My son is a 5’4”, 93-pound 10th grader. He hates his skinny shortness. He is tired of the reminders that he just needs to be patient, that his 6’4” dad grew late, that late bloomers tend to be bigger than kids who hit puberty in middle school. To an almost-16-year-old, those words offer no comfort, not after he’s heard them a million times.
But my goodness, this kid is built to be a cross country runner. A ballerina in Asics, he glides over mud and gravel, elbowing past other runners much larger than he. Watching him makes my heart swell to XXL.
The problem: in the first three races of the season, the kid ran at the speed of sloth. Teammates at the slower end of the spectrum were finishing well ahead of him, happily claiming, “Wow! I’ve never beaten you before!”
This sport that, just one year before, had made my boy feel less short and skinny, was reminding him that he was short, skinny, and slow. He pretended it didn’t bother him. I almost fell for it, his act of nonchalance.
***
In September I went back to teaching middle school English after a fifteen-year break. As one of 283 adults who loves middle schoolers, I find the job dreamy.
But since being hired in June and launching myself into curriculum development, I have written roughly 283 words. Before getting hired, I told my agent I’d have a complete manuscript by August (the August that was two months ago); still I have just .7 of a novel. Between curriculum writing, grading, lesson planning, teaching, parenting, plucking old lady whiskers from my chin, carpooling kids, locating dinner in the depths of the freezer, I can’t make time to write.
Writers write. If I’m not writing, well, you know.
I pretend it doesn’t bother me. And it doesn’t. It terrifies me.
***
Through the month of September, I continued to not write, and my son continued to be not speedy. Then I heard a story about the Kenyan runner, Eliud Kipchoge. He had shattered the world record by running a marathon in 2 hours, 1 minute and 39 seconds.
The story explained that Kipchoge, like many Kenyan runners, has “this brilliant ability not to fear running, not to see it as something that’s going to hurt but just to accept it. This is not about legs … It’s about the heart and mind.”
I thought about my son and his sudden slowness. How much of his slowness was a result of his heart and mind? How much of my inability to write was a result of silly excuses about being too busy?
Just a few days later, I heard a second story about Roger Bannister, the first man on record to run a sub-four-minute-mile, a feat many thought was impossible, beyond human capability. As an article from the Harvard Business Review explains,
The experts believed they knew the precise conditions under which the mark would fall. It would have to be in perfect weather — 68 degrees and no wind. On a particular kind of track — hard, dry clay — and in front of a huge, boisterous crowd urging the runner on to his best-ever performance. But Bannister did it on a cold day, on a wet track, at a small meet in Oxford, England, before a crowd of just a few thousand people. [Looking back], experts believe it was “the mindset … rather than the physical achievement” that allowed him to break the record.
I told my son about these two runners, about the power of heart and mind in running.
“Maybe you should do some visualization,” I suggested with maternal helpfulness. “Imagine you are a Kenyan. Hey! What if, as you run, you say ‘I am a Kenyan. I am a Kenyan.’ over and over and over?”
He shrugged. “Coach Mike thinks I have a sinus infection. He thinks that’s why I’ve got this cough and disgusting snot. That that’s why I’ve been so slow.”
I paused, calculating how long I had been hearing my son’s cough and seeing the garbage can piled high with used Kleenex.
Crumb.
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll call the doctor.”
Sure enough. Dr. N took a peek in my boy’s ears, nose, and throat, then said, “Yep. This is a bad one.” He prescribed fourteen days of antibiotics. Dr. N and Coach Mike should have been my son’s mothers.
But as one waits for antibiotics to work, there’s plenty of time for a skinny, no-longer-fast boy to ruminate: What if the antibiotics don’t help? What if a sinus infection isn’t the issue? What if I’ve just peaked?
Likewise, waiting for time to write gives me plenty of time to ruminate: What if I never finish that .7 novel? What if I spend two decades working on fiction, and I never get myself published?
Worries are Whack-a-Mole moles.
***
This past Saturday, six days after finishing the course of antibiotics, my son had a big race an hour north of Seattle. Nearly one hundred teams from Washington and Alaska. He was pumped. Nervous and jumpy. Bouncy and electric.
Have you ever been to a XC meet? If you time things right, you can watch the mob at the start, hundreds of thin, long-legged boys in very short shorts and singlets running straight at you. Once they pass, you then run hither and yon, cutting across various parts of the course to catch glimpses of the sprinting man-children. It’s a sub-18-minute thrill. I scream and yell and cheer like crazy.
At the finish line of this particular race, I caught sight of my boy among the sweaty throngs.
“I PR’d!” he said.
He had knocked 18 seconds off his personal record. Because his teammates were around, I gave him a nonchalant fist bump and used emotive facial expressions to communicate joy and exuberance.
Later that night, still bouncy with relief and excitement, he let the truth out. “I pictured the course,” he said. “All week, I thought about my start and imagined myself passing people. Then I imagined my kick at the end. I pretended my lungs weren’t on fire.”
I probably got too excited. “And did you pretend you were Kenyan? Did you say, ‘I am a Kenyan’ over and over as you ran?”
He rolled his eyes. “No, Mom. Because I’m not Kenyan.”
“Ri-ight. Which is why I asked if you pretended to be a Kenyan.”
He laughed. He and I are cut from the same always-rushing, impatient, hard on ourselves, wonder-if-we’ve peaked, cloth. We also think we are funny.
“You haven’t peaked,” I reminded him.
“No,” he said. “I haven’t peaked.”
Later that night, when the house was quiet, I closed my eyes and imagined myself sitting at my computer, fingers racing across the black keys of my laptop, click click click, clickclickclick, like hundreds of Asics and Nikes pounding across a course of grass and gravel, crushing crisp autumn leaves, splashing through mud puddles. My fingers propel me, but mostly it’s my will and my heart pushing me toward the The End of my .7 work-in-progress.
It feels good. It feels better than focusing how difficult it is to carve out writing time. I don’t want to worry about whether I will or won’t complete this .7 novel. I want to explore the power of mind over muscle. I want to acknowledge, then accept, that I am in a particularly busy season, but seasons turn, turn, turn. That’s all. No big deal. I am a Kenyan. I am a Kenyan. I am a Kenyan.
My son’s got another race today, 3:00 PST. While he pretends he’s a Kenyan, I’ll be at a mandatory teacher meeting. Maybe after that, after our family has dinner, and after our boy gives us the play-by-play of the race, I’ll carve out thirty minutes to write.
Your turn: What have you done when you hit a speed bump in your writing life? Do you have a mantra–Be a Kenyan–or do you do visualization that distracts you from the pain of writing? Please share strategies that keep you moving toward the finish line of your work-in-progress.
(The cute-bodied, headless runner in black? That’s my boy.)
About Sarah Callender
Sarah Callender lives in Seattle with her husband, son and daughter. A crummy house-cleaner and terrible at responding to emails in a timely fashion, Sarah chooses instead to focus on her fondness for chocolate and Abe Lincoln. She is working on her third novel while her fab agent pitches the first two to publishers.
I. LOVE. THIS. This post stands as proof that you haven’t peaked, Sarah. And I drink up posts on how writers deal with the demands of life on writing time. I’ve had seven years of demands (and counting) and so far, no one has said, “hey, Susan, you’re twitching and you look haunted. How about you take the day to write.” No, so I decided to get mean-dog mad (Or is it mad-dog mean? I think that’s from Dirty Harry) and stake out my time. Make a stand. Plant a flag. Learn to snarl. It wasn’t easy, but over time, people in my life have learned to respect the closed door – mostly. I’m certain you’ll find your way of carving out time. Because the time is sacred, really. You and your muse, alone, without distraction. Even for five minutes. I’m rooting for you. You’re a Kenyan..
Thank you, Susan. You are right! My mom and my husband are the only ones who understand when (and that) I NEED time to write. Others assume that my writing time is fluffy and flexible. It’s discouraging, but I also find it’s empowering to act like a professional and remind people that my writing time is as important as a doctor’s time with patients, a lawyer’s time doing whatever lawyers do, and a pharmacist’s job dispensing meds. Reminding people of that is a sad reminder that “art” is not taken as seriously as other professional endeavors.
So let’s all learn everyone a lesson! We can’t show we are professionals unless we treat ourselves as professionals.
Thank you for sharing that reminder with the WU community … and thank you for your empathy!
Your boy’s build is almost exactly like my boys build, except mine has always been on the tall end of the growth charts. Now he’s just tall and rather skinny – much like his 6’4″ father was in Middle School (7th grade.) I’d love to keep talking kids, because as far as I’m concerned the sun rises and sets on mine, but that’s not really what this post is about, huh? :D
I have noticed as well that if I imagine myself on my couch working on editing or writing in my notebook on my new story that I will be more likely not to procrastinate. Just thinking about what I have learned by teaching mindfulness about our brains, I have to wonder if it’s because we can fool our brains into believing all kinds of things. This is why negative self-talk is so damaging. So, by imagining ourselves in the moment – really picturing and putting ourselves in the moment – we probably trick our brains into releasing all kinds of feel good endorphins and then we’re primed to do the real thing and get more of those endorphins. Just a theory…
And, just saying, it is hard to “find time to write” when you go back to work. The problem for me, by working and writing (and granted, I’m not anywhere near the level that you’re at) is that I have to make constant decisions on how I want to spend my off time, and I’m sorry to say but sometimes (often) I want to spend that time doing fun things with my family. I used to feel guilty, but I’ve decided that’s silly. And then, sometimes, while I could probably work on something, I am not mentally capable of forming a complete sentence. I’ve tried before, and it’s ended up badly. My brain released bad, not-feel-good chemicals that time!! But also, I don’t have any outside pressure, really, to finish. I’ve learned, for me, that if I have a deadline from an outside source, I’ll definitely find a way to meet it. If it’s up to me, I guess I’m lazy? Or maybe I tend to go where the good endorphins are…
In any case, I have learned to scale back my personal shaming I do to myself when I don’t write/edit; and then to pick a couple of times during the week to work on writing, and try to get more time in on the weekends. I hadn’t realized I was using visualization until I read your post. And then I sometimes can trick myself into writing even when I don’t feel like it by saying I’ll only write/edit for ten minutes, and strangely, it usually turns into a lot longer of a session. :D
Tell your son congrats on his triumphant return to the front of the pack!
Thank you, Lara! But first … this:
“and granted, I’m not anywhere near the level that you’re at”
I’m just as messy, wandering and fumbling as any writer. And I bet that JK Rowling would (I hope) say the same thing about herself. That’s why I love WU–in my mind, there’s no hierarchy at all. Really. I never trust any human who assumes the role of “better” in any realm. :)
And gosh, I love what you said about visualization. That really inspires me! As someone with bipolar disorder, I am really aware of helping my brain feel peaceful, relaxed, and balanced. But I have never thought about the how our brains produce “feel goods” when we practice the practice of visualization. The power of our brains astounds me. Thank you for sharing that with us.
Finally, yes: the struggle between family/interests/relaxation/chores and writing is constantly on my mind. I know that I get crabby when I can’t sink into the world of fiction. I also know that my kids are going to be off and gone before I know it. And yes, the marriage needs some tending. :)
We are lucky to have two great things that vie for our attention. I guess there’s no wrong choice.
Happy visualizing to you!
I’ve missed you, Sarah, so good to see you here. Love your news about teaching and yes, you haven’t peaked. Living can bring new incentive and amazing ideas to your pages. Writers often need to LIVE to refresh ideas and make their work more powerful. Am I making excuses? I don’t think so. I wrote three novels (all unpublished) before life changes took me in other directions. Now when I “run” the horizon is clearer and that’s reflected on the page. Keep us posted and a high-five to your son.
Hi Beth! I have missed you too!
I love what you say about the importance of living. A few years ago, I realized that my 2.7 novels (all unpublished) are in fact middle grade novels. And here I find myself working with middle grade students! I figure this job is a wonderful way to spend more time with my potential audience. Plus, the steady income (a change from years of freelance work) is a relief.
Thank you for sharing these wise words, my friend!
Hey Sarah – It’s heartening to me that you’re teaching again. I mean, those middle-schoolers will gain the Sarah experience—that unique world-view and sense of humor—to stow in their kit as they move toward adulthood. All I have to do is think back on the handful of teachers that made me who I am to see the importance of it. Keeping in mind that I still want to read you, too, so I’m glad you’re carving time to write again.
Sometimes I read what other writers sacrifice or endure to write, and I feel so lame. Here’s my most recent lame mini-drama. I woke up at 4:43am this morning (I remember thinking I was one minute short of triple fours). I was hot and couldn’t get back to sleep. It’s not often I have trouble sleeping, but when I do, I tend to use the time to work on plot and character development. I typically find it both soothing and productive. But this morning it wasn’t working; I found it neither soothing nor productive. I had this image of my cells getting flabby. Did you know that they do that as we age? Yep, turns out our cells become less able to multiply, so they get bigger and more sluggish, and then they get excess space that fills with lipids. And laying (or is it lying? See? Lame!) there at triple fours, I could just feel their flabbiness and sluggishness. And somehow my brain clicked over to other dystopian themes (the recent UN global warming report, the utter intractability of those who support Buffoonism, etc.).
But here’s the thing. As I’m feeling my cells getting more pathetic, and sensing the inexorable slide toward dystopia, I force myself to go back to my work. And then I was momentarily bashing myself for my lack of productivity during the prior day (I think I got 141.5 words down, which is half of 283). And I vowed to do better. Want to know why irrational insomniac-me would vow to himself at triple fours? Because he wanted to get the damn story down.
Isn’t that a hoot? I mean, hurry up and get the story down before your flabby cells poop out? Before global warming catastrophe and dystopian Armageddon? WTH? What would it matter? Who’s gonna be left to read it?
But this morning I find that heartening. Even if a fever-dream has triple-fours-me imaging dire deadlines (with emphasis on the ‘dead’ part), that guy wants to spend the “end times” finishing the bedamned story. It’s made me all the more sure of what I want to do today. Guess I’m actually going to keep the vow of the Triple-fours Lunatic. Thanks for all of the heartening things you do, and have shared here.
My cells–especially those in my dermis and grey matter–are beyond flabby. Partially-chilled Jell-o!
I loved your words and ruminations here, Vaughn. Yes, the past two weeks have been remarkable buffoontastic. It’s enough to go fetal. But you are right to keep creating your stories because we need fiction more than ever. I am hungry for fiction, for the escape, yes, but also because it comforts me. Something about the power of the human will, the presence of love and hope, and the fact that compassion, kindness, truth and wisdom cannot be kept down forever.
Thank you for writing at triple-four. It’s 1:43 p.m. EST. Maybe you need a nap. Naps are good too–the thigh-master–for cells.
https://giphy.com/gifs/snl-saturday-night-live-dana-carvey-bdpIDWZFkI67S
Sarah, I loved this so much and I’m so happy you are teaching. It must feel like a shot in the arm to be in the classroom again–your love for the students comes through beautifully. But it is a labor of love and after such a long hiatus, I can imagine that there isn’t the downtime necessary for daydreaming. And still you wrote…
Lady, you haven’t peaked. You’re just getting warmed up. Just like your son.
I have always been a day-dreamer (is that another word for visualization) and that’s why I lament the absence of downtime in our culture. You need that to fill your creative soul. My biggest strategy when the writing isn’t going well is to take a nap. But ooh boy, give me a deadline and I can motivated in a hurry, stay up all night if I have. When you said you were terrified, I said Bingo! Use that fear. You are a Kenyan.
Thank you, dear Vijaya. I so appreciate your empathy and encouragement. Before returning to the classroom, I would get up at 5:00 a.m. then allow myself a 22-minute nap in the afternoon. Yes, 22 minutes. Two minutes to fall asleep, then 20 minutes to nap. :)
I am a world class napper, or at least I used to be. As it turns out, the teacher is not supposed to sleep while at school, not even while the kids are journaling or working in small groups. It seems really unfair, actually.
Anyway, I hope YOUR writing is going well. Let’s both be Kenyans!
Dear Sarah,
What a beautiful piece.
I’m glad your son is back on track (no pun intended), and I think you may overestimate the actual number of people who love teaching middle schoolers, but I”m glad for you that you are back among them, and for them that they have you.
Peaking isn’t something I’ve worried about (and I’m not going to start now. Not today anyway) but the comments by your other readers speak to the value of your message.
What brought me through your piece are your voice and style. Less what you had to say and more how you said it. They are exactly the voice and style I want in the chair with me when I open my current book. And my next one.
Good luck to you and your agent selling the first two, but get back to work and do finish .7. Based on what I’ve found here, I think I’d like to read it.
Wow, Bob. Thank you for this amazing encouragement. It means so much! I am grateful.
:)
Hello from Bellingham. Up in B.C., where I’m now living, my 11-year-old son is playing on his first ever hockey team. Similar story: He’s a speed demon on the ice, but was sluggish in his first two games.
Thing is, he’s never before skated with kids better than him. This isn’t New York. It’s Canada. These kids skated before they walked. My son is nervous, though he pretends not to be. Luckily, he identifies strongly with him team, Semiahmoo. He got the team warm-up suit and put his number, 3, on his helmet with black electrical tape.
Writing is partly a matter of confidence. Plus practice. Plus skills. It’s also good to lean on your team, which is why your well-written post is so helpful today, Sarah.
Even if you don’t have a team composed of critique partners, beta readers, agent, editor, etc., you have this community to lean on. Reading your post, I thought to myself “I am Kenyan!”
Thanks. (BTW, my son has also been running track. Watch out. He’s Ethiopian.)
Welcome to B.C., Don. I won’t have the pleasure of seeing your presentations at the Surrey Int’l Writers Conference this year, but am booked for Left Coast Crime in Vancouver in March. Any chance you’ll be presenting there? (I used to live in S. Langley, but have semi-retired to a ranch in the Cariboo.)
Hello, new neighbor! When I read your comment yesterday, my first thought was, “Cool! I love B.C.!” My second thought was, “Don’s so lucky that he can be Canadian!” Especially with this administration, it’s nice to be able to be Canadian. Or at least to act like one.
I loved the last line of your comment … and this silly and not-very-popular video proves that my son should have been chanting, “I am an Ethiopian.” On the other hand … well, the debate rages on.
Have you read the novel Beartown or its sequel? It’s a must-read for hockey nuts … also for those of us who know very little about hockey. I just know that Erika Robuck tells me that her boys’ hockey pads are quite possibly the most gross-smelling things on the planet.
Thanks for the great comment. I love imagining your little guy ripping across the ice.
I very much enjoyed your post, Sarah. I can relate to what you’ve been going through. I’ve got about .7 of my fifth novel done, and it’s taken me way too long to get this far. For me, it hasn’t been that I haven’t had time, but that I haven’t been motivated to make the time. Given my success rate, I don’t know how useful my strategies have been, but my one basic rule is to never give up trying.
Like Vaughn, perhaps I’ve been letting myself dwell too much on things that are beyond my control. Aging, climate change, the crazy political climate. Sometimes the bad news seems overwhelming. I know I can’t save the world, but I can (as Voltaire’s Candide said) cultivate my own garden.
I shouldn’t have to keep reminding myself, but I do, that nothing would make me happier with myself than finishing the fifth novel in my mystery series and getting started on the sixth.
It’s also nice to be reminded that I’m not alone in this struggle. Thanks to all you WU contributors for keeping me company.
Oh, Ruth. Do I ever understand what you mean when you say you are distracted by the political climate. As most writers tend to be thoughtful and sensitive people, I am really impacted by all of the ugly rhetoric and various other nasty things. Last week, I think I cried about fifteen times, mostly while walking my dog. Anyway, thank you for the empathy. The WU community is invaluable to me … I can’t imagine how lonely I’d be without everyone here!
Now: finish that book. You will feel better. I’ll do the same. OK? Deal? :)
I seldom finish a Writer Unboxed missive. But yours grabbed me and kept me engaged throughout. And my kids are grown and long gone! And I’m one of those who loves middle schoolers too. Their creativity, sense of humor, and energy are dynamite. Thanks for a great article.
Thank you, Nancy! What a kind comment … it really lifts my spirits. :)
And I’m so glad I’m not the only one who gets such a kick our of middle schoolers. They are SUCH a hoot! And a mess! I have to say, my students make me feel great hope for the future, and gosh, I think we ALL need to feel a little of that right now.
Thank you for taking the time to read and to comment. It means so much to me!
I haven’t had time to be in these parts for a while, and when I do, I luck out and find a Sarah Callender post. Woot!
After years of resisting, I have a growing pile of recipe cards which contain short affirmations. Things like “When life interferes I return to my writing with confidence. I am not behind. I can trust myself to continue the work in lightness and joy.”
I’m getting better at identifying my specific fears and crafting a pithy antidote for each recurrent, intrusive thought. I swear they help, melting performance anxiety away when I remember to read them. (Will have to try “I am a Canadian, I am a Canadian.”)
Sarah, I went into tenth grade at 5’6″ and now I’m 6’2, which shows you the power of eating fast food. I peaked at being a weasel back then, and am only a minor weasel now, so there’s some good in that.
No, you haven’t peaked; you’re just moving along in that higgledy-piggledy way that most writers do. Perhaps just a bit more higgle and less piggle? Everyone’s formula is different. Keep punctuating.
What an absolutely beautiful article! Visualization definitely helps. The thing that has helped me most is approaching the work with a relaxed attitude. Meditation before writing helps with that. But I find it’s my fear of failure that keeps me from creating, more than anything, so I’ll sit down and tell myself to write the absolute worst thing I can think of. It never is. But this *always* works for me, and I think it’s because it helps me let go of that fear of failure. To say to yourself, “Go ahead and fail,” in a way, is pretty useful.
Also, I like to use Brain.fm to help with focus: https://www1.brain.fm/app
I have bipolar as well, and I do think that makes it more difficult sometimes, especially when there’s much of any stress in your life.
Thank you for sharing a lovely piece of work and slice of your life!
What a strong post, Sarah! I’m one of your 283 people; I LOVED teaching 8th grade and only switched to engineering because I couldn’t make enough to support my family.
What I love about 14-year-olds is that they are right on the cusp of maturity. In my experience, most 7th graders are still children, while most 9th graders are settled into their near-adult identities. As in the best novels, we have the opportunity to experience the tumult of a major life change with them (emphasis on tumult sometimes!).
You’ll settle into a teaching groove soon, no doubt, but for now I bet it is stretching your brain, as all new experiences do. Visualising yourself working is a good strategy. I also sometimes use those extra moments to begin playing out the next scene in my imagination.
My mantra: You can do this.