Pitching Fatigue

I feel you, CB. I do.

March 7, 2021

__________________________

“Hey, JD - how do you feel about maybe pitching our next game?” 

It was one of the most exciting questions this third-grader could have been asked way back then. I loved playing baseball, but had never thought I could ever be “good enough” to pitch. 

But Coach seemed to think I could! So did that mean I was actually good enough? 

I played it cool. 

“Uh, sure, Coach. I could do that. I’m ready.” 

“Great! So get out on that mound and show me what you’ve got.”

Ummmmm…..(gulp).....?

“Right now?” I asked. It was just a standard after-school practice, but everyone seemed to be watching. I wouldn’t have any time to psych myself up - or out. 

“Yup, right now. That’s what practice is for, isn’t it?” 

Of course. Okay, Coach. 

I was nervous. I wanted to do well. I didn’t want my teammates to see me struggle (I was, and remain, far too conscious of other people’s attention on what I’m doing). I wanted to succeed. 

My first throw from the mound, I “overthrew” it. It sailed over the catcher (my buddy Reedy) and whacked the backstop. Great velocity, Coach said, but slow down and focus on the catcher’s mitt. 

My second throw hit the dirt two feet in front of the plate. Reedy lofted a “what was that?” shrug at me. 

Crap. 

I was already sweating. Coach told me to take a deep breath. I did. Everyone was watching. 

Damn it.

(Even at that age, I already liked breaking the taboo of saying Bad Words. Or thinking them, at least). 

My third pitch found Reedy’s mitt, but was well outside the strike zone. 

F%@#....

That brought Coach over to the mound. He sensed what was happening. 

“You’re good enough to do this. You believe that?”

I nodded, a total lie. He nodded back, not convinced. 

“So what’s the problem?”

I kicked at the dirt. He asked twice more. I wanted to crawl away back to my usual spot at second base and let the Pitch Dream Die. 

Reedy wouldn't have it. 

“It’s too quiet for him,” he said to Coach, walking up to the mound. Then he pointed at me with his fat mitt. “You can do this, and you know you want to. So just hit the mitt. The guys will respond. Just watch.” 

He went back to the plate, and Coach stepped back. “Deep breath, relax, and have fun. Remember the fun of this.” 

Fun. Yes. This is fun.

The team watched me try to remember fun. 

“Fun, brah!” Reedy whooped as he renewed his crouch behind the plate. That made me smirk.

Just Hit the Mitt. That’s all. 

I wound up and pitched - I didn’t think. 

SNAP! The ball hit the mitt - a perfect strike. 

And my teammates roared with excitement. All of them. 

It was the perfect sound for a sensitive kid lacking confidence. I exchanged wide grins with Reedy and Coach. 

That was fun. Do it again. 

SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!

Three strikes in a row, all followed with shouts of support from my teammates. 

They knew what I needed. 

They kept doing that for the rest of practice, then in the game a few days later. I pitched well overall, and I had fun. 

In all my anxiety about getting the chance to pitch, it took me a while to remember to….just pitch. And to have fun. And to trust my teammates for help. We all wanted the same thing - to have fun, to compete, and (ideally), to win. 

**FAST FORWARD THIRTY-NINE YEARS** 

Last Thursday, that childhood memory swam vividly through me as I prepared to pitch again. 

Not in a baseball game this time, but on Twitter - pitching my book manuscript to potential agents and publishers.  

It’s a quarterly event known to writers everywhere as “Pitch Madness.” 

On those days, any writer with a finished book manuscript has three chances to pitch a 280-max character description out into the Twitterverse via hashtags particular to their genre. Literary agents and publishers then watch for any that catch their interest. If that happens, a writer may get their shot to send that agent or publisher a query letter, short book description, sample chapter(s), or even a full-length manuscript. 

It can launch a writing career, and has done so before. 

Hundreds of thousands of tweets go out in each event. So yeah, it’s definitely Madness. 

Last Thursday, I dove into it for the second time. And it played out a lot like that day long ago on the pitcher’s mound. 

My alternate history novel, Krelle’s Inferno, has been done for a while now. I’m proud of it. I believe in it. I’ve had readers - some of my teammates - say it’s good. I know they believe in me and support me. 

Writing my novel was like playing second base as a kid - I knew how to do it, and enjoyed it a lot. My confidence there wasn’t ever a problem. 

But pitching?? That felt altogether different, and far harder. Because pitching my book on Twitter is putting it out far beyond my own comfort zones. I felt like everyone was watching. 

I even had a coach this week to prepare for it - a fantastic prep course I signed up for a while back. The other attendees were my teammates, all looking to do the same thing. I felt ready by Thursday. 

But when I finally “took the mound” to pitch,  I was so nervous - so aware - of my vulnerability, of the singularity of what I was pitching: 

MY book. MY dream. MY Labor of Love. 

All the doubts and questions flew at me like they did that day in front of Reedy and Coach. 

Can I really do this? I think I can, but does anyone else? Will agents? Can I even hit the strike zone?

My first pitch - tweet - went nowhere. One person, a fellow writer, noted it and retweeted it. Just one. 

Crap. Maybe I overthrew it? 

Actually, I saw I forgot to pin the tweet to my profile (my coach had suggested that earlier). So I did that on the second one, and it did a bit better. I didn’t do much other than watch. More writers noticed it and retweeted it, but no notice from agents. 

Damn it. 

I was nervous. I was doubting myself. I was dejected that my pitches didn’t seem to be very good. Pitching is way different than playing second base. 

I had one more pitch for the day. Would I miss the strike zone? There was no Coach or Reedy this time to set me straight.

But, as I soon saw, I still had a lot of teammates. My fellow writers. 

You know, all those OTHER writers doing the same thing as me that day, all feeling the same feelings as me. All pitching and wondering if they’d hit the strike zone. 

They all encouraged each other, offered to retweet out pitches and asked for the same in return. Writers not participating in the event - published and unpublished alike - also offered to retweet pitches, increasing the chances for agents to see them. In the process, everyone built their followings, a key development for any writer these days. 

It was encouraging, supportive, and - yup, you guessed it - fun. 

Or could be, if I just let it. 

So I decided to have fun and be a good teammate. 

I heard Reedy in my head - “Just Hit the Mitt.” 

I threw my last pitch, pinning it to my profile. Then I FINALLY started retweeting pitches from my teammates with gusto. I decided to actually enter the game, to play with my fellow writers instead of “against” them - or against myself.

And sure enough, the “cheers” for my own pitch followed. My last tweet got a lot more attention and support, and I added nearly three dozen new followers to my “team.” It was invigorating and eye-opening. 

So did I hit the “strike zone” with that last pitch? I know you’re wondering. 

I did. But not in the sense that I got attention from an agent. That didn’t happen. 

Yet.

But the clarity I got instead - and the confidence that my writer teammates gave me - made my last pitch a doozy that, for my money, hit the right strike zone with verve. 

It reminded me to have fun and to invest in my teammates, and to allow them the chance to support me. It showed me my next steps - to be a lot more active in connecting with writing groups on Twitter and elsewhere, to do more to promote this website and my podcast among my fellow writers and their followers, and to simply breathe and….pitch. 

Just Hit the Mitt. 

Do that enough times, and it will eventually work in the Game. And with help, I can maybe win. 

My query letter for agents is strong, and it’s ready to go. I even have the names of the agents I want to send them to for consideration. I just haven’t pitched it yet. 

So just breathe and pitch, JDK. 

The online writing community is huge and ready to help each other in more ways than I can anticipate. 

So just breathe and pitch, JDK. 

Up until now, it’s been too quiet for me. Like that practice day all those years ago, I thrive off my teammates' support. I keep forgetting that.

So just breathe and  pitch, JDK. 

I’ve been overthrowing from overthinking.  

For example, each edition of My Sunday Post thus far has, for the most part, been a long read. I’m proud of every one of them, AND I want people to have the time in their busy days to finish them. I can reframe them to be more digestible in one sitting. That’s starting right now, right here.

So just breathe and pitch, JDK. 

That will help me build my team, and that then will make everything more fun and meaningful. It’s pretty much the same as anything else in life - relax, breathe, pitch, take in the cheers of those who love us, and give back the same. 

The rest follows. All we have to do is Just Hit the Mitt. 

Over and over again. And remember to have fun. 

So if it’s too quiet for you on your mound, remember to just pitch. Your Coach believes you can, Your Reedy will catch it, and you have Your Teammates who will cheer you on. 

That’s all that really matters in the end. 

I don’t remember if we won the baseball game I pitched that day. The outcome turned out not to be the most important part of the story.  Imagine that.

Instead, I remember the fun, my teammates in my corner, and my love for the game. Everything else took care of itself. 

Call it Life Madness. It can be a fun game to pitch in, if we let it be. 

So just breath and pitch. 

If you need a Reedy to catch for you, just ask….

Chins Up, Everyone. 

******************
Thanks for reading My Sunday Post. Here are some important updates from my past week:

Soul Book of the Week: The Way to Love: The Last Meditations of Anthony De Mello. A Top Ten for me.

Book On My Nightstand: Everything Flows by Vasily Grossman.

Best Show / Movie I Watched: I Care A Lot (Netflix). No one to root for in it, but it works somehow.

Strongest Earworm Song: Rational Culture by Tim Maia. Twelve minutes of Serious Groove.

Longest Walk / Run of the Week: 6 mile run (Wednesday) and 18 mile ride (Friday).

Favorite Hangout T-Shirt of the Week: This one. In honor of all my California Peeps.

Coolest Thing of the Week: Pitch Madness.

Thing I Now Know That I Didn’t Last Week: How WandaVision ended. I liked it.

Most Helpful Perspective / Advice of the Week: “Recipes ain’t meals - you still gotta cook it yourself.”

Current Wanderlust List: 1) Anywhere sunny; 2) Anywhere sunny with baseball; 3) Japan