Writing the Race (or Running for the Writer)

Writing the Race (or Running for the Writer)

Running has been an activity I kinda fell into.  Several years ago, I’d been working out at the gym trying to stay in shape.  Every April there’s a local race called the River to River Relay Race that I’d been wanting to try but never had the courage to do.  My assistant at the time knew I’d thought about it and she convinced me that with a little extra work running (especially hills) then I’d be in perfect shape to give it a try.  I worked hard and by the time the race came, I was excited and ready.  It was a fun time and I was hooked.

Before then, I’d never run.  Ever.  I was a skateboarder growing up, but I’d never gone for a jog or any other running.  The River to River Relay is like doing three 5K races in one day.  On hills.  Ask anyone who’s done it and they will always talk about hills.  It’s not for the feint of heart.  And that was my first race ever. 

After conquering that race, I ran regularly and entered several 5K races.  The best I placed was second in my age group, but that was more by default than anything else.  There were only four or five in my age group at that race.  But it was a win.  I felt like I belonged.  

I’ve been running part-time since then and it’s a great way for me to stay in shape.  I enjoy the mental clarity I gain while running.  My mind will clear itself of all extraneous thoughts and creativity flourishes.  Some of my best ideas came while running.  It gives me a chance to sort through my thoughts and form them into something coherent.  I’ve been able to figure out plot points and story twists all while climbing up hills and running along roads.

I didn’t start with the hills and I didn’t one day wake up and claim to be a runner.  “Hello day!  It is I, runner Jason!”  No, instead it took a lot of practice.  I couldn’t run a 5K without training shorter distances.  I had to get my breathing under control and recognize the limits of my body while training.  

I’m sure I’m not the first one to make the connection, but the steps it takes to be successful as a runner are the same as writing.

It’s not like all of a sudden I claimed the title of “Writer” either.  I had to work up to it.  I wrote.  I failed.  I had to see what training steps I needed to succeed.  I worked on my craft.  I couldn’t just start writing a novel without some concepts and artistry to fall back on.  

I tried NaNoWriMo four years ago and failed.  I didn’t know what I was getting into.  I had no idea what it took to write a 50,000 word creative piece.  I’d written a 75 page thesis for my Master’s degree, but that was a different kind of writing.  

After failing that year, I read more.  I searched for sources to help me collect my thoughts and write a long piece of fiction that had plot, theme, and characters well thought out and researched.  That year, I was able to come back and win NaNo and the confidence it gave me has sustained me to this day.

I’m not published anywhere other than this blog.  I’ve written over twenty flash fiction/short stories and have three NaNo novels under my belt.  

Just like my first real race and the momentum I gained, winning that year in NaNo was crucial to building my confidence.

I still read, I still seek ways to improve in both running and writing, and one day I hope to be better than what I am now at both things.  

Running and writing both take a tremendous amount of patience, dedication, and practice.  You can never have enough of any of those three if you are going to succeed.  Sometimes I want to give it all up, the running and writing, but then I realize I enjoy both too much to stop.  I gain so much from both that it would do me no good to give up.  I have to push on.  I have to endure.  I have to work harder to be better.  One day it will all pay off.

Flickr Story 4: The Spine of the Gods

It's time for another Flickr story and this one was a fun one to write.  If you've read the Flickr story from December, you'll see a familiar character in this one (actually both are the same.  The hero was originally named Lailoken in "Aimee's Quest" but I changed it just before posting it).   It wasn't intentionally created as a sequel or alternate story, but it does come across that way.  Maybe one day I'll write the adventures of Lailoken and Brida, but for now we have another fantasy piece featuring two of my favorite characters.

The picture was found on Flickr, though I'm not sure where the actual place is.  I loved the colors and the massive mountain in the distance.  As I stared at the image, the story started unfolding.  What you have below is what I came up with.  Please share the story with others and feel free to leave a comment below.  I appreciate any and all feedback.  Thanks!


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The Spine of the Gods

“They are beautiful, aren’t they?” Lailoken asked.  He and his snowcat Brida sat along a high ridge overlooking a verdant valley dotted with brown and red.  The late autumn air swirled around them.  Brida looked up, nudged her head against Lailoken’s thigh and laid her head back down.  

“The Spine of the Gods.  Don’t you know what this means?” he asked.  Brida didn’t move.  “Well, if you were any kind of snowcat Brida, you’d know.  We’re almost at the edge.  Once we cross over, who knows what awaits us.”  

Lailoken gazed across the valley to where it ended abruptly in sheer grey cliffs that rose high in the sky.  They looked like a giant beast lay down and died, leaving an enormous skeleton.  The cliffs rose like vertebrae in the sky from which it earned its name Spine of the Gods.  From this vantage point, they looked impassable.  What lay beyond…that was stuff of legends and that was where Lailoken and Brida were headed.

Lailoken rubbed Brida’s snowy white head.  The giant cat purred loudly.  “Come on, we need to get down there before nightfall,” Lailoken said to Brida.  The cat purred louder.  “Brida, come on now,” Lailoken said as he stood up, brushing the dirt and grass from his woolen pants.  Slowly, Brida rose and stretched her long frame, letting her sharp nails poke from her paws as she did.

It took them close to four hours to make their way down to the valley floor.  They walked along a stream that bubbled and gurgled until they came to a small village nestled in the middle of the valley.  There were only four roads, more like two that intersected in the center of the village.

“Brida, stay out here until I can find us a place to stay.  They might not be too welcoming to a large snowcat like you,” he said as he scratched her under her chin.  She rubbed on his thigh almost knocking him over.  “Brida, you’ll be safe out here.  I’ll be back soon.”  With that, Lailoken walked on towards the inn.

“Welcome to the Dark Dog Inn,” the innkeeper said as Lailoken walked inside.  The room was dusty but comfortable.  Once inside, Lailoken froze.  The innkeeper had the face and head of a giant dog, like a retriever of some kind.  He’d never seen a real caninian and the sight of one startled him.

“Some kind of stranger, eh?” the dog faced innkeeper asked.  His face was a deep brown with large brown eyes and a full set of teeth.  His long ears hung down to his shoulders.

Lailoken struggled for words.  

“Yeah, you aren’t from around here.  Not too many visitors from out of the valley.”  The innkeeper raised his snout and sniffed the air.  “You brought a snowcat here?”  

Lailoken looked at the innkeeper carefully.  “Yeah…yeah I did.  She’s harmless though.  She won’t bother anyone.  I was looking for a place we could stay.  But…”

“But what?  You think we can’t handle a snowcat around here?  We’re caninian, but we are civilized.  My name’s Gorthe.  Welcome,” he said and flashed a smile that was at once warm and threatening.  He reached out a hand that was all human.  Lailoken cautiously shook it.  

“Come, let’s get you settled in.  So what brings you here?” Gorthe asked.  He motioned for Lailoken to follow him down a hall to a small room at the end.  

“Just passing through,” Lailoken said.  Gorthe eyed him and nodded.

“Here you are,” he said waving a hand to the empty room.  “You can stay here, but your snowcat will have to stay outside in the stables.  No animals are allowed in the inn,” Gorthe said.  Lailoken wanted to protest, to say how could half-dogs say any such thing, but thought better of it.

“Thank you Gorthe.  I’ll need to show Brida where she can stay.”  Lailoken left the inn and walked back to where he left Brida.  He found her laying in the tall grass away from the road watching for people passing by.

“You won’t believe it Brida.  They’re caninians!”  Brida didn’t flinch.  “Did you hear me girl?  They are half-dogs!  I thought those were just myths.”  Brida licked her paws.  “Well come on, I found us a place to stay.”  Brida rose and trotted to Lailoken’s side.  She followed him down the road to the inn where he led her to the stables.

“I know it’s not the best, but it’ll do.  I’ll bring some food later.  Rest up, tomorrow we go to the Spine.”

The night passed without incident.  Gorthe gave them a few small loaves of dense bread for the trip and wished them well.  Lailoken and Brida were gone before the little village woke from the cool night.    

It took most of the day before they were at the base of the Spine.  The sheer grey cliffs rose high into the clouds where they couldn’t see the top.  Brida growled as they stood marveling at the sight.  “What is it girl?  You knew we were going here.  We are going through Brida.  We’re crossing to the other side.”  The snowcat licked her paws unconcerned.  

Lailoken pulled a map from out of his sack, unrolled it and thought.  He scoured over the ancient markings.  “Ahh, yes…there it is,” he said out loud, rolled it up and put the map away.  “Brida, we go this way,” he said pointing to a barely noticeable crack in the solid wall.  They walked closer and Brida’s ears perked up at the sound of a low humming noise.

They walked closer and stopped just outside the crack.  Inside Lailoken watched in wonder as a glowing portal in hues of blue and purple shimmered before him.  The hair on Brida’s back stood up and she growled a deep menacing growl.  “Brida,” he said softly, stroking her massive head, “it’s ok.  This is the way through the Spine.  We step in there and it takes us to the other side.”  She hesitated as Lailoken stepped forward.  “Come on, let’s go,” he called to her.  With a hesitation not normally shown, Brida carefully walked towards him.

Lailoken stepped in the shimmering portal first, his leg breaking the vertical plane.  Brida followed.  Just as her head broke through the portal, Lailoken heard a shout behind him.

“No!  Stop!  Don’t go in there!”  It was Gorthe running towards them, his large ears flapping with each step.  Lailoken looked back at him, confused.  “Stop!  The caninians…don’t go in there!”

It was too late.  Lailoken’s momentum carried him forward.  On the other side of the portal, a new race of beings emerged.  They came to be known as the felinians.  

Passion

Passion is defined as "any powerful or compelling emotion or feeling" and is often associated with a "strong amorous feeling or desire."

Recently I've considered this.  I contemplated what I'm passionate about.  I looked at my life and wondered...just what do I have a "powerful or compelling emotion" for?  What motivates me to carry on?  What creates a strong "feeling or desire" in me?

For starters, love for my wife and son are the most important motivators for me.  I will work and do anything to make sure they are taken care of.  I feel a powerful emotion which compels me to do what I do, whether I like it or not.  As long as in the end they are financially taken care of, then it doesn't matter what I do.  I've worked in fast food for eight years.  It was a terrible job with many rude customers and employees that wouldn't work hard.  But I did it all because I was married and I felt a duty to my family.  At the time, it was just my wife and I, but the urge to provide was strong.  She worked (and still does) but that didn't matter.  I was determined to work in order to earn a paycheck so we could enjoy life.  So far, that attitude has continued to fuel what I do and my family is the better for it.

But beyond the basics of living, what else burns passionately within me?  I found the question difficult to answer.

I admire people with strange hobbies.  They may collect the oddest things, but at least they are passionate enough to be involved in something.  It's what motivates them to action.  It's what gets them going.  It's the thing that creates a sense of accomplishment in their lives.  Not like I agree with all the weird hobbies (I mean come on...collectors of beanie babies I'm looking at you!)  In the end, they demonstrate a higher lever of passion than I do because they are all in.  They don't go partially into it.  They dive on in without a lifeguard.

Me...I'm on the shore watching.  Worried to get my feet wet.

But why is that?  What passion do I have?  What pushes me more than anything else?

I respect people who give their lives over to their religion or beliefs in a positive way.  In college I studied Christian monks.  Their desire to be so close to God that they gave up their lives to study and pray and sing and work with others in a community appealed to me.  They had a level of devotion I didn't.  They were passionate about their beliefs.  (Now, I have no respect for religions that condone killing in order to placate their god or bring about a change.  There is no room for that.  Besides, it isn't passion, it's ignorance disguised as truth)  There are still people today of various faiths that practice a high level of devotion and promote a positive, peaceful future.  I have the greatest respect for them.

I've always been fascinated by Hitler and the Third Reich.  I was in awe of how one crazed man could convince an entire nation to embrace and promote his ideas of hate and genocide.  Hitler had an infectious passion for his beliefs and though they were immoral and absolutely wrong, he was able to bring the German people to his cause.  I still marvel how something so heinous could've been embraced by so many.  It only shows how passion can drive someone, good or bad.

Passion has the ability to change the world.  Fortunately for us, Hitler's passion was crushed.

But what about us now?  What about our world today?  What kinds of passion do we have and how can we harness the best of it to move us forward?  I mentioned this on Twitter a couple weeks ago, but it bears repeating:

Being passionate about something or some cause can spur creation and change.  What drives you?Why do what you do?

For me, I'm still seeking that answer.  Lukewarm isn't a way to live.  There has to be more.