Writing

Back To Minor League

Actually Playing For The Love Of The Game

In honor of this year’s baseball season, that isn’t, I think this piece ought to, at the very least, bring back some beautiful memories all us baseball lovers experienced in the past.

Now keep in mind, the kicker tells you this story’s about writing, but I’m often a metaphorically comparative dude who weaves things I’m passionate about into my stories.

A lot of what I said back then is still applicable to this day. It’s like the more things change, the more they stay the same.

A couple of years ago, I did a piece about learning to bring your A-game every day when you write. In it, I alluded to the fact many writers new to the writing game didn’t understand or weren’t willing to accept the work ethics required to make it to the major league.

In these days of instant self-gratification, a ton of new writers fully expect their first work to immediately get them into the major league. They believe all they have to do is get stuff out there, and their careers will take off.

Dreams of becoming that overnight sensation can and often do send someone embarking on this writing journey of ours. Until the ocean gets choppy, and the constant motion of the turmoil makes them seasick.

A lot of what I said back then is still applicable to this day. It’s like the more things change, the more they stay the same. Many are so enamored with their own work they don’t understand why nobody reads it.

And in a short time, they become disenfranchised with this writing game of ours and seek out other “hobbies” to pursue to make money and build careers.

I was once just like many of these writers new to the game. In fact, the A-game piece I wrote years ago was meant just as much for me as it was any fresh writer.

I kept pounding away, working the grounders, the hoppers, the pop-ups, the worm burners, and the bunts.

Back then, I didn’t have many followers and possessed an even smaller reader base. When I wrote the piece, I’d been thinking maybe I should just go back to not making progress by writing a few more novels.

But I kept at it, writing through the pain and frustration. Each day, practicing my stance, my swing, my hand-eye coordination. I kept pounding away, working the grounders, the hoppers, the pop-ups, the worm burners, and the bunts.

I continued trying to bring my A-game each day, and then one day, a few of the editors noticed one of my works and triple distributed it, then a few more of my at-bats were noticed and distributed, and a few more.

And then it hit me. I just got called up to the show, the major league. Wow, it was a beautiful and rewarding moment in my career.

The show folks. I got called up to the show. It was the best five months of my career. Yeah, it was short, and I think the brevity of my time in the major leagues was due in large part me getting cocky.

Becoming a star player as a writer in the major leagues and staying a star player takes the same determination and grit as it does in the minors, but too often one forgets that.

I know I did.

Hey, for a while, my RBI(s), HR(s), and on-base statistics were pretty d*mned impressive. My batting average hovered in the low 400(s). I was playing major league ball with the best of them. Until I lost the one thing that brought me to the show in the first place.

My love for playing the game.

I figured now that I’d made it to the show, what I did in the minors would keep me there. So I did what a lot of writers do when they make it to the major league.

I backed off and began to slide along. I stopped practicing, and it quickly began to show. I was striking out at the plate on almost every at-bat. My statistics tanked.

Just as fast as I’d made to the show, I now find myself back to the minor league.

And I love the h*ll out of it.

Now when I step into the batter’s circle and start with the practice swings, I remember to check my stance, I mentally prepare for the pitch, that inside curve I know I can connect on.

My heart races as I blast a line drive just outside of the third base player’s glove and take off toward first, where I do a stand-up slide into second, and the ump waves me safe.

And I grin all the time now, almost every time I sit down and write something because I remember in my brain, and I feel it in my heart.

It’s the love of playing the game. The way it makes me feel when the words come together. The surge of adrenalin as I finish that final edit and hit publish. It’s then I end up pumping my fist as if I’d just scored a walk-off homer in the eleventh inning of a game.

It’s then when I realize I don’t care if I’m not in the major league anymore. I’m playing only for the love of the game.

Isn’t that the reason we all should be playing?

Thanks So Much For Reading

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© P.G. Barnett, 2020. All Rights Reserved.