Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Take a Shot in the Mouth

I've always played team sports. Hockey, baseball, soccer (as a goalie, for one game, until I picked the ball up at half court. You can't use your hands outside of the goalkeeper area). Team sports are still a performative act for the individual player, but you have a group of fellow comrades that provide you with fist bumps and warm cheers to help you out of these moments of choking. Here’s a moment: I once slashed a player during a 5 on 3 power play, and the coach just ripped into me during the intermission. He threw a bowling pin across the room. I didn't even take off my helmet. I felt such intense shame and disappointment, not only for myself, but for my teammates. I let the guys down. When we were ready to get back on the ice, the guys gave me these small words of encouragement, "Come on, bud. Don't worry about it." I was benched for the rest of the game. But knowing the fellas were there to fully share the experience, no matter how devastating or ecstatic, no matter if we won or lost, I learned the importance of connections. I am not alone. I learned this.

We have the furious work done alone, in the gym, in the kitchen to maximize the effects of the gym (Seth, the exactitude of my diet would make you proud, although the taste of the food would horrify you. Tuna and iceberg lettuce blended into a muddy pap.) You can feel your skating stride lengthening (stretching regiment) and your foot work exploding (plyometrics and weight training), and you can see this on the ice, but there's also a higher level development of mind and manners. During one of my first college games, while I was walking back to the locker room, a fan threw a hot dog wrapper at me, and I swung my stick at the bleachers, trying to disembowel him. I looked like an idiot and embarrassed my team. Having to rely on others, you understand that they also rely on you, and so you can't do things like swing your stick at fans. These correctives, as silly as they seem, helped me become a better teammate.

In that sense, I feel like writing exists somewhere in this continuum of public and private acts. I mean, like Josh said in his class, we write for someone, even if that someone is an amalgam figure. Like, right now, I'm writing to a three headed dragon who is informing the content of this very post. If you write to yourself, who the hell is listening? Well, that's tautological sloppiness, but I guess I'm trying to say that I've learned how the lessons in team sports has transferred into my writing. How much of writing is really done alone? How much of sport is performed alone? This can get messy, depending on the sport (golf vs basketball: solitary, collaborative), and the type of writing, but I'll just end it by saying that this blog, as well as the talks, walks, dances, car rides, drunken meanderings near the hog pens, have changed the way I perceive my life, which translates into richer writing. By listening, and participating in these bad-ass talks, I move closer to what Auden called "the authenticity of being," a noble, life long goal of becoming, a process that is deathly essential in my writing. So keep feeding me, suckas.

2 comments:

  1. Tommy,

    I just left a comment on Alex's blog about how much I was enjoying being alone with my writing (away from the eyes of advisers).

    I think, though, when I say "alone" I mean it expansively. When I write with my adviser in mind, I'm writing for maybe one person.

    When I write "alone" I write for my intended audience, which has always, always been my friends.

    It was such a pleasure to meet you guys, to finally get a few solid writing friends. I certainly keep you guys in heart (mind?) when I write. But I also think it's important to keep your non-writer friends in heart, because then, as you write, you ask that important question: Will my friends hate this? If so, I think I'm moving in the wrong direction. If my friends like me, and I'm doing a good job expressing myself in my work, then, well, shouldn't they like my work, too? Friends. I think, help you be less full of bullshit. That's important, especially if you're swinging your stick like some sort of lunatic.

    That tuna-lettuce "pap" sounds like cat food. Why are you blending it?

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  2. Hey Seth,
    I agree. Sometimes I want to write for my family, so that they can read it and enjoy it at a different level than my writer friends. Entertainment? Maybe, but there's something else going on when they read. They don't have the vocabulary to identify this or that literary device/convention, but they can tell me if it stinks, or if it's good. Sometimes my family can demand an honesty that can both liberate and tyrannize my writing. Mostly, I want to "make a sound," as Charlie said during bookshop last year, the sound of family wakes and birthday parties, the sound of arguments and fist fights and the lovely sound of pork belly hissing in its own fat. Yeah, if I could have my work translated into Korean, and my grandfather (who was a pottery artist and alcoholic...a wild and melancholy man) would give me the nod, then I would be happy. I've never met the guy, but he sounds splendid, and I think he can call me out on my bullshit.

    The tuna thing was blended so I could just gulp it down with a few swallows, rather than spending the time to spoon and chew the crap. Tonight, I'm going to try to make chorizo and mushroom fiduea for Jill. I'm using the epicurious recipe. I'll let you know how it turns out.

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