Writing and surfing can certainly be compared in analogy. But like climbing, surfing has long lent itself to the written word, with Pulitzer-winning scribes among the wave-riding tribe. Photos: Unsplash
Regardless of whether you’re reading Matt George, Lauren Hill, Don Winslow or William Finnegan; or jotting down a few notes about your last session, it’s clear that surfing and writing are permanently linked.
As a writer and a surfer, I find myself penning thoughts about surfing often, whether I’m planning to or not. Similarly, new inspiration frequently finds me when I’m in the ocean, not consciously thinking about my work at all.
We don’t all love to write, but whether we are reading about a new surf destination, listening to music, posting comments in the black hole of Instagram or striving to be the next Allan Weisbecker; writing plays a role in all of our lives. Here are some powerful parallels between how surfers and writers draw their lines.
Duck Diving and Dedication
Author Liza Monroy, who surfs in Santa Cruz, says that “as with writing, the one way to grow in surfing is to surf.” Surfers must keep paddling out, just as scribes from songwriters to reporters must put pen to paper day in and day out. This idea of endless repetition takes commitment. Writers often slave over hundreds of pages in pursuit of an idea that never comes to fruition, but ideally brings them closer to understanding the project.
This deep-set devotion mirrors paddling through wall after wall of crashing whitewater, scratching to make it out the back. There is a reason we keep duck diving, though. Some days, we make it outside and slip into a flow state in which every wave, every turn is effortless. The same is true with writing. Despite the lack of inspiration, the rejection letters, and the blank stare of the empty page, writers work until they create something that endures.
Revision and Ripping
Revision is the vital link between a messy tangle of ideas and a finished work that speaks to both writer and audience. The idea is that a piece of writing remains fluid and totally malleable until the writer finds their purpose and their intent becomes clear. Writers often begin with a “shitty first draft,” then keep faith that if they put in the countless hours of revision, the direction will crystallize.
Surfers return again and again to our irreplaceable pursuit in the rushing tides, aiming to ride a longer, faster, hollower wave. We don’t always succeed, but if we trust the process we learn specifics, like what rare tide makes a certain sand bar turn on, what board we prefer on a certain wave. In surfing and writing, revision is synonymous with diligent practice, but the rewards – a mind-expanding barrel, or a piece of writing we’re stoked on – are radical.
No Panic, No Pages
Former world champion surfer Shaun Tomson says “surfing is all about uncertainty. That feeling of taking a risk…every time I jump into the ocean, that paddle out among things unseen…” We’ve all been in the lineup when a suspicious fin emerges from the water, or a rogue set appears – “outside!” – and everyone desperately surges forward.
Part of surfing’s mental challenge is staying calm in the face of rising peril, since typically, the more dangerous the waves, the better the rides. Two “unseen” events have long been burned in my own memory: the first an unexpected, bitterly long hold down on Cape Cod, Mass. that left me choking on the shore. The second, surfing in Maine during a hurricane swell when the nose of my board found my eyeball like an arrow to its target. Both created a sense of foreboding that I was forced to overcome the next session before I paddled out.
Sharing one’s writing with others is also oftentimes terrifying because we open ourselves up to potential critics. Plus, sitting down in front of the blank page can fill even the most experienced writers with dread. I used to tell my writing students to immediately throw down a random sentence just to fill that white space. Start with a small wave, paddle back out, tackle the next one. Soon, you’ll be longing for a bigger swell and a longer page.
Paddling Off Course
Pablo Picasso said, “I didn’t think, I experimented.” The best artists give voice to their most illogical, off-base ideas just to see where they might lead. All writing is an experiment, and to be open to veering dramatically off-course is sometimes the best way to reach a new destination.
In surfing, we’re forced to take what the ocean gives us at that moment, whether it’s epic, flat, or somewhere in between. The key is to be open to finding a new wave in a strange place, and being unafraid to fail. When we were out snowboarding, a good buddy used to say if you don’t fall multiple times by the end of the day, you’re not really riding. To fall is to fail; to fail is to learn. This idea is all about mindset, however. If I fall on my first wave and get pissed off, and then try to force my will on the next wave, my surfing takes a nosedive. If I take surfing less seriously, I surf with more ease and have more fun.
The Sincerest Form of Inspiration
When I started to get serious about writing, my work resembled ripped-off renditions of classic American writers like Ernest Hemingway, Raymond Carver and William Faulkner. It took years of scribbling pages, thinking, living, and reading more diverse voices to develop my own voice, and, as is true for many writers, it continues to evolve.
For surfers, “voice” is interchangeable with “style.” Surfers, too, often learn by imitating their elders, their friends, or the pros who make it look effortless in videos. Ultimately, though, everyone has their own personality, and when that essence begins to shine through someone’s ability to link moves together on the wave, the surfer has unknowingly created their own unique style.
Choose Your Line
When we paddle out before sunrise, we lose ourselves in the mist, the glassy peaks, the crashing of the breakers. Our focus becomes entirely singular: finding a wave to ride. Writing is also about losing touch with the outside world, but the goal is to create a paper trail alive with ideas. Whether we’re writing a memorable line on a napkin or taking the high line across a heaving peak, we’re leaving our individual mark.
It doesn’t matter if it’s a haiku or a two-foot wave, song lyrics that strike a chord deep within or a monster swell that rockets us towards shore; surfing and writing are powerful, mysterious pursuits that feed off one another. Is it too long a leap to say that surfers and writers are artists of the page and the wave? Not for me.
