June 18, 2006
There has been a fair amount of speculation on Tiger Woods not making the cut for this year's U.S. Open. I'm not surprised, myself. It's only been a month or so since his father died, and since today is Father's Day, it seems appropriate that I'm thinking of fathers. My father died almost three years ago. We had a good relationship, a little distant, probably not as warm as it should be, but I don't think I had any particular issues with my father. Certainly not compared to many. And I can say that his death did, in fact, throw me for a loop in many ways.

I can also note that it wasn't that long after that I made a major change in my life and quit my job at the hospital to write fulltime. Is it connected? Yes, in some ways. Because the Terry's tend to live long lives, and my father died from a rare cancer at the age of 75 or 76 for which he was at very low risk, it seemed to me that you can't count on living a long time. Not heredity--his mother and father lived into their 90s, his mother to be 99; not even clean living--never smoked, never drank, lived a low-risk life, ate his veggies, etc. So if you can't count on these things in life, I thought, maybe you should make sure you're doing something you really want to do in the time you have.

Simple stuff, but it often takes a death near to you to knock it home.

And I suspect that Tiger Woods is facing this as well, and probably will for a while.

I'm not much of a golfer. But I do understand something about golfing, even more than in other competitive sports and perhaps in all competitive ventures. There's physical talent, of course, but it's not as important as a competitive mindset. When Tiger Woods gets away from grief and all the things involved in the remnants of the death of a loved one, he will need to get back to where, at least while he's playing, golfing and WINNING are the most important things.

I remember a story of a pro golfer who survived cancer and said it took him a long time to get back into the psychology of golfing to win, because he understood that golf wasn't as important to him as it used to be. As simple as that.

And how I apply this to writing--specifically fiction writing--is that in order for us to make that leap of faith that makes us face the blank page, the uninterested agents, the REALLY uninterested editors, and then, if we get past that, to the great mass of potential book buyers out there who really don't give a damn about you and your book, we really, REALLY need to want it. It's our own version of the competitive edge, and it's brutal.

One of the advantages for writers is once you get to the pinnacle, for those few who do, the momentum works for you, which is not the case in professional sports, golf or anything else. I've often wondered how writers at the top of their business--Sue Grafton, Stephen King, Nelson DeMille, et al--can keep at it when money's not at stake. I gather Grafton has battled with this. Perhaps, ultimately, they're still having fun. Perhaps, as I'm not the only one to note, they are afflicted by some relatively benign form of obsessive-compulsive disorder.

I also suspect, having interviewed a number of bestsellers, that there is a competitive streak that got them there and keeps them there.

Dick Francis, in one of his many wonderful novels, comments about whatever "instinct" it is that makes for a great racehorse, the one that wants to be at the head of the pack over all others.

I see it in some writers, and suspect they will be enormously successful. Others just want to create and don't care about being at the top, which is fine, I think.

I can be quite competitive and ambitious in my own right, but I probably don't have that "get to the top at any cost" mentality at all. Much of my life is about balance--balancing family and work, balancing stress, balancing, perhaps, my ambitions with my own mental health (life is not a dress rehearsal).

So, I think I understand Tiger Woods right now. And I think I understand competition in the arts.

I'm also struck by something I read on one of my listservs, credited to Robert B. Parker, basically, if your publishers decides you're going to be a bestseller, you may or may not be; but if your publisher doesn't decide you're going to be a bestseller, you're not going to be.

I'm not sure that's 100% true--publishers are often surprised by books that succeed despite their, er, worst efforts. But I'm fairly certain that nobody succeeds unless somebody involved wants to.

Best,
Mark Terry