Carol Newman Cronin's Blog, page 43

Revision Magic: Break for Champagne

It’s time for a little song and dance, and maybe a sip of some bubbly. A few weeks ago, I finished revising my WIP! (I’d like to declare it completely “finished,” but that’s for others with more perspective to decide.)

When I finished the first draft last spring, I celebrated then too. I was so excited to finally be able to see the story’s ending and framework, I forgot it was just the first phase of creating a novel that others would enjoy. Yes, there was a story on the page, but a lot of unnecessary stuff had accumulated there as well; pages of atmosphere where nothing much happened. Teaser twists and turns that led only to dead ends. A few extra characters. Several extra scenes.

The first draft added up to 140,000 words, about 350 pages. The only kind word for any novel over 110,000 words is “epic;” typically, today’s stories are in the range of 70,000-100,000 words.

What’s it about?

Here’s what I’m telling prospective agents: “Island Shell Game is about a curmudgeonly ferry captain trying to save his island from developers.” Once I finished that first draft, I could see that. Then, believe it or not, I created an outline. I know, I know… it would’ve been much more efficient to outline first, then write. But that’s simply not the way my imagination works.

Crash diet

Once I had a big picture plan and theme, I worked through the entire manuscript all over again, tossing out anything that didn’t propel the story forward. Unnecessary scenes were removed. A paragraph of description was pared down to its best sentence. A sentence of character description became a single adjective. Words not pulling their weight were eliminated. Yes, there was a little dumpster diving toward the end… but three months later, the manuscript weighs in at “just” 93,000 words.

All those extra words were the only way for me to figure out what happened, and why. Only my characters can lead me to the final page, and they are as unable to predict their own futures as most of my real friends are. Together, we eventually figured out where they were all headed, but it definitely took more time and words than I expected.

What’s Next?

Finishing that big revision is just another stage in the progress toward the best book possible. I’ve already received a few requests from agents for the full manuscript, a great sign. But finding one willing to take on a new author of salty upmarket fiction will take awhile. Since traditional publishing is the best path for this book, we will all have to hitch up our publishing patience pants.

In the meantime, I’m popping the cork to toast the magic of revision. Cheers!

2017 Holiday Book List

Books make great gifts. They are easy to wrap, personal, and remind the receiver of the giver long after the tree ornaments go back into storage. The hardest thing is selecting the right ones; we are awash in a sea of reading options. Here are nine that topped my list this year, including two non-fiction at the end. All are available through your independent bookseller—either in person, or online via IndieBound.

Best wishes for happy holiday reads.

The Widow of Wall Street (Randy Susan Meyers)

The first sentence, “Phoebe never hated her husband more than when she visited him in prison,” leaves us in no doubt about where we are headed once we go back in time and meet Phoebe and Jake as lusty teenagers. Though a bit darker than my usual reading, the drip, drip of details drew me right in. It’s easy to see how a series of small choices could snowball into a Ponzi scheme.

The Tumbling Turner Sisters (Juliette Fay)

This historical novel takes us back to 1919, when the Turner kids join the vaudeville circuit to support their family. Though some of the character arcs were predictable, they were never dull. There were just enough period details to feel like I was “there” without distracting from the plot, which was in turns romantic, sad, funny, and even a little scary.

The End of the Point (Elizabeth Graver)

This novel spans from 1942 to 1999, and almost all the action takes place in one location, Ashaunt (which apparently means “lobster crawling backwards” in Wampanoag). The point is more character than backdrop, a private neighborhood that juts out into Buzzards Bay and forms the western side of Padanaram Harbor. (Local readers will recognize it as Nonquitt.) The area’s unique history creates a backdrop for the many changes and conflicts of the 20th century, including summer homes with no heat or AC that morph into climate-controlled mansions. The writing is so lyrically delicious, it sometimes interferes with pacing and story.

The Necklace (Claire McMillan)

At three hundred pages, The Necklace is long enough to get lost in but not overwhelming—especially since it’s most definitely a page-turner. Each chapter left me wanting to know more, and the way past and present are interwoven moved the story forward at a very consistent pace. Kate Morton fans will enjoy this book, though readers who find her novels too dense will be intrigued by the lighter language. The English language is a very flexible tool, and in the right hands it can be made to accomplish anything. Read my full review

Everyone Brave is Forgiven (Chris Cleave)

My college major was twentieth century European History and my favorite genre is the historical novel, so I’ve read a lot about World War II. And yet no previous book ever brought to life the Blitz and the siege of Malta as well as this newest novel by Chris Cleave. Read my full review

Of Things Gone Astray (Janina Matthewson)

I decided to write a review when I realized I was still thinking about several of the characters a week after I finished this book. I also wanted to figure out how this unusual story—which is also a collection of unusual stories—could break so many rules and still do its job so well. Read my full review

The Unseen World (Liz Moore)

As soon as I finished the book, I started reading from the beginning again, unwilling to let it go—and wondering if the language quirks I noticed early on were part of the plan all along. Even though I only reread the first few chapters, it was obvious the second time through how carefully the story had been constructed. There’s a subtle structure holding it all in place, solid and quiet, never interfering with the story line. And unlike many novels these days, the final chapters are just as carefully polished as the beginning ones. Read my full review 

NON FICTION
Manuscript Makeover (Elizabeth Lyon)

Whenever I get discouraged with the overwhelming project of revision, I reread the two quotes on the opening pages, which make me feel like part of a tribe rather than a lonely novelist: “Fiction is the single best means for arriving at the truth.” (Don DeLillo). And from Orson Scott Card: “… there are a thousand right ways to tell a story, and ten million wrong ones, and you’re a lot more likely to find one of the latter than the former your first time through the tale.” Read my full review 

Personal Kanban: The Book (Benson & DeMaria Barry)

This is a quick read (I consumed it on a four hour airplane ride), and I highly recommend it for anyone who is ready to increase their own efficiency at work, at home, or even with hobbies. We all tend to begin any project with unreal expectations about how fast we will actually complete it and what will be included; whenever I first sit down to write a book (or even a blog post), I always think it will take just a few hours and include every great idea I’ve ever come up with. Based on previous experience, I know that writing a novel will take me a few years, while a short blog post takes a few hours. (And both will be better if they are limited in scope to only a few of my best ideas.) Read my full review  

At the very beginning of 2017, I challenged myself to write book reviews that were useful to other readers. How’d I do?

And PS, if you are inspired to post a review of any of my books, it will help improve their sales ranking with the bots and might also help future readers decide to buy. Thanks.

Eight Bells: Jean Bigelow

Clean Jean. Mrs. B. I think Jean Davis Bigelow would’ve answered to just about anything; names were on her long list of details too small to sweat about.

Bobby called her “Jeannie my girl,” his voice full of playful love.

Small in stature, large in presence, Jean left the swearing and yelling to others. She was the quiet voice of reason, the big-picture forest-minder who never got caught up in all those pesky tree-details. I can still hear her voice in my head, asking seemingly innocuous questions that always steered me to the right answer.

I’m not big on afterlife thoughts, but it sure seems like Bobby must’ve been pining away for his right-hand woman at that great golf course in the sky. I also can’t help thinking that Jean chose to hold on for another couple of years, just to remind us of her independence. It’s strangely reminiscent of thirty years ago, when she took on a full-time job just as Bobby was ready to retire. (At the time, I don’t think I asked Jean about what seemed like a completely irrational choice. But several years later, when my own mom did the same thing, Jean said, “Yes of course; she needs something of her own, just like I did.”)

Jean was a Radcliffe grad. A mother who went to sleep in her teenaged daughter’s bed so she’d know exactly how late Peggy got home. A teller of unflattering stories about her own husband—right in front of him, while Bobby enjoyed a belly-jiggling laugh at his own expense. Even Jean’s eye rolls never judged too harshly.

Sailors, spouses, the family’s adopted teenagers… Jean welcomed everyone who passed through 7 Bigelow Street. When the hour of gracious living came upon us, Bobby would mix up his carefully choreographed daiquiris while Jean quietly served herself a glass of white wine—simultaneously preparing the dinner she’d feed to those of us who didn’t have the social grace or sobriety to go home. Her food was never fancy, but the dinner table’s witty banter and laughter was always memorably rich. And whenever the snark grew too thick and deep, Jean would tug us back to what was really important. Her own stories were never as flamboyant as Bob’s (which is probably why I don’t remember any specific details), but they always managed to entertain and educate in equal measure.

Jean led by example, especially when it came to wifely independence. When she tired of crewing for Bob, she bought a Mirror Dinghy to race herself and named it “Otis.” It wasn’t a feminist manifesto, but simply a statement of symmetry; Bobby had named both Blue Jeans after her, so she returned the favor.

I hope that future generations will spawn women who so gracefully combine independence and family priorities—but I doubt it. So many of Jean’s choices were made out of the limelight, like opening the fridge to make dinner while we were all focused on Bobby’s daiquiri-shaking. Jean mostly remained in the background, but she was the quiet foundation; the linchpin of it all. We will miss you, Mrs. B.

Read Eight Bells: Robert Otis Bigelow

Salting my Stories

Salt, we are told, is bad for us when consumed in large doses. But salt water runs in our blood, and it washes the edges of my preferred locations. To me, a splash of ocean brine tastes cleaner and sweeter than anything else.

I rarely add salt to my food, but I do use a heavy hand when salting my fiction. My characters would dry up and blow away like tumbleweeds if planted inland. Living so close to the water’s edge, they all take for granted toes wiggled in salt water on a coffee break or the background rumble of breaking waves. Occasionally, someone might even fall overboard. Don’t worry—almost all know how to swim.

In my current WIP, Island Shell Game, this salty atmosphere has become almost a character in itself. The way the air holds humidity; the scent of seaweed (dry or wet, depending on the tide); the sound of summer gulls, who could be laughing with us or at us—or both. Surrounded by ocean, my imaginary friends take their salty existence for granted, just as I do—until a newcomer from a less briny coastline actively takes note of it all.

The ocean stabilizes the seasons: warming us in the fall and winter, cooling us in the spring and summer. It makes sunsets last forever, holding the sky’s reflection long after the land goes dark. I’m so lucky to live within reach and sight of the sea.

If I do my job well, I can share this luck with my non-coastal readers. They’ll be able to sniff and see and hear this world my characters take for granted. Devour my stories with several grains of salt; it’s the only way they’ll taste right.

Gratitude: My Top 5

Happy Thanksgiving, all! Long ago, a Norwegian friend claimed it as the “best” US holiday, and I agree. No worries about religious sensitivity or presents; just the gift of time with family, friends, and food.

My cup runneth over again this year, but I’ll limit myself to five thoughts (plus one bonus) so you can all get back to your own gifted time.

1. I’m grateful for wellness. Asked “how’s your body feeling today?” by my favorite yoga teacher, the only thing I could find to complain about was a tight hamstring.

2. I’m grateful for my imagination, for the ability to transform a blinking cursor into an imaginary island populated by imaginary friends (and a few enemies). One of these days, I might even come up with a satisfying explanation of how that actually happens.

3. I’m grateful for the people around me who support my crazy antics (on land and on the water too). If we are indeed the average of the five people we spend the most time with (and it sure makes sense), I’m going to continually get wiser and fitter and more motivated.

4. I’m grateful for easy salt water access. The beginning of a stand up paddling adventure is only five minutes from my desk—and that includes cold-water dressing time.

5. I’m grateful for taking so many comforts for granted: warm house, full fridge, witty repartee, and more books than I have time to read.

Gratitude is where attitude matches latitude.

Enjoy your holiday!

Fast Eddy, Pushy Dave: Personal Story Power

The first several times Sailing World’s Dave Reed asked me to do a profile of Ed Adams, I said no way—the only editor’s suggestion I’ve ever refused. Finally, he sent over a contract, for “when you get the gumption to tackle it!” He told me I was the only person who could write the piece he wanted. Those of you who subscribe to the magazine already know his persistence worked. What I’ll try to explain here is why I refused at first—and also why I’m very glad that I eventually agreed to write Ed’s story.

Onne van der Wal captured this shot during a photoshoot for Ed’s excellent 1994 Sailing World article, “Wave Dancing.”

Writing about Ed felt way too personal. Both friend and mentor, Ed supervised the first few years of what I now call a “graduate degree in one design competition.” He introduced me to Snipes and several other classes, to efficient (some might say reckless) road trips, and to the endless pursuit of perfection. Through him, I first met many of the people I still consider close friends, almost thirty years later.

Writing about him also felt like an invasion. I know him better than most people do; asking for an interview seemed like taking advantage of our friendship.

What I finally realized was that Ed is a grownup; he could always say no. Instead, he surprised me by immediately saying yes. One long lunch with a recorder running, and the piece almost wrote itself. The hardest part was choosing which of his many great stories to cut out of the lengthy first draft (along with almost half the appearances of the word “intense”). A few weeks later, Dave received what would eventually appear as Fast Eddy and the Big Lie in the Nov/Dec 2017 issue of Sailing World.

Reminiscing on the page about a very special time in my life—my introduction to pro-level sailboat racing, which fourteen years later would earn me an Olympic berth—became a chance to show my admiration, to give readers a tiny taste of what makes Ed tick, and to remember the world before road rage. What would happen today to a driver who hops into the car ahead during a traffic jam on I-95, just to drive it through a particularly tight spot? (Viral video, arrest, gunfight?) Digging out such memories makes it blatantly obvious how different road trips are in the 21st century.

Fast Eddy and the Big Lie has received more compliments than any other piece I’ve ever written, which also provides a good lesson for the future: too personal gives a story special heft. So thanks to Ed, for subjecting himself to public scrutiny; your lessons continue. And thanks also to Dave, for valuing Ed’s story enough to keep asking the same question, again and again, until you finally got the answer you wanted.

Book Review: Manuscript Makeover

Procrastinating a few weeks ago on the daunting revisions my current WIP (work in progress) required, I opened Randy Susan Meyers’ newsletter to find a list of recommended writing books (Randy was also in revision mode). Most of them I’d read, but I’d never heard of Manuscript Makeover, by Elizabeth Lyon. Divided into sections about voice, style, characterization, and even marketing, each chapter starts with a quick “options” section that explains what’s in it, and why (depending on what specific problems we are trying to solve) we should either read it or skip on to the next.

Identifying problems

Lyon describes manuscript issues in a non-judgmental and mostly generic way that make it easy to apply to my own quirks. A perfect example is her three-word command: “Make it worse.” I tend to solve my character’s problems too soon, before the rising tension has a chance to show a character’s weakness (and then spur the growth that follows). Instead, she says, I need to ratchet up the stakes: that ocean the character has to cross should become wider or colder or stormier—not all at once, but through a series of increasing challenges; a single wave crashing over the bow leads to a small gale, which causes the hero to run out of food or the mast to fall over the side (or both).

Multiple viewpoints

Another helpful section discussed the advantages and disadvantages of telling a story from several different viewpoints. Though there is a main character, the book I’m revising changes perspectives in order to show pieces of the story that happen when he’s not present. “Multiple viewpoint stories have more scope,” Lyon agrees, but she also points out that each viewpoint character must have a problem that’s solved, or at least progressed, by the book’s final page. The required balancing act does make the writing (and revision) much more complicated. I’m not sure I’ll ever have the energy for this type of writing again, but it’s the only way to tell this particular story.

Book of the year?

Manuscript Makeover may be the most important book I read in 2017. (Thanks Randy! To see how well she made use of this book, read her novels.) Since finishing it, I’ve developed several new revision techniques that are helping me on the slow slog from first draft to best book possible. The only thing I found distracting was the occasional examples Lyon used, which didn’t always illustrate her point for me as efficiently as her own explanation.

Whenever I get discouraged with the overwhelming project of revision, I reread the two quotes on the opening pages, which make me feel like part of a tribe rather than a lonely novelist: “Fiction is the single best means for arriving at the truth.” (Don DeLillo). And from Orson Scott Card: “… there are a thousand right ways to tell a story, and ten million wrong ones, and you’re a lot more likely to find one of the latter than the former your first time through the tale.”

Dumpster Filling and Diving

Last week, a four-yard dumpster showed up in our driveway to help inspire the decluttering of two decades. Old boards from a raised garden bed, a rotten centerboard from a 1964 Dyer Dhow; each tossed item brings back memories.

The hardest stuff to part with is the “potentially useful.” For years I’ve been collecting tiles and cracked plates with various stunning blues. Together, broken into bits, they would look simply gorgeous cemented onto our boring concrete foundation. If only I knew something about freeze-proofing ceramics…

The analogy to writing and revision is unmistakable. I’ve spent an embarrassing number of years accumulating all the words that make up this next novel; now I’m tossing out what is needed to tell the “real” story, trying not to hang on to the many pretty but useless bits. The characters have all become friends, so to me every word they utter seems significant. But all that should be kept is what readers (who make a much, much smaller investment of both emotion and time) actually need to find on each page.

The dumpster in the driveway is slowly filling up. Our closets and garden sheds are gaining acreage again. Before that rusty container leaves, I might end up digging into it for that one thing I can’t actually bear to part with. It might even be those tiles and broken plates, but only if I realize that their potential loss is taking up more emotional room than their actual presence did.

Meanwhile, inside at my desk, I am tossing words into a virtual trash can, trying to give the “real” story of this book the space and air it needs to flourish. I’m also maintaining an “old files” folder, just in case I have to go dumpster-diving. Once the story is clear, there might just be a few shards of beauty that turn out to be useful after all.

The Trump Card

You can read the background of this piece in Seahorse Byline: Sign of Success. This story originally published in the October 2017 issue of Seahorse Magazine and is reprinted here with permission. 

In January 2017 two new ‘chiefs’ came to power in the US: our highly visible Commander in Chief, and the new Chief of Olympic Sailing, Malcolm Page. One pledged to ‘drain the swamp’, while the other pledged to win two medals in 2020 (see ‘Malcolm in the Middle’, issue 446). And after their first six months in office both men have found that any significant change will take longer than they initially thought.

‘I came in all gung-ho and ready to fire from both cylinders,’ Page says with a chuckle. ‘I thought it would be quick and easy to change. But when you start talking about cultural shift, and then marrying it with the financial backing that we’d like to have to make that shift – it is going to take a long time.’

Unlike that other guy, though, Page has actually made significant progress toward his lofty goals – because he is quietly implementing a carefully focused plan. ‘I would say at times I still feel overwhelmed,’ he admits. ‘At other times I panic. [Laughs.] And other times I feel confident. And I guess that is the main underlying thing: I feel ­confident of the direction that we’re going.’

What direction is that? The stated goal is to build a programme that provides US Olympic hopefuls with everything they need to win medals in 2020 and beyond. It sounds deceptively simple – and identical to the stated goal of every other Olympic programme, even outside sailing. Copying an already successful national programme (like Page’s native Australia) would seem like the logical approach, but the US system has some unique and unavoidable challenges.

Without the centralised support of government funding US athletes have traditionally been rewarded for independence. And uneven access to funding (born into the right family, or knowing the right private sponsor) has historically restricted the talent pool to those with the luxury of choosing full-time training over more gainful employment.

Cultural evolution will take time but, just six months in, Page claims athletes have already noticed operational improvements. The terms have certainly evolved – and not just to accommodate Aussie slang. Historically, the cash that trickles down to athletes was called ‘direct athlete support’. Page uses that same phrase to cover all support from US Sailing. ‘I would say the cash to the athlete hasn’t changed in any way. It’s the services that we provide.’

Asked for an example, he responds quickly. ‘Paying for the coaches. That would be the single biggest chunk of cost in any ­campaign, probably somewhere in the 50 per cent range. And that’s something I’m now promising to every one of our athletes: “That will not be your issue this quad. We will provide that to you.”’ (Possible side bonus: athletes who learn to view ‘support’ in a broader context might be less likely to grouse about the limited cash they do receive.)

Coaches hired by US Sailing also help build a unified approach. ‘One of the conditions is of course they have to work in the team environment,’ Page explains. ‘We’re not allowing as many individual coaches. Therefore we’re getting more cost-effective use of the money, and stronger team structure.’ And the quality of the coaching is higher than most sailors could hire on their own. David ‘Sid’ Howlett is working with the Nacra 17 teams. Nathan Wilmot (Page’s skipper for his first gold medal) has taken on the 470 men’s teams. (That’s ‘teams’ plural, which wasn’t always the case for previous quads.)

There are at least two other linguistic updates. ‘A coach – to me, they’re a platform manager,’ says Page. ‘That platform is that class, and they’re the manager of it. They’ve got to be big enough and bold enough to say “I can’t be the expert in everything”. They have to tap into those resources and find them.’ And finding additional expertise in tuning or tactics makes coaching ‘part of the technology piece’, he continues. ‘Technology to me means expertise, not a computer.’

Athlete attitudes

Taking on a management role can gradually blind even a double gold medallist like Page to the day-to-day reality of an athlete’s life, so it seemed necessary to reach out to a few sailors for a fact-check of his sunny assessment that ‘a lot of the athletes notice a shift in how we’re already operating.’

Since even the best-funded athletes usually focus on ‘lack-ofs’ (money, support, direction), the positive responses were a pleasant surprise. ‘It has the feel of a small America’s Cup campaign,’ two-time Moth world champion and Rio 2016 Olympian Bora Gulari says. Although he didn’t start sailing the Nacra 17 until only a year ahead of the 2016 Games, Gulari has already committed to Tokyo 2020. ‘We are working every day with one of the best coaches in the world, David Howlett. There is a technical team behind us working on ways to maximise our performance: methodically attacking the problem and doing the right thing to move forward.’

Louisa Chafee, who sailed with Gulari in Rio and is now teamed up with Riley Gibbs, identified another shift. ‘The biggest change I’ve seen is the emphasis on the country as a team,’ she says. ‘International teams aren’t individual teams competing for an Olympic medal, they’re a country competing for a medal. They train together and share what they learn so that their country will regularly have multiple teams in the top 10 and thereby increase their odds of ­winning a medal when the Olympics roll around.’ In other words, ­loyalty to Team USA is now valued more than rugged individualism.

Older athletes may not have that same trust in the new approach, but Page says that is completely understandable. ‘Trust doesn’t come from just saying it, it comes from earning it. And that’ll take time.’

And of course, no significant culture change would be complete without what the chief calls ‘the people who like to criticise’. ‘It’s very easy to say, Oh, look at the big hierarchy that they’re building,’ he points out. ‘But to me it all depends what that hierarchy is doing. If it’s about removing obstacles, about providing resources and knowledge and guidance to the athlete, well, then it’s going directly to the athlete. And doing it in that [national] structure is where you’ll get the efficiencies. Both cost and performance.’

Certainly Gulari is drinking the Kool-Aid. ‘I have been involved with enough campaigns that I have a decent feel of what it takes to be successful,’ he says. ‘With this team I feel like all the pieces are being put in place to maximise the performance of the athletes.’

Building the base

One major reason Page has been able to make progress so quickly is a critical pipeline improvement that began two years before he arrived. ‘Full credit to the ODP [Olympic Development Program],’ he says. ‘The first graduates are coming through now, and they have that team view already.’

The ODP was set up as an umbrella over the existing structure of US youth sailing (which is dominated by very strong, but also quite independent, high school and college circuits). The goal, according to Page, is to build a sustainable programme: ‘That’s a huge part of the responsibility. When I think of the quantity of these talented young athletes who are coming through, it would be irresponsible not to set up a system. Because the ones who want to, they need to know that there’s a pathway for them to jump onto – and just maybe realise their dreams.’

Two recent ODP graduates, Wiley Rogers and Jack Parkin, have jumped on that road map, translating their success in 420s (with a gold medal at the 2016 Youth Worlds) into a 470 campaign for Tokyo. The transition hasn’t been seamless; Rogers admits the logistics and management of an Olympic campaign have been a challenge, and Parkin says they need to raise their game to match the higher expectations.

‘My biggest challenge of moving into the 470 fleet is getting used to the professional standards – even small mistakes now have huge consequences,’ Parkin explains. ‘In the 420 we could make mistakes and easily make up for them, but now not only are we trying to ­minimise these mistakes but also we’re discovering ones we didn’t even know we were making…’

Rogers says the support network of the US Sailing Team has been a big help. ‘There are so many people now just waiting to help and give you advice,’ he says. ‘Not only in sailing, but also about life and work. The relationships you make with the team’s staff, coaches and co-ordinators are priceless.’

Parkin agrees. ‘We have people who care a huge amount about our sailing, and we have assets that I could not have previously imagined. This makes some of the aspects of our sport more easily managed and allows us to be perfectly prepared for race time.’

Still, everyone is aware that there aren’t yet enough athletes at the base of the US Olympic pyramid. Parkin says, ‘In the past I would go to good [youth] regattas and I would have 20 people my age from my own country. I am realising that there are not many people our age at the level we are sailing at now.’

Page knows the ODP needs to do a lot more outreach. He’d like to expand the talent search beyond the Youth Worlds classes, ‘but at the same time, what we are focusing on is to do the best for this group. If we try to dilute ourselves too much, we won’t do anything.’

Scoring changes

With both team culture and pipeline moving US medal chances in the right direction, the question had to be asked: have proposed Olympic format changes toward a ‘winner takes all’ last race changed his thinking? Page just shrugs.

‘If you ask me to put my athlete hat on you just try not to think about it. You’ve just gotta go play within the rules, and do the best you can. And in my current role, I’d probably say the same thing: the right principles, building up the right skill set and the right knowledge will still put these athletes in the best situation to perform.

‘At the same time US Sailing obviously get a say in what that format will be going forward. To me these new scoring structures leave more to chance. I understand the reasons behind them, to try to make the winner of the last race the winner. But it doesn’t always allow the best sailor to win. And really that is what the Olympic Games is: for the best of the best to be there, and the best of the best to win the gold. I think our existing balance of a medal race [double points non-discardable] is probably a good solution.

‘One thing I’d love for our sport to figure out is how we represent the numbers. We sailors understand that the person with the lowest score, the best average, wins. It’s the general public that’s not understanding that. So how can we represent our numbers in a ­different way, to make it understood? I think golf’s the simplest: the person with the least-under is the champion. Formula One is pretty successful too. To become a world champion you can still do it before the last race, but the scoring is understood.’

Progress from focus

Perhaps the reason US Sailing’s Olympic boss made so much more progress toward his goals than the US Commander in Chief did in those first six months was because Page didn’t waste any time on Twitter… but, more likely, it’s thanks to his obviously tight focus. ‘Everything we do every day, how is it going to affect the athlete? Are we helping them in those different ways? I say I’m overwhelmed, but at the same time I just gotta ignore everything else and focus on the one thing, so at least make a big step forward in that one thing.’ (Those still intent on ‘draining the swamp’ might want to adopt this mono-tasking approach.)

Only time will tell if Page can make good on his promise of two US Olympic medals in 2020. For now, he says, all he can do is ‘just keep getting the hands dirty, keep doing the groundwork; that’s what’s going to get us there as quickly as possible.’

‘Are we late?’ Page nods. ‘Yes. Are we underfunded? Yes. I believe they’re the two biggest issues that we’ve got to deal with going ­forward. But we have the potential. There have been no major errors. The right things are being built.’

Haulout Season

I love October. The air is crisp, the tourists are gone, the water still warm enough for swimming (at least after a sweaty SUP session). But it does mark the end of our local sailing season. Last week I sailed Matsya to Wickford to come out of the water for the winter, on a day that felt too much like summer to be appropriate.

By October, ending the local season is a bittersweet mix of relief and regret. No more sleepless windy nights with two a.m. imaginings about mooring pennant chafe, and no more after-work sails that add so much quality to the daily routine.

Matsya is set up to be quick and easy to sail, minimizing the mental and physical transition from desk to underway. Grab snacks, a bottle of something, and oars, walk down to the end of the street. As soon as we climb into the dinghy, we breathe deeper and easier.

Ten minutes later we’re sailing off the mooring, making decisions about where to go based on set and drift and remaining daylight. I appreciate the simple risk-reward equation—and the certainty of time, tide, and sunset, none of which will be altered by wishing, wheedling, or reasoning.

Our preferred course around Dutch Island can be adjusted to fit the time available, and no matter how direct a course we plot we always feel like we’ve actually gone somewhere more than just “out and back.” After an hour or more, we get back to the mooring and furl the sails. We might even idle in the cockpit for a few minutes, enjoying twilight’s peace and quiet, before rowing ashore.

Winter regattas will keep me in touch with mainsheet and tiller, but I’ll miss those Matsya evenings. What I won’t miss is a good night’s sleep on the next windy night, knowing she’s safe in her shed and resting up for next season.