As usual, the better story was in the locker room of the losers. The World Series finished this week, a 2023 victory for my Texas Rangers, their first in more than 60 years. Over in the Arizona locker room, the manager said he needed a few days away from the defeat, just to gather himself for what’s next. He mentioned camping out and eating ice cream.
Then he added the words that every writer with an unfinished book or story might recognize. “It hurts so much, because we care so much.” If you care enough for the unfinished book to hurt you, then you’ll take your swings again to hit the book out of the park. It will sail into the world, just like that final game’s ninth inning homer sailed off the bat of a Ranger who’d played terrible in October.
Marcus Semien didn’t give up his hopes for better plate appearances. His manager Bruce Bochy left Semien in the lineup right at the top, because Bochy knew: This guy will keep swinging. Do the same. Remind yourself that your book will change for the better, so long as you keep taking your swings at it. Give it a chance to score a winning run, no matter how that looks to you. Putting your ball into play, on a field where we can see it, is the way to make a dream come alive.
When you become a fan of your own writing, you give yourself the power to keep swinging. You can use a little delusion right at that moment. Your editor might act like your manager, if you’ll allow it. Get the editor early enough, and they will coach you. Editing’s teaching, about creating, believing, and living the artistic life. The good editors teach you.
Mine did, but it surprised me how many lessons there were. Hundreds and hundreds, across 119,000 words of editing. Good stuff to consider and revise.
The Rangers won their Series by losing hundreds of games. The franchise had never won a championship in 63 years of trying. It was the ball club that was the answer to the trivia question, “Which team has the longest term of never winning a championship?” When I moved to Texas 47 years ago, I adopted the Rangers. There’s something special about loving the hometown team.
My wife and son and I saw them first in a converted minor-league ballpark, when my boy was just starting Little League. Then came the unexpected glory of a Perfect Game the next year in a shiny replacement park. Twenty-five years later, that magical game night was the keystone of my fatherhood memoir Stealing Home. A lot of years, but the Rangers still didn’t have a championship.
Then the team built a ballpark with a roof, because, well, it’s Texas. The heat, you know? The new park opened up in Covid time, so it hosted a World Series — just not one with any Rangers in it. It was a shiny neutral site for 2020’s Series.
The Rangers lost 102 games the next year. The losses added up to young talent and fresh general management, the kind of guidance you’d get from a publishing coach. Hire this designer. Here’s a proofreader. We need a better summary of the book. This press will get you review copies fastest. Podcasts help you the most for modern publicity. That kind of thing.
One strike away
But oh, were there ever heartbreaking losses to endure for us fans. The Rangers were just One Strike Away from a World Series ring in 2011. I’d been lucky to afford a seat that year in the outfield, way out there, at a Series game they lost 16-9. Things went so much better in the games to follow that they had a chance to win it all. They just needed one last strike from their pitcher.
Failure haunted them when that strike didn’t appear. Such haunting might torment you like a ghost whenever the latest draft of your book just doesn’t feel like a hit. We keep swinging, as writers, trying to connect with the one true thing about our hero. The thing they probably don’t know about themselves. They might bumble and stumble in comic fashion, but oh, they care so much.
The Rangers have an announcer of 45 years in Eric Nadel. His was the voice that guided us all through that dark night of 2011, when One Last Strike eluded us. His voice over the radio assured us there was still honor and hope in failing at first. Or even twice. There’s a voice like that in your life, and even two, if you’ll permit it.
The voice to assure you of the honor and hope is your own, of course. You can add the voice of an editor as well.
You set intentions to win your desires. You can write them down on a little post-it to put on your desktop or laptop. Keep it tight if you can, a dozen words or so. Tightening is good practice for writers creating books.
My intention was to let my book be seen. First by my editor, and soon, by agents and publishers. No matter the outcome, it will come out into the world. I can carry it into stores, online and in-person. The odds might seem steep, but I care so much. You can, too.
When the final out was recorded Wednesday, the same announcer was at the mic. “It’s over! It’s over!” He trilled the words with the joy of a boy whose heart was singing after so many losses. Nadel is 72 and has called Ranger games since 1979. He’s in the Hall of Fame already.
He added a line or two on the radio to bring the yearning for victory right into our hearts. “Ranger fans, you’re not dreaming. The ghosts of 2011 are now erased.”
It’s not easy to make those ghosts go away on your own. We battle with change. Plot events in a story make a character face their greatest fear, to help readers care so much. You show an arc for a character when they are pushed to confront an issue deep inside — then change for the better.
Remind yourself that your book will change for the better, so long as you keep taking your swings at it. Give it a chance to score a winning run, no matter how that looks to you.
