Success and the hidden work

It isn’t the first time this has happened.

Over a recent session at the climbing wall, I was working on a particular problem. The first difficulty was in matching (holding with both hands) a sloping hold without momentum swinging me off. I initially worked on this on my own, but then joined a couple of others — climbing walls are very friendly places. They were finding the same move tricky, but I eventually used a sneaky toe-hook to check my swing, keeping me on the wall and letting me push on to the next hold.

The next problem was nearer the top, with what appeared to be a big lunge at an odd angle. It didn’t help that there was very little for feet, nor that I was already tired out from the lower moves. My fingers grazed the hold a few times, but I couldn’t get enough of a lunge to secure a firm grip.

I returned to this problem a few times in my climbing session, and apart from that period when I’d been climbing with a couple of others, most of the time I worked this problem on my own.

Near the end of my session I returned to it. The climbers I’d been working with earlier were there (also giving the route another go), so I decided to have one last attempt. Yes, I was tired, and my fingers were sore, but it’s often when I feel like this that the moves all come together.

And that’s what happened. The toe-hook move went without a hitch, and I flowed through the next couple of moves, up to that lunge. Without thinking too long, I went for it … and grabbed the hold. It wasn’t the best of grips, but my fingers tightened with determination, and I thugged my way through the last couple of moves (thankfully they weren’t technical). And I reached the top.

Finally. After all those ‘failed’ attempts, I’d done it. Another climb ticked off.

When I dropped down I realised I had an audience — not only the climbers I’d been with earlier, but also five others. As I stepped away (exchanging the obligatory fist-bumps with others) one of the group of five stepped up to the wall. I found out they’d all been trying this particular problem over the last few hours, with little success. Watching me seemed to have encouraged them to try again.

While I was obviously pleased to have that climb under my belt now, I’ll admit to a certain satisfaction in having others witness my success. However, I tempered that with the knowledge that they’d only seen my final, successful attempt. They hadn’t seen the times I’d come off, defeated over and over by those difficult moves.

I realised that writing and reading are like this, too. Writing is a struggle. Sometimes the words flow, but more often they come only after effort. And even when they’re down on the page, they’re not quite right. A first draft is only the start. It needs hours and hours of graft to turn it into something we could call a success.

Yet when we read a fantastic book or article, we only see the finished product, not the work that went into its birth. We don’t see the messy first draft, or the red ink scrawled on the page as the edit tried to transform that dirge of words into prose and dialogue that sing.

We know editing happens, of course, but in the moment it’s easy to forget that. And then, when we compare our own attempts to these wonders, it’s easy to grow despondent. The imposter syndrome kicks in.

Because we’re not comparing like for like. Comparing a published novel with our early drafts is like comparing Michelangelo’s David to a lump of rock that’s had a few chips knocked out of it. It’s like comparing Pink Floyd’s Dark Side Of The Moon to a dodgy recording of a bunch of musicians bashing out ideas.

Writing is far more than putting words on the page. I’ve heard it said that writing is rewriting. Editing is where the raw material of our words is turned into a polished, cohesive, beautiful work of art. That messy first draft always needs refining, through multiple passes, focusing on different aspects each time.

With that climb, I needed to work through those difficulties. I tried different ideas, and abandoned many of them. I eventually found solutions that worked for me, but to execute them still took time and effort. And, finally, it all came together.

The same is true for our writing, and for the writing of others. It takes work. It takes effort. There will be times we need to walk away, to work on something else for a while. But, if we persevere, we’ll find success. If we don’t give up, we can be the inspiration others need.