The basis for advanced juggling patterns is the three-ball cascade. *

Writing isn’t too much different than juggling. When writing stories, three things are also the basis for advanced techniques: a beginning, a middle, and an end.

* (Okay, so it’s not the basis of everything, but to go on and on about odd-numbered patterns and even-numbered patterns slides into a level of nerdiness that most readers probably wouldn’t find too exciting. So, for the sake of this entry, we’ll just pretend that everything comes from the three-ball cascade. If you’re really interested in seeing what I’m talking about — odd-numbered patterns come from the cascade and even-numbered patterns come from the fountain.)

The Basics

A story with a beginning, middle, and end is so basic that it seems almost strange mentioning it to many. But there are writers who just sit down and write, and sometimes really don’t tell much of a tale.

Literary/hipster fave, Michael Chabon, acknowledged in the introduction to McSweeney’s Mammoth Treasure of Thrilling Tales that he was guilty of writing stories without real plots. He confessed that he just kind of wrote and didn’t have much of a tale to tell. He turned his attention to genre fiction and plot-driven fiction after the Thrilling Tales release.

He returned to the basics.

Advanced Basics

Once a juggler has the three-ball cascade down, they can move on to more advanced patterns. (And another, if you’re really interested in animated juggling gifs.) They can add more balls to the pattern. (This is the three-ball cascade link from above, but notice the five-ball animation near the bottom and its similarities to the three-ball animation.) The juggler can also move on to different props.

It’s not much different with writing. Once a writer has the basic structure of a story down, they can move on to more advanced structures (moving back and forth through timelines without jarring the reader). They can expand their story length (short stories to novels). And they can move on to different things (screenplays, plays, transmedia, etc.)

And for those times when it all seems like too much to handle?

A return to the basics and remembering all you’ve done before serves as a reminder that you can do whatever you put your mind to — whether juggling, writing, or anything else!

All week long, I looked forward to Saturday morning. The plan: wake up early and write! Cooler weather was predicted by the weather seers — what more could I ask for?

Somewhere along the way, my wife said, “We should get up early and juggle Saturday morning! The weather’s supposed to be sunny, barely any wind, and in the low to mid 50s.”

It had been months since really juggling, and it’s not every day that it’s cool and not-so-breezy. Then there’s the obvious: kicking off my Saturday doing something I love with the person I love even more than writing and juggling combined.

The choice was obvious, and we had a lovely morning! (And when I later sat down to write, things flowed even better than I’d hoped because the energy of the morning carried through the day.)

This Week

This week — or any week — if you have the choice between writing and doing something else you love, choose something else. I’m not saying don’t write; I’m saying it’s not all about writing.

Sometimes skipping writing and doing something else you love makes your writing even better…

Monica Valentinelli is the reason I started a 30-day social media break that became 50 days (and is now 100 days). She’s also one of the minds behind Speak Out With Your Geek Out, an online celebration of geeky hobbies. (There’s also a SOWYGO Tumblr page.)

In an entry on the blog listing some ideas for Speak Out With Your Geek Out blogging ideas, #15 is writing a letter to a younger version about yourself. When I started juggling, I had no idea what to expect. So here’s my letter to my 12-year-old self…which is really just a veiled love letter to juggling and my wife.

* * *

September 12, 2011

Dear Christopher,

Look down at the ground, you fuzzy-headed little geek! See how the grass is worn flat from your hours of dropping things during juggling practice? Remember those spots of grass you’ve worn flat and bare in the future; let them be a symbol of all you do and will do.

Right now you’re probably reading this and thinking, “Shit, not only does my handwriting not get better — it gets worse?!” And you’re probably also thinking, “So, is this juggling thing I’m really getting into worth it?”

I write this letter to you, today, to tell you that if you ever give up on this “geeky” little hobby, your life won’t be as good as it gets if you quit.

You’re going to be a writer when you grow up. I know you’re thinking you’ll be a wildlife biologist, but I’ve got bad news for you: you’re always going to suck at math, and college chemistry classes will kick your ass.

You’ll change your major from biology to English. You’ll stick with writing and everything else you’ll do with a drive and passion some will find unsettling. But that’s not such a bad thing: you won’t give up as easily as most people because pretty soon you’re going to stick that under-the-leg throw and be able to toss that tennis ball behind your back and keep juggling. (Hell, one day you’ll do it in the streets with knives and torches because you’re a tenacious little booger, and that tenacity more than almost anything else in your life will serve you well.)

But you’re only 12 right now, so that probably doesn’t seem as impressive as it really is. So I’ll talk about what’s really on your mind right now: girls!

You know how you like girls, but are terrified of them? Yeah, that’s not gonna end anytime soon–sorry. But…all your time juggling does pay off. Don’t believe me? Look at this photo — that’s your future wife.

Beautiful, huh? She’s also smarter than you and deceptively funny. She’s also patient and kind — a good thing for anybody sharing their life with you.

And get this: she juggles!

In eleven years you’ll meet her and still be terrified to talk to her…until she finds out you juggle.

Right now she’s in 4th grade (yeah, I know you’re in 7th grade and that seems weird), but in the future that 3-year age difference won’t matter so much when she tells you she was taught how to juggle in 4th grade and always wanted to learn more. You will meet her at a  little independent comic book company you both work for. She will ask you to teach her more about juggling, and you will.

I’m writing this letter to you more than 19 years after you first meet her, and I’m happy to report that you two are even happier now than you were when you’ll be when you first meet.

More than nineteen years after meeting, you still go on little juggling dates.

That alone should make you practice even harder, but you’ll find that all the hard work fixating on your geeky hobby pay off in other ways, too.

There will be a time when all those around you at future jobs will freak the hell out when impossible deadlines are dropped on them. You’ll see people fighting, stressing, and getting sick. You’ll see grown adults who feel trapped every day of their lives; it’s pretty sad stuff! But you’ll generally be all right. Here’s why: you are a juggler!

You know how you think juggling 4 things is impossible? Well, you’ll get to 4 and then move on to 5, 6, and 7 things one day. Each time you add another object it will seem impossible. Then, one day, it will feel natural — and you’ll see how much extra time there is in between all the throws and catches.

The very hobby you’re just wandering into will serve as a constant reminder that no matter how overwhelming something initially seems as an adult, it’s usually not as bad as we initially imagine. While people around you panic, you’ll know that it’s just a matter of practicing to get to a point where things slow down and aren’t so bad.

Some people die not learning this lesson.

You don’t know it right now, but you’ll eventually find out there are all kinds of other juggling props out there beyond just old tennis balls.

Yeah, you’ve seen juggling clubs at circuses and Renaissance festivals, but there’s even more than that. And you — since you’re a curious little grunion — will not be content until you have at least a basic mastery of them all. The lesson in your obsession is this: you will believe in yourself. I know that seems like the most unlikely thing in the world right now, but you will

Because you try every prop available to you, you will realize that you can do anything you put your mind to. And the best thing is you’ll come to discover that the more you challenge yourself, the more succeeding in the early stages of everything that will come your way becomes.

You won’t be afraid to speak to groups of people, you will do all you can to share what you know with others, and you will have fun doing it. Read that line again — especially the part about sharing.

The one thing you will do better than most people around you is connect on some weird, empathetic level and make others believe that they can do things they’ve been told their entire lives they can’t do. You will first feel the joy of helping others when you begin teaching others how to juggle. When you train people at future jobs, you will often talk about juggling to prove your point. It may not seem like much, but truly listening and helping others is a basic thing that many people can’t do.

And speaking of basics: three-ball tricks!

Even though you’ll be able to juggle fire, knives, and not be afraid even at the thought of juggling chainsaws if you happen upon a modified set ready for juggling, you will always love three-ball tricks. You will always love the basics in everything you see and do and try to build on them.

In writing, at work, and in everything else you encounter, you will know without a doubt that once there’s a foundation beneath you, you’re damn-near unstoppable when you put your mind to something. You will never get a big head about the simple things in life because when you finally discover and master Mill’s Mess and other advanced tricks based on the basic cascade, you will know the strength of fundamentals.

One of your greatest assets will be seeing in the basic building blocks of things that there are patterns and ideas many people will never see because they either think the basics are beneath them, or that mastering things they want to do is often too hard or takes too long.

Right now, your mom may shake her head as she bites into bruised fruit you dropped as you juggled it behind the family’s back, but remember that you’re lucky to have a mom who knows there will be a day that the plums won’t be bruised. She will support this hobby and all you do as you get older; not all your friends will have that kind of support. You’re a really lucky kid!

I want you to be surprised about some of your accomplishments in the coming years, so I’m going to stop babbling now. I can see in your eyes that you want more answers, though. This much I’ll tell you: because of juggling, in 2011 you will be able to say, “I am Christopher Gronlund, and I’m a damn-good husband, friend, and person.”

Just like the three-ball cascade, master those three things and the world is yours!

All the best, you little geek,

Your Future Self

P.S. There will be a time in the future when you’re performing at a college. As you’re preparing juggling torches for the finale while your partner is doing his bit, the lead singer of a crappy punk band will rush up and almost set you on fire. Nobody would slight you if you “accidentally” broke the fucker’s nose and kicked him in the head a few times…

P.S.S. That John Irving “Garp” book you’ve seen around the house? Pick that shit up and read it! It will change your life almost as much as juggling will…

What’s Your Hobby?

Do you have a geeky hobby? Or a “normal” hobby?

What do you enjoy doing when you’re not working or relaxing?

Consider sharing your geeky hobby with a Speak Out With Your Geek Out entry.

I slacked off on the blog this week because we’ve been having ice and snow in north Texas and I’ve been having a blast enjoying the weather.

This is what I did today instead of updating the blog (and yes, that’s a kilt):

Yesterday, I posted an entry about how writing well takes time.

I’ve been very fortunate to be friends with writers, artists, and musicians.

One of my musician friends is somebody I’ve known for over 25 years. In that time, I’ve seen him play bass, piano, and guitar.

Yesterday on his Facebook page, he posted this video, along with a humorous line about how frustrating it is to see somebody so young and so talented, while he struggles with working long hours and finding time to practice guitar.

(I feel his pain when I see what a lot of 10 – 15-year-olds are doing with juggling these days.)

It hit me while watching this video and reading what my friend said that writing doesn’t have the equivalent of this.

While we’ve all seen countless news stories about musical “prodigies,” I’ve never seen a 10 – 15-year old writer who is the writing equivalent of incredibly talented and practiced young musicians, and even some artists.

Now, don’t think for a moment that I think music and art is easier than writing — I’ve tried art and music and settled on writing because it was easier for me. To do anything well takes time.

I do, however, think it’s easier to train a kid how to paint a certain way, play a musical piece over and over, or juggle well than it is to teach a kid to write with the same level of skill as the young guitarist above.

Trust me: I was a much more impressive juggler at 18 than I was a writer.

I think one of the things that sets writing apart from other arts is the life experience that’s necessary to do it well.

You can teach a kid how to juggle. You can teach them the basic three-ball cascade and then build on that to other tricks.  Same thing with music, and technically decent art.

But to write well, one needs to have lived. Even talented young writers sound inexperienced or like parrots. It’s easy to tell that while they may have talent, they have only lived a life that primarily consists of school and kid things.

Sometimes, as hard as it can be to put the loooooooooong hours into living and writing well, I’m glad that the life one needs to live and time spent to write well separates those who can from those who cannot.

“Writing is an exploration. You start from nothing and learn as you go.”
- E.L. Doctorow

*          *            *

Writing well takes time to learn. One doesn’t sit down for a couple weeks and suddenly produce a bestseller.

The time needed to produce 85,000 words of even bad writing takes longer than it takes most skilled painters to finish a work of art.

I can teach most people reading this the basics of juggling inside 30 minutes, but learning the basics of writing takes much longer.

There aren’t too many shortcuts — There’s not a very fast learning curve.

You really do start with nothing and learn as you go.

*            *            *

While Doctorow’s quote seems to be about learning how to write, it can also apply to the act of writing.

Some writers love spending time creating individual character sheets, down to knowing what kind of soap the characters use.

I know writers who can’t begin one word toward their manuscript until they have a very detailed outline done. They find maps, gather photos, and accumulate a pile of information so they are ready when they start writing.

They learn as they go in that gathering stage. When it’s time to write, they know exactly where they’re going.

I’m the kind of writer who gets a vague idea and jumps in head first. Sometimes I’m under so long that I run out of breath and think, “That’s it — I’m drowning this time!” But then I find a reserve bit of air, or find a way to kick my way to the surface and see that it all makes sense.

I take the line in this quote about exploring to heart. I like being surprised by the story; with little more than a beginning, a middle, and an end, I learn about the story as I’m writing it.

I love seeing it all eventually come together…or fall apart and realize I still have a lot of work to do.

*          *          *

Whether you’re taking another big step in honing your craft, gathering all you need to get started, or knocking out a chunk of a story that you’re still not completely sure of, I hope you learn some great things this week!

I know it goes without saying, but to get good at something, you have to practice.

A lot!

I’ve been juggling since 1981 (and I have the picture to prove it!). I used to devote all my free time to juggling.

Later, I devoted most of my free time to writing. (At times, I wrote much more than I juggled…and I still juggled a lot.)

During the times I didn’t juggle — when I came back to juggling — certain things I once did with ease were hard. But other things I never thought about or tried before came easy to me.

Recently, after a very long time of not juggling, my wife and I had a juggling picnic.

The first time I picked up four clubs in I can’t remember how long, I had my best run ever. I had a couple good runs with five clubs, too, and one of the best five-ball runs I ever had.

It’s the same thing with writing: if I don’t write for awhile, when I come back to it, certain things frustrate me, but I’m also amazed at how easy new things just happen.

There comes a point where obsessive practice pays off.

While juggling and writing aren’t quite like riding a bike, if you practiced hard enough and often enough in the past, it’s not so hard when you get back to it after some time away.

In fact, you just might find yourself coming up with things you never thought about before!

There was a period of time, during an illness with a close relative and during an illness of my own, that I didn’t write or juggle as much as I once did. I felt bad that I wasn’t productive. Even though nobody would fault me for taking care of a sick sibling for two years and later, dealing with a serious health problem of my own, all I wanted to do was juggle and write.

We all go through periods like this. When I was struggling with things and starting to come back up, I wrote the following essay. It’s about juggling, but it’s also as much about writing and life. (Maybe even more.)

If you or somebody you know is going through rough times and find it hard to do what they love doing, I hope this helps in some way:

When I was twelve years old, I went into my backyard and taught myself how to juggle.

I dropped and dropped until I figured it out.

* * *

While I’ve dropped a lot of things in my time, I’ve also picked things back up a lot, too.

Only to drop them again..

And again…

And again…

* * *

Juggling’s a strange hobby. To get good, you have to suck.

A lot.

You may drop thousands of times before getting that one difficult trick that only another juggler who’s worked hard truly appreciates. Your arms may burn; you may find yourself alone as it gets dark when you finally get that one thing you want to do more than anything at that moment in your life.

Few things feel better to me than finally getting a trick down as night falls with nobody around.

It’s those moments when you realize all the effort you’ve put into something finally paid off.

And then you move on, drop a lot more things, and keep doing it over and over and over.

It’s a humbling hobby, where failure is the norm, and obsession is your only ally.

* * *

At my best, I could juggle seven things. Not for very long, but long enough to officially juggle seven things. There’s no telling what my drop-to-success ratio was with seven things, but the day I officially juggled seven things, every drop getting there was worth it.

Without all those drops, I would have never known what it felt like to do something few people will ever do.

* * *

Somewhere along the way I stopped picking up the things I dropped. It became easier to leave things on the ground than it was to pick them back up and stick with them into the night, the next day, and the days after that…sticking with them until succeeding, no matter how long it took.

Quitting is easy.

When you’ve dropped something for your nth-thousandth time, sometimes the thought of getting through a pattern for a full cycle isn’t enough inspiration to keep going.

Somewhere along the way I stopped juggling.

Everything…

* * *

I’ve never really thought about why I juggle — it’s just something I always did. I used to say, “Juggling is who I am”; I used to say that it was everything to me.

And it was.

But it wasn’t about juggling — it was about the way I approached everything in my life.

I went into big things not afraid to drop thousands of times because I  believed that in everything I tried, as long as I obsessed correctly and picked things up and kept at it, I would one day feel the rush of its equivalent of juggling seven things.

* * *

I’ve forgotten what it feels like to juggle seven things.

I need to change that.

* * *

I’ve forgotten what it feels like knowing I can do anything I set out to do.

I need to change that.

* * *

There’s a lot of stuff I left lying on the ground over the years, and it’s time to pick it all back up and finish the things I started.

Because juggling is who I am; it is everything to me…

Before I ever made money writing, I made money juggling. When I started writing, I realized many of the lessons learned from street performing applied to writing.

The first time I juggled for money, I was given permission to juggle in the plaza in front of Dallas’ West End Marketplace. I went to Dallas by myself, determined to overcome incredible shyness and do something I loved for anybody willing to watch.

It took me forever to get the courage up to start juggling. There was a small group of bikers sitting nearby. One of the bikers — a guy in a Confederate hat and t-shirt reading something along the lines of If I owned Texas and Heaven, I’d rent out Heaven and live in Texas – overheard me talking with a hot dog vendor about being nervous to start performing. The biker told me he and his friends would make a lot of noise and to just go for it!

I didn’t have a routine planned out, or even a vague idea of what I’d do. So I did what I knew and started juggling.

I remember looking up at one point and seeing hundreds of people watching me — they weren’t there when I started. I didn’t drop once during the entire routine. I finished with torches. I finished the torch routine with the hurl-the-torch-way-up-in-the-air-and-hope-you-don’t-catch-the-fire-end finish!

Hearing the smack of the handle in my hand and the crowd’s wild applause brought me back to reality. I was so amazed that I did it that I didn’t gesture to my hat. The biker in the Confederate hat yelled and clapped and rushed to my hat with a $5 or $10 bill. People followed his lead.

It was the most money I ever made in 10 minutes.

5 Writing Lessons Learned from Street Performing

1. To get attention, you have to start. I spent years juggling alone in my backyard, but it wasn’t until I stepped into the street that I forced myself to think about juggling differently and strive to get better.

A lot of people talk about wanting to write, but never put down a word. Others write with the hope of publication, but are afraid to submit their work. With street performing, writing, or anything — sooner or later you have to get out there and just do it!

2. Recognize the importance of relationships. A magician I knew put me in touch with the person who gave the go ahead for performers in West End Plaza. In return for the crowds I drew for the hot dog vendor, he told people who stopped by his stand that if they stuck around, they’d get to see some cool juggling.

We’ve all heard “It’s who you know,” when it comes to writing success. You don’t need to know people to get started, but success in writing is as much about relationships as it is about skill.

Editors and agents want to work with writers who are easy to deal with — writers who have formed relationships that will help move what they write. Be genuine, and get out in the streets meeting people! Even if you never make it writing, you’ll have friends…and there’s a lot worse in life than being around people who want to be around you.

3. You will find unexpected allies along the way. I’m sure I would have overcome my stage fright and juggled in front of a large crowd, but I don’t think I would have found the courage to do it that first day had it not been for the biker who told me to just do it!

While you will make allies through the relationships you form, there will be allies you don’t know who will help you along the way. When I wrote independent comic books, it was always a thrill to get e-mail from a friend telling me that a publication wrote about something I’d written.

The streets are full of unlikely allies if you’re brave enough to step out.

4. Have confidence. When I stepped into the streets, I was confident that I was a good juggler (shyness was my problem).  I worked hard to get to where I was and knew I deserved a shot. Sadly, many talented people think they aren’t entitled to doing certain things.

Many people who have done big things in their lives weren’t entitled at first, either.

What makes a writer entitled enough to begin submitting their work? Lots of practice, honesty with their abilities, and learning how the business works. Know that much and I have news for you: you’re more entitled than most people submitting their writing.

Throw in some confidence and you’re even better off!

5. Take chances. I could have been safe with my finale the first time I performed. Instead, I took chances: doing moves I didn’t always pull off, and finishing by hurling a torch high into the air. I wish I could go back and watch that moment. I’d love to see that torch spinning 25 feet in the air with me and a large crowd looking up, all wondering how it was going to end.

I could have dropped the torch or caught the fiery end. Odds were better that one of those situations was more likely than catching the torch by the handle. I took a chance that paid off.

Take chances with your writing. While there is nothing wrong with a perfect and safe story or article each time you finish something, the writers who rise above the crowd are often writers not afraid to take chances.

Few things are more exciting than watching (or reading) somebody doing something we’re not sure they’ll pull off. Don’t be afraid to hurl your writing skyward and see what happens.

The juggling geek in me likes this.

They need another robot and more balls.

But just like writing a novel, you have to start somewhere…