"She just makes everyone better"
For the first time in history, a Division 1 NCAA basketball player has made 2000 points AND 1000 assists in the course of their college career. I didn't find this on the front page of my sports section (unlike that Fredette fellow from BYU) because this notable athlete, Courtney Vandersloot of Gonzaga U, is--well--female.
I did a little online searching and found this article, from which a quote by the coach of an opposing team leaped out:
"She just makes everyone better."
I love competence, in whatever endeavor. Competence that becomes excellence is quite fabulous.
But think about what it means to "make everyone better."
Now, obviously, making everyone better allows her, as point guard, to be better and to play better and to rack up more points and assists. It's a self fulfilling loop.
But what a great self fulfilling loop it is, far more effective, in the long run, than tearing down, backstabbing, zero-sum, winner-take-all, I win-you lose, your-success-diminishes-me, and so on.
I think that "making everyone better" can be looked in two ways from this perspective.
One way you make everyone better is by pushing people to their best level either by example or by direct interaction. In writing/publishing terms, a good editor, for instance, will manage this (even if, for instance, I did have to do ONE MORE final revisions pass). Good beta readers, likewise. Or even just supportive associates who cheer you on and make you feel the final stretch is worth it.
The other, related way is by having relationships built on mutual respect and support.
I would go so far as to say that having relationships built on mutual respect and support is often how we push ourselves and others to our best level. I say that despite knowing that a large part of who I am is my own internalized, private, personal drive; no one and nothing can duplicate that for me; I can't be gifted "drive" by an outside agency.
But then, these days and increasingly, I'm apt to say that what's crucial are the relationships you build and I suppose I mean that in the very largest sense.
You know, I've been publishing for 22 years now. That number quite astounds me. In one part of my head, I'm still 27, a struggling aspiring and not-yet-childed writer. In another, I'm still 32 watching my first trilogy sell poorly and being dumped by my then publisher; in that part of my mind, it's all frangible and temporary (kind of like life, I suppose). Oddly, I have almost no perspective of myself as someone who has been around a while and has experience and, presumably, some measure of success or gravitas. In my head, I'm still always struggling to get where I'm going. I'm still on the knife-edge of failure. I'm an unknown. I have to keep working hard to get anywhere. I also strive to be a realist in terms of how publishing works. Nothing is guaranteed, even if some things are more likely than others.
Ultimately, every book I write is mine. The initial spark is mine, the final choices are mine, the responsibility is mine that it is what it is. But in many ways and not in just the obvious infrastructure ones, the book isn't possible without the relationships I have. Readers have their own relationships with books. Support systems build our ability to endure beyond whatever strengths and weaknesses we bring to the table on a personal level
I am the writer I am because of when I came into the field and what my background was/is; my relationship with writing, culture, and our particular genre is built on my relationship with what came before and what came along with me, and it is also based on what is coming along now and what will come after me. Not that I'm done yet, mind you
But speaking in a longitudinal sense, it's the ongoing process and the constant element of change that marks living.
Art remains alive because it's not static.
I believe it also remains alive because people--we--remain involved in it, and involved with each other, and with past present and future as a dynamic state.
I have no idea where I'm going with this. Or how Courtney Vandersloot got me here.
I did a little online searching and found this article, from which a quote by the coach of an opposing team leaped out:
"She just makes everyone better."
I love competence, in whatever endeavor. Competence that becomes excellence is quite fabulous.
But think about what it means to "make everyone better."
Now, obviously, making everyone better allows her, as point guard, to be better and to play better and to rack up more points and assists. It's a self fulfilling loop.
But what a great self fulfilling loop it is, far more effective, in the long run, than tearing down, backstabbing, zero-sum, winner-take-all, I win-you lose, your-success-diminishes-me, and so on.
I think that "making everyone better" can be looked in two ways from this perspective.
One way you make everyone better is by pushing people to their best level either by example or by direct interaction. In writing/publishing terms, a good editor, for instance, will manage this (even if, for instance, I did have to do ONE MORE final revisions pass). Good beta readers, likewise. Or even just supportive associates who cheer you on and make you feel the final stretch is worth it.
The other, related way is by having relationships built on mutual respect and support.
I would go so far as to say that having relationships built on mutual respect and support is often how we push ourselves and others to our best level. I say that despite knowing that a large part of who I am is my own internalized, private, personal drive; no one and nothing can duplicate that for me; I can't be gifted "drive" by an outside agency.
But then, these days and increasingly, I'm apt to say that what's crucial are the relationships you build and I suppose I mean that in the very largest sense.
You know, I've been publishing for 22 years now. That number quite astounds me. In one part of my head, I'm still 27, a struggling aspiring and not-yet-childed writer. In another, I'm still 32 watching my first trilogy sell poorly and being dumped by my then publisher; in that part of my mind, it's all frangible and temporary (kind of like life, I suppose). Oddly, I have almost no perspective of myself as someone who has been around a while and has experience and, presumably, some measure of success or gravitas. In my head, I'm still always struggling to get where I'm going. I'm still on the knife-edge of failure. I'm an unknown. I have to keep working hard to get anywhere. I also strive to be a realist in terms of how publishing works. Nothing is guaranteed, even if some things are more likely than others.
Ultimately, every book I write is mine. The initial spark is mine, the final choices are mine, the responsibility is mine that it is what it is. But in many ways and not in just the obvious infrastructure ones, the book isn't possible without the relationships I have. Readers have their own relationships with books. Support systems build our ability to endure beyond whatever strengths and weaknesses we bring to the table on a personal level
I am the writer I am because of when I came into the field and what my background was/is; my relationship with writing, culture, and our particular genre is built on my relationship with what came before and what came along with me, and it is also based on what is coming along now and what will come after me. Not that I'm done yet, mind you
But speaking in a longitudinal sense, it's the ongoing process and the constant element of change that marks living.
Art remains alive because it's not static.
I believe it also remains alive because people--we--remain involved in it, and involved with each other, and with past present and future as a dynamic state.
I have no idea where I'm going with this. Or how Courtney Vandersloot got me here.
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