Scene: You’re at a circus/carnival, surrounded by circus/carnival sights and sounds. The laughter of children, the rattle of the roller coaster, the ding ding ding of someone stronger than you winning that hammer game, disorienting flashing lights, crowds, and… what’s that? A red nose? Rudolph? No, worse, it’s a clown.
You’d forgotten how terrifying the circus/carnival could be when you started this blog post. This all seems so horribly thought out at this point. You plug your ears and fix your focus on the next thing you see. A juggler (who so fortunately happens to not be a clown). You’re mesmerized by his ball tossing skills. How does he do that? You forget all about the clown creeping up behind you. “You’ll float too,” is the last thing you hear.
But who among us hasn’t wanted to juggle at some point or another? To take home something useful from that circus/carnival. Something that doesn’t take up a fourth of a bedroom because it’s a ten foot tall stuffed monkey. Namely, the skill of juggling. And skills take up very little space.
I’m here to tell you that developing this skill is not only justified, but to your benefit as a writer (or your benefit as a whatever you do-er).
- Juggling makes you smarter (and you need to be smarter).
- Improves focus and concentration (and you—SQUIRREL!)
- Stress relief (everyone knows a writer writes with a pen in one hand and a noose in the other).
- Coordination (writing is a sport).
- Exercise (it’s more workout than you’re getting now).
- Nobody likes you (we’ll elaborate momentarily).
A smarter, more focused, more concentrated you…
Studies show that juggling makes you all of these things (and more).
Disclaimer: These studies were conducted by me, with a pool noodle, in my backyard. How is that relevant, you ask? How is it not? The way I see it, my study is every bit as unbiased as those fancy ones done by people with money and degrees.
Also, there are real studies to support these claims but I’m not Google, so google it yo’ damned self. (Google likes when I say Google. Helps my SEO.)
A less stressed you…
“All work and no play makes (you) a dull (insert gender).”
We’re all jugglers in a way. Juggling the demands of life. We write (or whatever), blog (that’s just more writing), children (whether it’s people children or cat children, you fraud), stave off existential dread with copious amounts of Netflix and food, run errands, shoot the breeze with the mailman…
Life is like juggling chainsaws. Stress Central Station. CHOO CHOO! All aboard the stress train! (Was this metaphor about chainsaws or trains?)
Ironically enough, juggling balls will help with the demands of juggling life.
There are studies on this as well (both official and my own, wherein I drop a bowling ball and a feather off the roof simultaneously and scratch my head in perplexion when the feather hits the ground first).
Juggling is like meditation, but with balls whipping around your head. So drop that noose and grab some balls.
A less not coordinated you…
No need to hide what we all know. You’re only a writer (or whatever you do-er, I’m trying to appeal to a wide audience) because you got picked last at dodge ball.
Well, write! Write those neanderthal dodge ball bullies into oblivion, immortalizing them in compromising positions throughout your fiction. Write like the wind!
Learning to juggle will help you write like the wind. Studies show a 7000% increase in typing speed in those who take up juggling.
A less not exercised you…
Just look at yourself. I bet you’re sitting in a chair, aren’t you? Disgusting. And you’re posture, terrible. Shoulders slouched and what not!
“The writer’s curse,” you say.
“Pure and utter laziness,” I say.
Studies show that getting out of that chair every once in a while helps tremendously. And what the hell else are you going to do while out of that chair but juggle? Studies show that you don’t have anything else that needs doing.
A more likeable you…
You’re surly and you smell because writing leaves no time for showering. And you constantly kill fictional people (objectively better than real people, which is why your real murders fall by the wayside).
Do you think people like George R.R. Martin at parties? Hell to the no! And he sure as shit doesn’t get invited to weddings.
But juggling can fix you.
So next time you’re at a party, don’t talk about your book. Remember! People don’t like you! Change their minds. Whip out your balls and start juggling.
You’ll be the life of the party.
A more authentic you…
Let’s wrap up with a bonus point.
How are you supposed to write a character who juggles if you can’t juggle yourself? It’ll come across as unauthentic and lame.
We, as writers, go to great lengths for authenticity. We murder anything that crosses our paths, concoct exotic and untraceable poisons, experiment with drugs, and have unprotected sex with homeless people and aliens.
So take the leap. Don’t write juggling if you don’t juggle. Do what’s necessary to boost your writing from unauthentic and lame to just lame.
Juggling shouldn’t be an afterthought as a writer, but your primary focus. But how do you get started? Well, I bought these three fellows at the Dollar Tree to help me out.
I’m starting with two balls because it’s more familiar. If you don’t have experience handling balls, I suggest starting with one. But as you can see, once I’m ready, I’ve got good ole ball number three waiting in the wings.
Now get to it!
TL;DR: This post is highly informative, but your takeaway should be that I’m taking up juggling as a means of productive procrastination. I’ll keep you updated on my progress.