When The Whistle Stops

From Pitch To Page II

The end of a match is a curious concept. The whistle that halts the play carries a weight far greater than the enforcement of rule.

The stillness that accompanies the final whistle is a peculiar one. Only sport can replicate the sensation of the void that latches onto you, sending your mind racing in all manner of ways as you come to grips with piecing together the last hour and a half.

The silence that fills that void can be deafening if left unchecked. What does this result mean? Where does it leave us? Where does it leave them? What do we need to do as a result? An athlete’s mind never rests in the pursuit of bettering themselves. Often the most intense of those searching questions come to the fore in the void that accompanies the final whistle.

One of the more famous Peter Drury quotes at the end of a classic game perfectly surmises the instant reaction of most competitors at the end of a contest.

“The end. The end. Make sense of that. Where on earth are we now?”

There are always improvements to be made, on both a personal and a collective level. Within sport, there will be guidance towards objective reasonings for an outcome. Statistics in the professional game can blindly guide you towards measures of improvement that can take the initiative and passion out of the process.

In writing, there is no such guidance. The void remains yet the lifejacket that prevents you getting sucked into it doesn’t deploy unless you pull the chord yourself.

I stated in the first edition of From Pitch To Page that this isn’t about leaving sport behind, it’s about carrying the mindset forward into an arena with no referee, no opposition and no final whistle; just you and a blank page.

The Ambiguity of Writing

The certainty of sport has been a comfort throughout my professional career. Both individual and team measurements are objectively structured in a way that makes it difficult to argue against. Of course there will always be variables and justifications (often from the losing team) however the cold truth of it as that both teams play in the same conditions. Whatever the permutations are, you find a way to win. When you do, you have a measure of success.

The same certainty simply cannot be found in the process of writing a novel. There’s no opposition outside of the various revisions of your own outlook. There’s no official outside of a word count. Your own concepts provide the structure, the timings and the format of every game you play in black and white.

The delayed feedback, self accountability and internal standards can leave you occupying a perpetual state of anxiety as to how the entire process is going.

You learn to be the type of player you want to be, your own coach, your own referee. It can be a daunting prospect when you take a moment to zoom out and look at the bigger picture, however, as anyone within sport will tell you, zooming out and looking at your dreams can be a daunting prospect. No one ever simply stepped from where they are to the mountain top of their dreams. It takes a series of small steps, often with your head down grinding, and before you know it, you can see the footpath getting bigger. Then the horizon. Then the top itself.

Redefining Progress

In many ways, it’s easier to play professional sport. The parameters for training and matches make it impossible to miss those regular steps. I’ve found that, without intending to, the priority of writing can slip in my daily routine. With no-one there to check me, a couple of days can turn to a week or more exceptionally quickly.

In many ways, it has required a sharp psychological adjustment from what I’ve been used to in my sporting career. There’s a renewed strand of competitiveness that I’m still trying to train into my consistency. I have yet to have a designated writing session that I emerge from with anything other than a renewed excitement for this passion of mine yet creating these windows of time takes effort and commitment in a way that I have rarely had to create elsewhere.

There is no leaderboard for writing and I can’t win at the number of sessions I set aside in a given week, as much as I’d like to. The hours pile up, but the proof hides in silence.

There’s no trophy or championship that I can aim for that will give the feeling of definitive ‘success’. Accepting a path to ‘nowhere’ is part of why I love sport and the concept has played a pivotal role in my outlook within the competitive arena.

Success is in the journey, not in the destination.

Universal Truths

This void isn’t new to me and certainly isn’t a situation unique to writing in any format. Anybody looking at transitioning to a new skill or profession will find themselves in a similar outlook, whether professional or creative. The uncertainty that accompanies the testing of our ability to show up when that applause turns to silence is one of the more pivotal aspects that would either make or break your foothold in that new arena.

There is a humbling regression in success that accompanies such a transition. I’m fortunate to have a had sporting career to date that I am proud of, yet I currently find myself learning new aspects of this particular vocation every time I sit down at my laptop in a headspace that allows me to improve.

The uncertainty that accompanies the void is not about failure, it’s about mastery. The difficulty I face is that in my sporting career, this stage was tackled decades ago when I was at a different point of consciousness; one that was simply excited to be ‘doing’ rather than thinking of the consequences of every chapter, scene or sentence.

Succumbing to a re-invigorated sense of learning has followed on from surrendering to the freedom of creative writing. The truth is, I don’t know the answers and that’s okay. Being open and ready to guide myself through this stage of uncertainty is part of that exact journey to success that I want to be a part of.

From Pitch To Page was a discovery of the discipline remaining the same from the sporting pitch to the writing page. The metrics, however, are anything but the same. There’s an uncertainty that can be overwhelming if not embraced. That uncertainty is a feature of every individual finding themselves in a similar situation of a new journey that they have embarked on. Being comfortable with being comfortable is a cornerstone of any successful athlete’s career. If ever there’s a skill that can transition with me, it’s this.

Throughout my career, the pitch has been my measure of effort and success. Now, it’s a blank page that asks me to do it for myself. Learning to self-direct, without the clarity of winning or losing has been the hardest yet most liberating shift of all.

The structure was never the point. The showing up was. The same stillness that once filled a changing room now fills the page before I write.

The whistle has stopped, but the rhythm hasn’t.