I’ve always been a big basketball fan, ever since I was a little kid. The reasons for my love of the game are pretty much the same reasons that most people love sport. I love competition. I love to see jaw-dropping displays of athleticism. Most importantly however, I live for those moments when I get to see athletes overcoming overwhelming odds to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.
The come-from-behind victory is one of the most exhilarating experiences in all of sport. It’s made even more exciting when the team coming from behind is an underdog. And the most exciting experience of all is when an underdog performs an unbelievable feat of athleticism, one previously thought impossible, to win at the buzzer.
As writers, we understand the appeal of come-from-behind victories. They are so compelling, we tend to write them into most of our stories, whether they involve something epic like a hero turning the tide of battle at the last second or something as simple as a dopey guy finally getting the girl. In fact, we go out of our way to heap misery on our characters just so that they can achieve that come-from-behind victory in the end.
We also know that the come-from-behind victory is more exciting when it comes from an unexpected source. If an all-powerful wizard turns the tide of battle, it’s not as exciting or as satisfying as if a simple everyman is able to do it. The same is true in sports. If a superstar like Kobe Bryant gets hot and carries a team to victory, that’s exciting. If an unknown benchwarmer does the same, it can be even more compelling.
While the level of talent between the superstar and the benchwarmer who both pull off the same comeback is worlds apart, they do have something in common, the same trait that the all-powerful wizard and the simple everyman have in common:
Confidence.
This is not a coincidence but a requirement for their success.
Take the basketball scenario, for example. Clearly, the superstar believes that he can lead the team to victory. He’s the best of the best, a physical specimen. He’s done it before, he can do it again. He has justifiable confidence in himself. The benchwarmer, on the other hand, is smaller than the superstar, slower, not as experienced. His only advantage is that he believes, against all rational arguments to the contrary, that he has a shot. And sometimes, that’s all that he needs.
The rational benchwarmer that does not believe in himself, however, fails before he even tries. He knows he’s screwed, as so he is.
Even though we see sports stories like this all the time, and even though we writers put underdogs into our stories with extreme regularity, we often seem to lose focus of the moral of our own stories:
Without confidence, you will not succeed.
Writing is difficult, not so much because the act itself is so challenging but because of the overwhelming odds against success. Writers stare into a seemingly endless sea of competition, full of superstars and benchwarmers alike. They face constant rejection and disbelief, not just from agents and editors but from friends and family as well. Depression is a constant lurking threat to productivity.
This is why irrational self-confidence is so important. If you consider the real odds of success, you will give up before you ever start, like a benchwarmer who never even steps foot on the court.
So don’t be afraid to be your own biggest fan. Love your own work. Sing its praises. And above all, always believe in yourself. Exude self-confidence, even if it’s irrational. It just might be the one character trait that sets you apart from the pack.
Image credit: Featured image by Bill Selak (CC BY-NC 2.0), via Flickr.