I was staring silently out of our kitchen window when it all officially formed in my head. I had just tossed my phone onto the couch in disgust after reading the grossly distasteful email from the company who had chosen not to hire me. Tossed the phone like it was on fire. Ahhh, get away from me! You're dirty! There were a few different ideas swirling around my head over the last several days and at that moment they finally merged. And it all made sense. My next path would be following the answer to the simple question: What was I good at?
When I was 21, I took a semester off from college to take on a writing project on my brother's high school basketball team. It was a half baked idea that I eventually got in the oven and turned the heat up pretty high. My brother Will was a great talent, set to play in college the following year, and the team itself was picked to win the conference for the first time in more than a decade. I knew I wanted to get back and watch as many games as I could, so I decided to be an author as well as a fan. I went to practices, talked to the guys and generally immersed myself in the season. They were a tight knit bunch, the starting five had been playing together since they were 12. It had all the makings of a memorable 2000-2001 campaign.
And it was. They shrugged off some early season struggles and dominated down the stretch on the way to winning the conference. They were saddled with all the expectations, and they had a blast proving everyone right. The stage was set for something magical in the playoffs. And then they were shocked on their home court in the playoff opener. It was brutal. It was painful. But it was life. You rarely get the ending you want. The journey is what matters, is what endures, is what makes for the most lasting impact.
But as someone who was writing about the team, I still felt robbed. Selfishly, I felt I didn't get the ending I deserved. This story wasn't supposed to play out this way. I wanted the feel good final version, not the "what lessons did we learn" one. For whatever reason, try as I might, I just couldn't write about that final game. Couldn't tie a ribbon on the season. Wasn't able to come up with the final two chapters. And never finished the story. I still kick myself about it today, 15 years later. There was some good stuff in there. I was proud of it. But very few people saw any of it. And now, two floppy discs and a couple of transferred CDs later, the words are just jagged messages from a different era.
I've done some sporadic writing since then but nothing rivaled that time regarding the focus and passion I had. I guess it's more or less coming to terms with my limitations. I can't just sit at a computer and churn out something entertaining off to top of my head. I have found that I require a specific, current subject matter in order to be driven to write consistently well. That's what I had with the basketball season. And now, finally, I have another chance to right that wrong from my past. To take on another challenge, write about something I love that involves another unknown road.
And this time, to write the end to the story, no matter what it might be. I believe I am a good writer, and can maybe even be great.
Now... about that poker thing...
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