Stymie Magazine proclaims itself a journal of sport and literature. That’s not such a far-fetched concept; we love sports because we find stories in watching, playing, coaching and competing that we tell and retell to our family and friends. If there’s narrative, there’s something more than facts and figures. We’re captivated by stories, particularly those based on human abilities and endeavors.
ESPN Magazine, one of only three print magazines I read regularly (along with Wired and The Hockey News) is running a sports fiction contest in conjunction with Stymie. Three thousand words to capture the meaning of a walk-off home run, or the joy of seeing a first-generation American kid, coming from a country where baseball doesn’t exist, play in his first Little League game.
I couldn’t resist, and submitted two stories. One is about the value of small miracles, and takes place (naturally) in Lake Placid, New York. The other involves a Russian guy, his Princeton friend, and some blue paint. It’s not quite autobiographical, because I have never played hockey at any serious level, but I followed the old adage of writing what I know, perhaps in some surprising ways. It’s hard to tug at someone’s emotions in only 3,000 words, and I spent most of this week throwing ideas and sidebars out of the stories, reducing them to a few key events that are the context for the sports action, rather than the other way around.
Winners are notified in mid-July; I’ll post the stories here assuming I’m not winning anything more than the good feeling that comes from submitting a work on deadline.
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