A few weeks ago on a Saturday (May 18), I completed one more thing on my ‘bucket list’ – which isn’t really a list because it’s not even big enough to fit into a bucket. I signed up for and completed the Run to the Shrine.
(For those who don’t know, the shrine is the Will Rogers Shrine of the Sun, located halfway up Cheyenne Mountain. It’s quite an impressive five-story monument. Of course, most people will need to Google Will Rogers to understand who the man was and why he has a Shrine.)
It’s not a long race, about four miles, but it is nearly straight up. I’ve walked many neighborhoods near the Shrine, since I live in the area. Most roads situated on the side of the mountains are fairly steep, even steeper than some of the trails around here – one reason I ruled out buying a house on a hill. The race starts out at the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo, where I’ve taken a part time job in guest services. Every day I work, the Shrine is there looming 1000′ above me, teasing me to tackle it. (Believe me, walking up to the employee parking lot is no small feat.)
After walking some of the roads around here, I was convinced I was going to die on the way up, or at least require medical attention, but that was not to be. I placed 19th out of 66 runners in my age group (1:07). I made it across the finish line well before some younger people I know. It felt good. It also reminded me that to run a race from beginning to end is much like writing a novel from beginning to end.
1. Like a race, a novel needs a plan. I thought about this race for a while. My pre-race walking paths included inclines. (As on race day, the downhills were easy; it was the extreme elevation that was trying.) I tried to take a walk at least four or five days a week, at least three miles each day, which was a good goal that was easily dashed by late spring snow storms and bomb cyclones.
Likewise, you can’t just sit down and write a novel without a plan, without foresight, and without exercises along the way. This spoken by an avowed pantser, but having started writing both with and without a clue, I’ll admit having some sort of roadmap before you begin is helpful.
2. Like a race, a novel requires a writer’s stamina. This is what happens when you start out strong, especially without preparation – eventually you’ll run out of steam and give up. Everyone else will pass you by and you’ll feel like a failure. (Been there, done that.) I started the race out slowly, then realized I could actually go faster, although running uphill was out of the question. I gave myself small goals (I’ll take a drink at that tree, I’ll rest for a moment at this switchback). I found that once I completed the small goals, I could push myself a little farther.
If you think you can write a good novel in a month (exception made in November, of course, when you can complete a novel, albeit it won’t be “good”), you are wrong. You might not write a *good* novel in six months, in a year, in five years. No matter how long it takes (and it WILL take longer than you think it will), you have to commit to the project over a long term. You have to give yourself small goals (write 500 words a day, edit for X amount of hours this day) in order to keep from getting overwhelmed.
3. You could quit, but why? I thought about turning around halfway up the first challenging incline and switchback. (They put a serious one at the beginning, let you think you’re doing great in the middle since the elevation doesn’t increase much and it’s a rather long stretch this way, and then the last quarter mile or so is a Herculean test to your body.) But I was being passed up by ladies pushing double strollers full of toddlers and people way older than I am. And that guy in a wheelchair.
It’s so, so, so easy to quit writing. Avoid hard work, avoid falling into pits, avoid the struggle. Might as well stop writing and start watching TV. Instead of saying “you could quit” how about using the mantra “you can do it.”
4. Number 3 leads me to, it’s not so much about the competition, it’s about the people cheering you on. Wow, was there ever a cheering section, all the way up the mountain. People with water (of course), people with noisemakers yelling their encouragement. A band of drummers. Then another band at the top. Then of course the finish line, with a local TV weather personality, lots of swag, more water, and snacks.
In writing, there are ALWAYS people around to cheer you on. My good writer friend who I lost to cancer a few years back was one, but you can find them if you look hard enough. You must be willing to reveal your vulnerable side, be open to critique and comment. I want to be that person to others, to cheer you on when you feel like you’re failing.
5. Don’t worry, the downhill is way easier. The one good thing about the Race to the Shrine, once you’ve made it to the summit, it’s all downhill from there, and let me tell you, the downhill is easier.
Likewise, I might struggle with a novel (I usually do about halfway through), but there is a point you’ll get to where the puzzle pieces all click together perfectly. It’s usually right at the point of climax. I find writing endings far easier than building up to that climax. It’s my form of the downhill run.
6. As with a race, finishing a novel gives you an adrenaline high. I didn’t think it would happen, but crossing the finish line gives you more than a sense of satisfaction. You feel good, but you also feel high. I ran with two of my younger sisters (one who IS a runner, made it in 44 minutes, the other about an hour and a half), and after the race we were talking like crazy people about doing another race.
As a writer, when I finish a novel, I’m happy-dancing all over the house. I glow. I celebrate. There is nothing more satisfying than writing “The End” at the conclusion of the story. I might let my head and fingers rest a bit, but I’m usually on to the next story percolating in my head.
As with running, if you’re going to write, you’re going to have to commit to the task, start to finish.
