Heartbreak and Heros: Lessons from the Olympics by Annette Dashofy

Like many of us, I’ve spent a lot of time the last two weeks watching the Winter Olympics. 

With apologies to the hockey fans out there, that is the one sport I just can’t get interested in. Everything is very fast, but nothing much happens. I even prefer to watch curling, where everything is very slow. I don’t understand it, but all the plotting and planning fascinates me. It reminds me of pool mingled with chess. And with a little shuffleboard thrown in. 

Of course, the highlights always surround the Olympians themselves. Some come in with high hopes and expectations only to fall apart on the ice. 

Others are merely there for the experience with no thoughts of a medal and then skate the program of their lives and end up with gold. 

All of this makes me think of writing (because, let’s face it, everything makes me think of writing.) 

The Olympics are a prime example of how an otherwise ordinary story can become a page-turner with the use of high stakes and emotional investment. 

Take figure skating, for example. To some, the event is little more than people gliding around inside an arena, jumping and spinning, accompanied by music. And that may be the basis of the story. But pay closer attention to the skaters. Their expressions range from excitement to anxiety to effervescent joy. Dig deeper and we uncover the story behind the story. The recent death of a family member. The parents who were also figure skaters and who provided a lifetime of support, culminating in this moment. The skater who is known for having performed his heart out on a broken foot. 

Suddenly, there’s meaning behind the expressions. There’s heart behind the routine. We’re now invested in the results. Those skaters carry our own dreams and hopes with them. 

Even the music and choreography can offer lessons to the observant writer. Some skaters’ programs appear to only use music as a backdrop to the jumps and spins. A few, those who truly draw a viewer in, seem to sink into the music and the ice, taking us deeper. They don’t just tell us a story. They bring us along on the journey. 

I think writing an impactful novel is much the same. I’ve read some that provide a good story, like a skater who’s a skillful jumper, but it’s not enough. If they don’t add emotion to their performance—or to their novel—I don’t feel invested. I’m not compelled to keep turning the page. But when a writer takes the reader deeper into the characters’ hearts, lets us feel the longing to succeed and the fear of disappointing loved ones, I want to follow that character through all their trials and tribulations. I desperately hope they triumph. I weep when they don’t. 

This depth of emotion that draws us in and makes us connect on a heartfelt level is also why some stories stick with us days, weeks, sometimes months after we finish the book. Just like Ilia Malinin’s sorrow following his long skate continues to haunt me. Just like Danny O’Shea’s smile brings a grin to my own face simply by thinking about it.

 

So, fellow Writers Who Kill and readers, have you been watching the Olympics? Have there been any stories from the games that touched you deeply? If so, why?