I'm a very selective sports fan, but have spent a couple of hours most evenings watching the Winter Olympics. My favorite events are figure skating and ice dancing but, because the guys in my family have catered to my obsession, I've also sat in on some skiing and bobsledding races. From the comfort of home, I've experienced the excitement of witnessing athletes achieve excellence after years of disciplined training. Their stories carry common themes of struggle against adversity and the tantalizing question of whether or not they will succeed in this ultimate test.
Sometimes the strongest contenders deliver a flawless performance. Sometimes a less-favored athlete takes an event by storm. The thrill of suspense, the juxtaposition of prediction and possibility keep me glued to the screen. No matter what country the winners call home, I love to see their huge smiles of triumph, their fists thrust into the air, and frequent tears when they stand on the podium to receive their medals.
But I'm most inspired by the athletes' drive to put themselves on the line, risking failure and flukes of nature for a chance to achieve their dreams. And the failures are painfully real. Skiers crash and skaters stumble; the commentators are quick to note any mistakes as the judges subtract points. Barring injury or disqualification, the athletes pick themselves up from the ice or snow, continuing their race or program , or standing at another starting line the next day.
This past week, the Winter Olympics became a metaphor for me as a writer. I received two rejections which means that none of the work I submitted last year garnered acceptance or publication. Oh, well. If a skater can survive the humiliation of falling in front of millions of spectators, I can take a couple of rejections in stride and keep typing. And revising. And risking failure again.
Seeing carefully-crafted words in print or even just feeling a quiet stroke of inspiration is my private gold-medal moment.
