A marathon, not a sprint Sheena Wilkinson

a marathon, not a sprint? 

One of the most common metaphors used about writing novels is to compare them to running – it’s a marathon, not a sprint, people are fond of saying when they consider the long painful process of planning, writing and editing a book of maybe 100,00 words.

It wasn't an image that meant much to me. Running wasn’t on my radar. I couldn’t bear to run a marathon or a sprint; I had never run the length of myself since I left compulsory school PE behind in 1987. If I ever gave a thought to marathon runners, it was only to ponder on what a crazy, punishing thing it was to want to do. Not at all like the delightful and entirely reasonable challenge of writing a book. 

But occasionally on my daily forest walks (always when approaching a slight downhill) I would feel the urge to run – only a few steps – to see if I liked it. I did. (At least until the path started to climb again at which point I would go gratefully back to a walk.) On a writing retreat in Shropshire, where nobody knew me, I decided to try running properly. I downloaded one of the many Couch to 5K apps, and off I went.

the forest where I walk and now run (a little) 

 I thought it would be easy. I walk at least five miles a day, often more, in hilly country, and consider myself fairly fit. The first week demanded only 60-second bursts of running interspersed with walking. Surely this would be, as we say in Northern Ireland, wee buns for someone like me? It wasn’t wee buns. The first couple of weeks were as tough as anything I’ve ever done. I was huffing and puffing and looking ridiculous and feeling foolish. The only consolation was that I was hundreds of miles from home and nobody knew me. I could give it up as a bad job and hardly anyone would know. 

But I didn’t want to give up. I used to be a terrible quitter – that’s why I wasn’t published until I was 41, giving up on project after project because I couldn’t stick it out. And someone I loved was training for the Belfast marathon: where I was struggling to run for two minutes, he was doing twenty miles. I gritted my teeth and kept on. Week 3, Week 4. It was getting harder but something was happening. I certainly wasn’t experiencing the runner’s high I’d heard about, but I wasn’t hating everysingleminute. I still lived for that friendly encouraging voice in my ear telling me I only had sixty seconds left, but now occasionally I was surprised by her instead of frantically checking my phone convinced the app had stopped working because I must have been running for H-O-U-R-Sand I was going to die if I had to do another step. (Self-dramatizing lot, we novelists.) 

nice and flat round the lake...

But I am used to things being difficult. To books that won’t behave. To impossible deadlines. To the grinding disappointment of spending two years writing a book that your agent can’t sell. To days when your words plod and stumble and don’t break free. Maybe running was a bit like writing a book? 

I haven’t quit. Running for twenty-five minutes became easier than running for one. I saw my marathon runner complete the Belfast marathon in a fantastic time, and though I’d never aspire to do anything like that, I no longer think it’s crazy. Or at least no crazier than writing a book. 

If a novel is like a marathon, my first couple of weeks were tortured haikus. Even now, the most I have run without stopping is twenty-five minutes. A short story perhaps, and rather a breathless one. But soon I’ll be running for 5K and I now get why people do it.

As for the marathon runner? Funnily enough, he’s writing a book. He'll probably be very good at it -- marathon running has taught him a thing or two.

Why writing novels is a bit like running in the rain – Lari Don

I run. Not often enough, or fast enough, or far enough, but I do run occasionally. Running gives me useful time to think about stories, as well as making me feel better about the hours I spend sitting on my bottom at the keyboard.

But there is another connection between running and writing. Motivating myself to get up and go out for a run is quite similar to motivating myself to write.

No-one makes me run. I don’t enter races. I don’t have an immediate goal for my running. I’m not answerable to anyone else for running. I don’t have to tell anyone I’m going out for a run, or prove afterwards that I did run. No-one is checking that I’m running. If I decided not to bother going for a run, no-one would know. And if I decided during a run that I just couldn’t be bothered running any more, and sat down in the middle of the path and sang a little song instead (or simply walked home at a comfortable pace, nibbling chocolate bars on the way) no-one would know, no-one would care and no-one would be able to criticise.

Except me. I’d know, and I’d feel guilty.

All of which is remarkably similar to writing a novel.

Novels take a VERY LONG TIME to write. The deadlines start off ridiculously far away. And if I didn’t sit down and get on with it, if I chose to sit about singing, nibbling chocolate, or even going out for a run rather than writing, no-one would know or notice, until it was far too late.

Except me. I’d know, and I’d feel guilty.

So, even though I don’t run as often and as far and as fast I should, I still do it.

And, even though I suspect I don’t sit down and write as often or as fast as I should, I still do it. Even months or years before the deadline, I do it. Regularly, steadily, and moving the story forward all the time.

Why? How do we motivate ourselves to get our writing shoes on and keep pacing through the story, without the urgency of an immediate deadline or an editor at our shoulder?

Is that why so many writers like to tell the world how many words they’ve written each day on Facebook or Twitter? Because otherwise, there is no-one but ourselves to push, encourage, cajole and motivate? Because otherwise, writing a novel is like going out for a run in the rain, in the dark, with no finish line in sight?

I don’t share word counts or small writing victories on social media. I tend to keep that part of my writing fairly quiet and private. But then, I like to run on my own. I don’t like to run in a group. And actually, I’ve always enjoyed running in the rain.

Lari Don is the award-winning author of 22 books for all ages, including a teen thriller, fantasy novels for 8 – 12s, picture books, retellings of traditional tales and novellas for reluctant readers.
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Just Do It!

I have just been interviewed for the local press about my latest book. I was asked the old chestnut, "How do you motivate yourself to write?" and I was very tempted to answer rather grumpily (well, it is hot!), "I don't know, I just do it!" But of course I have to motivate myself, in much the same way that I have to motivate myself to get off my butt and exercise every day.

In fact, motivation comes from getting twitchy if I don’t do the two things that make me tick: writing and running. I feel just as agitated if I can’t get out for a run as I do if I can’t carve out time to sit with a pencil and notebook or my laptop.

To quote from Haruki Murakami’s memoir What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, “For me, running is both exercise and a metaphor.”

Writing and running have become intertwined in my life. Until I had read Murakami’s book, I did not know that anyone else felt the same way. I certainly do not put myself in the same category as Murakami, either as a writer or a runner – he now runs ultra-marathons as well as being a world-renowned, best-selling author – however, both activities are part of my daily routine in the same way they are with his; they are part of what keeps me sane and fit and healthy in mind, body and soul. I feel I cannot do one without the other, and I am certainly not in my right mind or my right body if I do not find the time to do either.

In his memoir, Murakami tells of how, before becoming a full-time novelist, he had an active lifestyle, running a jazz club in Tokyo. As soon as he gave that up to concentrate on writing, he realized that he was going to have to find a way of keeping fit, as a writer’s life is, of course, mainly sedentary.

This, too, was my motivation. I had worked in London as an editor and had been used to walking to work, running up and down stairs, going to the gym with friends and so on. I then had two small children after whom I ran as well, but once they were at school all day and I finally found the time to write, I realized that I was no longer moving around so much. And so I took up running.

At first then, that is all it was: a way to keep fit. And, as Murakami says, “Running has a lot of advantages. First of all, you don’t need anybody else to do it, and no need for special equipment.” A lot like writing, then!

Gradually it became apparent how much the two things had become wrapped up together: I would drop the kids off at school, go for a run and, during the run, start to churn over thoughts on writing. Knotty plot problems would often unravel during a run, conversations between characters would unfurl, ideas for settings or descriptions of the weather would come to me as I pounded the pavements in rain, wind, sleet or sun. If I did not get out for a run, I missed it: simply coming home from the school drop-off to sit at my desk felt wrong and had me pacing the house instead of concentrating.

When I first started running I could not run for more than a maximum of twenty minutes without being in pain. I had to make myself go out every day and try to go just that little bit further. I run along a towpath by a canal, so I would use trees or benches or narrowboats as markers to see if I could push myself to go further.

And so it has been with my writing: when I first started writing, I could not write for long periods of time either, and I could not write long pieces. I had to push myself just that little bit further over time.

Murakami has it right, I think, when he says, “What’s crucial is whether your writing attains the standards you’ve set for yourself […] writing novels and running full marathons are very much alike. Basically a writer has a quiet, inner motivation.”

He also says that he likes to run, “the point being to let the exhilaration I feel at the end of each run carry over to the next day. This is the same sort of tack I find necessary when writing a novel. I stop every day right at the point where I feel I can write more. Do that, and the next day’s work goes surprisingly smoothly.”

This is the pace I have tried to set myself too, both in running and writing.

I finally wrote my first long piece of fiction for children after a year of motivating myself to write every day. And I ran my first marathon two years after pushing myself to run further and faster by following a daily training plan.

I am constantly aiming to improve my writing and push myself to explore new ways of writing. Currently I am trying out writing for an older age group. I am also trying to improve my running and to keep it up, no matter what excuses present themselves! At the moment it is so hot that I have to find the right time of day to go out. And writing is always tricky in the summer as I have the children at home, wanting to be ferried to and fro.

But if I go the whole summer without writing or running, my head and body will both suffer. And so, each day, I suppose I do tell myself (to quote Nike, this time!) “Just do it!”, and I always feel better when I do.

www.annawilson.co.uk