If you don't think writing is a sport, you've never sat through the agony of an adult education creative writing course.

Disguised as a nurturing learning environment, the adult ed creative writing class is really a den of would-be word Olympians poised to strike down the competition on their way to publishing glory.

They are all experts. They all know more than you know. Anything you can write, they can write better. Yet, ironically, you won't find very many bestselling authors in this dugout. In fact, you won't find any. But that never stopped anyone from offering advice on how to "make it." It is not lost on you that even your teacher has not made it. He's teaching an adult ed creative writing class on Tuesday nights at a community college, for crying out loud!

The "sharing" portion of the class is just that, but not in the way you'd expect. You stretch your writing muscles, you flex your pen and then you share your work. While you're cooling down and replenishing your fluids, your fellow classmates emerge from their corners to share their "opinions" of what you've written. And you know what is said about opinions.

No, there is no home stretch. There is no victory lap. There is only endless training, some sparring and a few bruises.

You will not have truly made it until you never step foot in that arena again.

the thrill of victory,

the agony of defeat

to the victor, the writing marathon

or the arena's battle with the foes

goes the classic spoil,

publishing of the author's works

with all the world to share

hurdles formidable to jump

who will cross the finish line,

akin the writing athlete's 583,000 novel words?

leo tolstoy's war and peace,

j. r. tolkien, et als, writer runner athletes of the mind

for the written works of art to the cheering crowds

the poem, the prose, the story, genres no limit

whatever literary piece

the athlete's endurance is required

measured marked, degree of strength to endure

stamina's training endure and not faint

long nights of introspection's reflection

days of burning passion

traversing plains, hills and rivers, oceans feelings,

through valleys dark, deserts dry

of writer's block, or cramp

not succumb, nor be weary

athlete scribe of the pen

sleepless nights in running search of elusive epiphany

yet unfazed, unnerved to serve, fulfill

the burning need and crave

to form coherent means convey

through the paths and tracks of the course,

though obstacles in the way, unphased

isolation from fellow humanity,

running writing tireless

search for lost, obscure, fragmented meanings

translated terms, terms concise, precise

that fit just right for a perfect stride

words redundancy avoid, run the course

the narrow way, words that flow

take writer's pace to the finish lines

gasp for air in moments of ecstasy

in pursuit of passion's need to run the write

if the ink runs dry, relief awaits in the course

quench your thirst writer's run

it will yield another route

writer's run remains in the race

runs with the power of the pen

stays in the game running with the words

wrestles, fears not combat with the foes that would thwart

impedance threat athletes attempts to form

thoughts invisible into the visible for the spectators worthy

athlete writer harness, subdue as you run,

your thoughts into words, plot their course

in your strides to fly above the sundry barren frames of existence

pass the torch of their meaning, dreams and expectations

pass the torch of writing's sport

to catch the fire, share the sparks

and blaze with light the reader's mind

the author is the athlete poet in the arena of olympiads

runs the race from dawn to dusk

never weary in the sprint, to the full length's marathon

long distance strides to catch the sun

and pen it down

before it slips into the dawn

sprints to paint the story

write it down

share it with the hungry arena

the writer athlete does mourn:

"unless i run my heart does burst,

i cannot stop this race to write

my lungs fill with emotion's dread

to write my feelings my thoughts to spread

my glistening sweat,

salty sweet on my breast

as birds of prey fly after me

to peck my eyes, rob my words

and scatter them in piles

along the track to alphabet confetti,

steal my mission and my goal

unless i run the write

down to my finish lines,

wreath of glory on my brow,

literary piece to the world give

for human deeds and feelings manifold inscribe"

another write, the author poet victor's run

pursue and fill the plot

fulfill the readers' thrill applause,

satisfy their yearning's crave

for wielding swords of words

in the arena of the match

across the finish line another write

another chapter line by line

another poem stride by stride

quench your thirst by swallowing words

the sprint and the gallop of the quest

to write the highest epiphany

leap across to join the ranks

of the classics, the writing athletes of the mind

to the sounds of readers' cheers, exalted or low

of written works spilled across

the track of need for the race to write

Frost once told me writing poetry without any meter is like playing tennis without a net. But can any art be regarded as a sport, or is that simply perverting, distorting, or corrupting it? If any conventionally known "sport" could be considered an art first and foremost, and a sport second, then so, too, a form of art such as writing could be considered a sport. But - what would constitute "winning?" Making more money? No. Having more readers? No. Writing more words? No. Who knows?

Batting a phrase right out of the ball park

taking ideas and swinging at them

striking the words that command “foul”

sitting in bull pen switch hitting for thoughts

hitting streak when writing flows out

inter-league play throwing ideas with others

late inning pressure to reach your deadline

leading off with winning sentence

extra innings on deck proof reading

night game no-hitter for ideations

“play ball” as writing is considered a sport.

If you

Don’t Know

Writing

Is

a Full

Contact

Sport

you Got

aLot

to Learn

Just Look

At

the Wrecks

aLong

the Road

the Price

you Pay

the Heavy

Toll

Mind racing, heart beating,

Traveling through the world of a million words

Stumble upon, trip on

What's not to like?

Sweating, screaming

Pouring out everything

A minimum, maximum

Have those letters fill a page

Finishlines, deadlines

Heart pounding, reaching

The end of the day

Rewards handed over,

The winners gloat, the losers mourn

As the race comes to a close.

Times have changed,

and no more does

does blood quell the

thirst of the masses.

Only controversy,

global drama.

Heralded by media

fueled by ratings.

The pen is the sword

and the slaughter

economic is

our blood sport now.

Step into the arena

with readied persona,

hire your writers,

and fight the shit fight.

yes, there are no

points, certainly.

Though winners

and losers, there are.

When a writer sits at their desks to tell a story or to write a poem, they must be prepared to work endlessly until they have created something powerful. This may require a few mere hours, or it could require days, weeks, months, or even years. During this time, writers bare their souls. They unleash their dreams, their fears, the essence of who they are. Storytelling requires sweat and blood. This sweat and blood leads to the formation of characters that are sometimes transformed into real beings by the readers. Therefore, writers are essentially creating life. They are penning the words that can cause cultural revolutions, that can push a shifting in societal norms, that can transport a person into a different world or into a different mindset.