Author: plainswriter

I'm a poet, fiction writer, and essayist. I'm also a freelance editor at nlhwritingservices.com.

My Favorite NBA Player (and what he taught me about writing)

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My affection for basketball did not develop until I was nine. Prior to that point, I was a baseball-loving kid in a small baseball-loving town in rural Minnesota.

My dad had been painting the house, and I, as a young boy, wanted to help. So he let me scrape away the old paint, and after a while that particular Sunday afternoon, we took a break inside, turning on the TV to the NBA finals. I’m not sure which game it was, but it was between the Celtics and the Rockets (the ’86 Finals), this game being played at the Boston Garden on that wonderful old floor.

I probably had seen basketball on TV before, and I had seen my share of it in smaller settings since my dad had been the girls’ B-squad coach for most of my life. But this was the day I discovered Larry Bird. Here was this tall guy who could pass, dribble, shoot, rebound–he seemed involved in everything. And also, he didn’t draw attention to himself. What he did, he did well. Watching the game set in motion my love for basketball: as a player, yes, but also as a lifelong fan.

A few years after that first NBA Finals’ game, my parents’ gave me Larry Bird’s autobiography, Drive. I’m pretty sure I read that book in a few days, and by the time I read that book, his career had peaked, but I had enjoyed game after game of watching him.

I don’t really play basketball much anymore (which is another blog post in itself), but Larry Bird’s success (and the hard work and dedication it took for him to achieve success) has served well as a model for my writing, both in terms of process and actual product.

In regards to the later, my poems, stories, essays, are not flashy, they are not filled with sophisticated diction, pyrotechnics, or any such things. Rather, I believe in the poem, the story, the essay, that tries to be unassuming, just striving for a kind of quiet excellence. Other writers can be loud and aggressive in their prosody or prose–not me.

Also, a major lesson I learned from Larry Bird, which I suppose is really an extension of the previous point, is that he played within his game. What he could do well, he did well.  He did not try to be any other player; he did not play outside of his skill set. Sure, I bet he worked on areas of weakness, but I’m certain he knew to focus on what he did so well: shoot, pass, rebound, do the little things.

Likewise, I know the things I do well as a writer, as well as the things I don’t do so well. And while I’ll continue to attempt improvement in areas of weakness, I’m going to spend more of my time taking those things I already do well, and do them even better.

On Directing a Writing Conference

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In my position as an assistant professor of English, I have the privilege of directing the Windhover Writers’ Festival. I already serve as editor of Windhover: A Journal of Christian Literature, and the festival is an extension of the journal, a festival held every February at my school: University of Mary Hardin-Baylor.

This is my second year at the helm of the festival, and my third year editing Windhover. The festival is a time-consuming responsibility that involves a year of planning before the intense three days of the actual festival. I enjoy serving as director for many reasons, but I’ll list just five here:

1) Bringing great writers to the campus to give readings and lead workshops. It’s a treat to read the works of talented writers and then meet them in person.

2) Seeing my vision for the festival become a reality. It’s one thing to edit a journal and bring together different voices in print, and it’s another to bring together different voices and hear them read aloud.

3) Watching my students interact with the festival attendees and featured writers. It’s special to read students’ responses, to hear their reactions, to participating in such an event.

4) Meeting the festival attendees, some who have attended for years, others who are attending for the first time. It’s exciting to meet new folks just as it is encouraging to see the familiar faces.

5) Experiencing an event wherein both writing and faith are taken seriously. It’s stating the obvious, but I’d say there are not many places where this occurs.

And even as I’m processing those intensely joyful three days, I’m already thinking ahead to next year, making plans.

On Running

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From 7th-10th grade, I ran the 1,600- and 3,200-meter races in track because the other two spring sports (golf and baseball) were beyond my ability. Which is not to say that I was a good runner those four years. Rather, I was average or below average. I never placed in junior-high meets. And in 9th and 10th grade, I earned a “point” maybe once or twice. I improved enough by my sophomore year–getting a 5:20 in the 1,600 meter–to earn the “Most-Improved Runner” trophy. Because I loved running so much, I didn’t even sign up for track my junior and senior years. During my track years, I never ran on the weekends, never ran in the summer. I ran at practice; I ran at meets. That was more than enough for me.

In college, I tried running a few times but never succeeded more than a time or two before giving up on any kind of regimen. If I were going to exercise, it was always, always, always basketball. Then two weeks left in my senior year, I started dating Amy (a girl who in junior high and high school ran both track and cross country). We started running together. (I couldn’t keep up with her.) A few months into our relationship, we trained for a 10-k and ran it together.

Two years later we were married, and in that time I began running more regularly. I was in my M.F.A. program and running offset the amount of time I spent reading and writing. This timespan was when my love for running developed, the physical activity (mostly on a treadmill because this was in Northwestern Minnesota) a way of enduring the weather.

Later still, we ran another 10-k in Astoria, Oregon, a year later ran in the Hood-to-Coast relay (the world’s largest relay race), and a year after that, ran the Portland marathon together. I wanted to run another marathon after that; Amy didn’t. So I did run two more marathons: Omaha, Nebraska, and Brookings, South Dakota.

I love running now. Why? It’s solitary. My mind can wander. I can work through a poem, a story, an essay. I can plan a class session. I can pray.

Why? I’m only competing against myself. It’s efficient calorie-burning.

Why? As with writing and teaching, when I’m running, I feel as though I’m doing what I’m called to do, grateful for the movement. Even though I will earn no “points.” Even though I will earn no “prizes” (only the finisher’s medals and shirts).

Why? There is a joy and delight that I cannot experience in any other way.

Those are reasons why my ideal day begins with a run.