minutes. Thank you, as always. I may actually start watching tennis now!
Wasn’t that For Love Of The Game? Costner takes the pitchers’ mound and blocks out the noise of the crowd.
You may be right. If so, thanks. I just loved that moment!!
Me too
Supposedly, talking to yourself is a sign of intelligence–at least that’s what I’ve heard. It makes sense that Thiem would tune out the noise and look within for strategies in harmony with his vision. And I agree that writers must do the same, especially since most of the noise is internal: doubts, fears, the voices of other people that get inconveniently lodged in the brain…. Thanks for a great post, Porter!
To carry on your excellent analogy…my spectators have more belief in me as a writer than I do. Since writing is a solitary sport, being in my head isn’t necessarily a good thing. My inner coach hammers away…you’re not good enough…you’ll never make the playoffs…you need to practice more….you call yourself a writer? It takes effort to drown out the voice, and constant showing up at the keyboard, lobbing those words onto the page, accepting that I’m doing the best I can at this time with the knowledge and skills I possess. On good days, I surprise myself.
Thanks for the post, Porter!
So THAT’s why I mutter to myself at the keyboard.
Concerning the belief one does not get sufficient notice for one’s efforts, I am reminded of the song “Louisa” by Noel Coward, in which he says of the “tortured” movie queen:
She gazed like a dazed frustrated sphinx
At a hundred-and-ten mutated minks
And she wrung her hands
And she beat her breast
Crying, “My my my, I’m so depressed.”
Have a “love”-ly weekend.
Porter,
Nice work providing a seeming interlude that swallows the production.
You touch on several themes or metrics here. One is believing in self. Another is assessing one’s work. Both are author driven and essential in the journey. On the third, scoring/winning, to my mind, the tennis metaphor gets strange.
In tennis the ball is in or out. In writing, particularly if we push ‘the box’ what does ‘in’ mean? The tennis construct for winning (publishing) supports what one’s relatives always ask. Are you published? How’s it selling? Note: Cormac McCarthy’s books sold badly for a long time. Does that mean he was a low-ranked author?
In other words, if money IS winning, we should bowl our stories right down the center of a genre and hit all the expected pins. Use old themes that always bring a tear or a swell of the breast.
In my tennis/writing, choosing voice may lead to trying a slightly misshapen ball or an odd racquet. And I submit much of the joy of great writing comes from the experimentation of what swells the heart or cracks the brain.
A great analogy, Porter. Like Thiem, I sometimes talk to myself, congratulate myself on a day’s work. Why not? Most of us at some time in our lives have heard this mantra that is to be spoken aloud: Every day in every way I’m getting better and better and better. The human brain needs encouragement, that spark of approval. Writing is a no-contact sport–there is no one there tossing a word back, but also no crowd to cheer you on. But regardless, I’m working for whatever this contest, this competition will award me. Thanks
I love this post, Porter. Tennis has taught me so much about writing, not least how much your attentiveness and belief in yourself influence the outcome. Over the course of a match, you can see them wax and wane in each player, even greats like Roger and Serena.
For us writers the outcome is not always so obvious. Our wins and losses are not so easily counted. I’m working on keeping the losses in proper perspective, remembering that there have been wins as well and that tomorrow I’ll be sitting down at the computer again.
Hey, Barbara,
I love this comment. You’re onto our special envy of tennis players, lol — for me, it lies in the fact that each of their wins or losses is definitive, clear, carefully recorded and documented. Unless the linesmen screw up and there’s no Skyhawk, of course, but most of the time, the players have a very precise understanding of what’s going on, where they stand in the rankings, how much prize money each has won, and so on.
Not that it’s all enviable. My knees would last about 85 seconds, lol. And so much of the game now is forced on them. Power games are all that can succeed (which makes the intellectual Federer so rare and the calculating Thiem so valuable as rare birds in this menagerie).
But yes keep the wins in mind.
And maybe we should keep power games in mind, too. Occasionally I like to remember that many of us could write rings around the best players on the circuit. I’ll bet some of them would like to write. Envy is a two-way street.
See you down the road,
-p.
On Twitter: @Porter_Anderson