Toe in the Water

Dodgy

Dodgy

I love the British slang word, “dodgy.” It means “dubious,” “not to be trusted,” and “potentially dangerous,” but has an extra edge of deliberate flirting with nemesis about it. It is one of those words that I would describe as delicious in its richness.

An example of its use would be the fact that I have a dodgy relationship with writing. More specifically, I am uneasy when examining the mechanics of my own writing and do not think much about it as a result. When asked how I write, I can easily think back to the process and watch in my imagination as I churn the stuff out, but I never look too closely. I am guessing, rather than actually examining in detail.

It’s the golden goose thing, you see. When you have a goose that lays golden eggs, you don’t dissect it to see how it works. That would stop the flow of golden eggs, obviously. And it’s the same for me with writing. It seems to work without much effort so I dare not look too deeply or I might break the thing.

At the same time, I am well aware that to rely on whatever the process is, without understanding it, is also a dangerous tactic. It reminds me of a Paraguayan tennis player named Victor Pecci.

Active in the late seventies and early eighties, Pecci was not only remarkable for being the only Paraguayan tennis player I’ve ever heard of (didn’t even know if they played tennis in Paraguay), he was also amazing to watch. He was the most naturally gifted player I’ve seen, by several miles. An absolute joy to watch as he flowed about the court and made the most dazzling shots.

The problem was that his ability could only take him so far. His highest achievement was to reach the final of the French Open one year. He never won any of the big tournaments. For a few short years he was a regular at Wimbledon and then disappeared into anonymity.

What was lacking in Pecci was that he relied on his talent and wouldn’t put in the extra hard work to reach the very top. It’s a danger that threatens even the most talented, this temptation to lean heavily on your natural skill and skirt the sweat of training.

So I’m aware of what I call the Pecci factor. And I try hard to put in the work to get better at writing, and acknowledge my debt to WDC in supplying me with a stream of prompts to write to. Practice doesn’t make perfect, but it does improve.

What I won’t do, however, is attempt to dismantle the process to see how it works. I can tell you what seems to be happening when I write, but I’ll never attempt to dig deeper. That would be too dodgy.


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