Writing tip from a baseball pitcher
And a podcast clarification!
And a happy first Friday of March to you!
Today’s newsletter is coming at you in two parts: a correction and a reflection.
What say we get to it?
Part 1: the Correction
So I heard from more than one of you that last week’s podcast pic of the wondrous Will Luera was confusing. As in, you thought you could click his scarf or his face and get to listen to the first episode of the PAGE&STAGE Podcast.
Nnnnnnope.
Looking back, it’s totally my bad. In my excitement, I did not proofread fully. The podcast has not launched. YET! I was just teasing you all with Will’s face. And his scarf.
The PAGE&STAGE Podcast will be launching on Thursday, March 21.
Don’t worry, I’ll give you all the clickable links right here in the newsletter. On March 21, the teaser will drop, along with the first two episodes.
Episode One, of course, features Will. He happens to be the husband of the massively talented guest of Episode Two, Maria Schaedler-Luera.
Oh yes. No bigger bang to launch a podcast than with Sarasota’s most artistic, kind, funny, and Crossfittingest power couple!
Part Two: the Reflection
So a couple weeks back in my fiction writing class, we were talking about how writers only need two things:
A writing instrument (pencil, pen, quill, tablet, whatever)
And time.
But in order to improve—at writing or at anything, really—you’ve got to put in that time consistently. Daily. Which means routine. Which requires ritual.
We were chatting about how ritual is often connected to the literal space in which you are writing. How writing is not merely a mental act, but a physical one. So the space in which you write… well, it’s good for that to be consistent, too.
But a student raised a concern. She travelled. A LOT. How do you make your space consistent when your space is always changing?
This is where ritual becomes practically magical. Because ritual can turn any space into YOUR space.
Here’s how.
I turned to another student in the class. I happened to know he had in his earlier days been a semi-professional pitcher.
“Yo, Doug.”
“Yeah?”
“Did you pitch in the same stadium every game?”
“Heck no.”
“Did you warm up and prepare for every game the same way?”
“Hell yes!”
“Do tell.”
“The same stretches. The same music in my headphones. The same types of pitches, in the same order, and the same number of each one. I wore my jacket the same way. I never stepped on the chalk lines.”
“Never?”
“NEVER.”
“No matter where?”
“No matter where.”
And that’s how a writer—or a storyteller of any stripe—can maintain their routine. By invoking ritual to transform their space.
Your instrument, whatever it is. And time.
Just don’t step on the chalk.