First up, I noted this amazing graf in Gary Smith’s fantastic Sports Illustrated article on Bonnie Richardson, a high school athlete who twice won the Texas state track and field championship… by herself. In this paragraph, Smith is talking about how Richardson’s mother worked hard to help her daughter, but also gave her room to be herself. In about 200 words, we get a rich, narrative glimpse of Bonnie’s growth from toddler to high school phenom:

Yep, lucky Bonnie, because OmniMom let her be who she was: the four-year-old girl shooting a Remington at prickly pear cactus with Dad. The five-year-old climbing on a bucket to mount Snip and trot off with Dad to run the ranch. The seven-year-old scaling bluffs and building forts and diving into Onion Creek till the horn from Dad’s pickup called her to dinner. The eight-year-old rising at 4 a.m. to spend all day separating the cattle for weighing and shipping, and swallowing so much dust that she’d spit brown till tomorrow. The 10-year-old sobbing when the family moved from the 12,000-acre ranch where Dad worked to an 85-acre homestead that the Richardsons could call their own. The 12-year-old praying out loud with Lee when monster hailstones drummed their sports banquet and tornado sirens screamed—”Please, Lord, don’t let them find my dead body in a dress!” The 17-year-old in bulky camouflage shorts, pockets bulging with snacks and energy bars, who’d gone to school with the same six boys for so many years that she’d decided to defer romance till college and focus meanwhile on clamping them in headlocks in the hallways and flattening their right arms on the school’s picnic table during lunchtime arm wrestling.

In that one paragraph, Smith packs eight scenes; a narrative slide-show, rich with evocative details (brown spit; five-year-old Bonnie climbing on a bucket; camouflage shorts loaded with energy bars) that show us a lot about Richardson.

Great stuff. Read the rest here.

For more, also check out:

• Nieman Storyboard: Gary Smith interview on “The Power of One” from Sports Illustrated
• Nieman Storyboard: Gary Smith on intimacy and connecting with subjects

Check out the ESPN.com story on Kobe’s film study, or watch clip below:

Here’s a 12-time NBA All-Star, a league MVP, and a five-time champion, with as much skill and talent as any player in his sport, and yet he still spends hours at home, studying game film from decades ago, watching, learning, borrowing techniques from other great players. His drive to improve pushes him to continually hunt down techniques and approaches that will make him better. And he’s not afraid to admit that he’s borrowing and stealing moves from other great players, dead and alive.

“There isn’t a move that’s a new move; there’s nothing that hasn’t been done before,” he said. “I’ve stolen all these moves from these great players.”

Watching this got me thinking about the craft of writing. The romantic notion of a “writer” suggests the image of some inspired, brilliant scribe, composing prose from some deep well of brilliance in his heart.

The reality, for most of us, is less magical: it’s about drafting sentences and paragraphs, organizing and structuring paragraphs, and tying together themes and ideas. It’s creative, but it’s also about craft and technique. Which is why Kobe Bryant has something to teach us.

One of the ideas my instructors at Johns Hopkins hammer home is the value of “reading like a writer” — looking at good writing not just for information or enjoyment, but with an eye for how and why it works. It’s pretty much the same thing the Kobe does when he studies game film: he’s looking for moves and techniques he can borrow. Writers can benefit from the same approach.

When I read Joseph Mitchell, I marvel at how he describes small little scenes throughout his stories; vivid little moments that bring characters to life. Rereading Bill Bryson, I note how his stories are peppered with small, concrete details that ground his narrative. Looking at Adrian Nicole Blank’s masterful Random Family, you can see how she uses powerful or dramatic quotes to close out a scene or a chapter. Malcolm Gladwell’s writing is often about big ideas and complex concepts, but what often gives his articles vitality is the way he slows down to describe the people he meets and interviews; they aren’t just quotes from faceless experts, they become characters that help tell his stories. Gay Talese’s profiles often find their insights not in big dramatic conflicts, but in small, telling moments he observes that reveal character, like how Frank Sinatra gets out of his car, or how an aging Joe DiMaggio’s hand shakes when he lights a woman’s cigarette.

Borrowing another writer’s words is plagiarism, but using their techniques is often a key to better writing. Like Kobe, we can learn a lot by looking closely at the work of great writers, studying their moves, and trying to steal as much as we can.

It’s been a busy, sleepless, wonderful few months with her, but it’s left little time for writing.

Hopefully that’s about to change soon… I expect to start resuming more regular writing here this month.

On their “biography” page, they tell their story, but entirely with the biographical narratives of others. It’s genius. Strictly speaking, this isn’t really about writing, but this is insanely creative storytelling that I can’t help but admire. Check it out:

Click here to view the embedded video.

I read it regularly and loved it, before it died a year after it sprang into existence. It was supposed to be the USA Today of sports, covering both national and local sports every day. It was loaded with some of the best sports writers of any era: Frank Deford, Scott Ostler, and Dave Kindred.

At the time the National was on newsstands, I was a Lakers fan living in Chicago. Back then, if you wanted to follow another team other than the local teams, you had no real options. This was before the Internet. But I fondly remember sitting at lunch, reading the National for daily, in-depth coverage of my hometown Lakers from 2000 miles away, an idea that was revolutionary at the time.

Not only did The National precede the Web, it nearly preceded the desktop publishing revolution, so, as Shaw details in his story, the technological challenges they were trying to overcome in 1990 were daunting. Ultimately, it was a bold, journalistic idea with a bad business plan. But it was great while it lasted…

Check out the full, entertaining article here.

Interesting discussion of some of the arguments and bad logic about freelancers who sell themselves shows and work for pennies. She does an effective demolition of many arguments many freelancers (myself included) use when publishing work for cheap, or nothing. One pretty biting line:

Take my word for it — no editor of a market with decent rates is going to take a clip from a content mill seriously. There are no barriers to entry — practically anyone can post their writing — and even if you write a stellar article (which I’m sure you will), it will be surrounded by lazy reporting, bad writing, and unprofessional presentation.

Her argument resonates with me, especially since I’ve recently cut back my efforts writing for examiner.com. It can be fun and make a little money, but ultimately, the hourly rate for the work is close to nothing, and the upside of exposure is very limited. I’ve done some work there that I’m proud of, but over time, it’s not the most productive venue to write.

Time and effort is better spend pitching bigger markets.

Point taken, Linda: aim higher.

It includes some interest background on the early days and his rise to becoming a model of a new breed of columnist that broke a lot of the conventional rules of the news business:

At the time, Mr. Simmons was 28, making $50 a week as a contributor to America Online’s Digital City Boston, he recalled in a recent interview. “My goal was to make the welcome screen,” he said.

Barely a decade later, he has proved that prediction true: He is the Sports Guy on ESPN.com, where his column has an estimated 1.4 million page views a month; his weekly podcasts have been downloaded 21 million times this year via iTunes; and his new book, at 700-plus pages, “The Book of Basketball,” reached No. 1 on The New York Times nonfiction best-seller list last week.

That Mr. Simmons is perhaps America’s most famous sports columnist, with a salary said to put him among a tiny elite of sports commentators, is a tribute to his undeniable work ethic and fascination with his subjects: sports, popular culture, lists, himself, basketball, his friends and family, and his readers.

Perhaps most interesting was how his early struggles to make a career as a writer pushed him to the web:

“I tried to break in conventionally — but it didn’t matter how good you were, you had to wait 10 to 12 years to get a column,” he said in an interview. He wrote for a while and even spent a year bartending before giving the Internet a shot. “The Web site was a way to get out all the frustration of not having a column.”

Over the years, the Internet has prevailed over print — in July he stopped writing his column in ESPN’s magazine. “I got bored with the space of it,” he said, “of having to write 1,200 words, and with a deadline six days in advance. It is impossible to write a great sports column six days in advance.”

Simmons’ approach and style reflect his roots on the web. His stories are punchy, timely, light, and filled with pop culture references and hyperlinks. When he wants to, he writes long: his columns can run anywhere from eight to 20 pages, depending on his whim. He devotes columns to “mailbag” question and answers from readers. His podcast (“The B.S Report”) rivals his column for popularity. He tweets a lot.

But it’s not just a matter of using the right tools and and media. It’s also clear that Simmons has a passion and love for his work. I think this makes a difference. When you read his column or listen to his show, it’s evident that he’s having fun.

Simmons uses the full range of modern media to build a community of readers and listeners. He’s a good example of a modern approach to journalism and writing that breaks many of the established “rules.” He shows that the newspaper business may be shrinking, but the market for good, smart writing remains strong.

Check out the rest of the NY Times profile here.

Anyway, the key storyline was about different people and cultures coming together to celebrate a successful harvest. So that’s the original mythological narrative, the basis for the national holiday.

The second narrative is the modern notion of Thanksgiving, what I’d call the “Rockwell Narrative”: the idealized version of the modern American Thanksgiving dinner: a big happy family, together around a perfectly-set table, smiling as they prepare to devour a massive roast turkey. Gone is the original idea of different cultures and groups coming together; Rockwell’s Thanksgiving is private.

This iconic 1943 image provides the idea of Thanksgiving that advertisers, greeting card companies, and supermarkets want us to try and recreate (with their help). The narrative of the modern Thanksgiving is the celebration of family and abundance.

Growing up, this tidy, white-tablecloth vision of Thanksgiving drove a lot of frenzied preparations in our house: carefully aligning placesettings, using silver utensils, dusting off the China gravy boat, rushing out to various supermarkets, hunting for the “right” rolls to serve in a big, napkin-lined basket. When I’d elbow my way through the crowds at on Thanksgiving morning at Ralphs and Vons, I was one of countless Americans caught up in the annual, frenzied push to recreate Rockwell’s idea of the perfect family meal.

Today, Thanksgiving seems to have evolved to a more indivialized storyline. For many, it’s about “homecoming,” braving the airports, the Interstates, or turnpikes to make it back home for a holiday. For some, the Thanksgiving story is about eating, watching football, and drifting into comatose state. For others, it’s about a less glamorized idea of family: hoping to simply get along and avoid conflict (countless movies and sit-coms dramatize this side of the holiday).

Earlier this year, I wrote about the Passover narrative, and how my take on it has shifted over the years. Thanksgiving shares a lot with Passover: appreciation for one’s history, gratitude for collective good fortune, and a very big meal.

Compared to the mega-commercialization of Christmas, Thanksgiving still seems relatively unspoiled. The basic narrative remains intact: once a year, we try to slow down and celebrate our good fortune with others.

Considering all the other messages we get in our culture, that’s not a bad story to tell.

The story talks about why so few men take paternity leave, even those who work for companies that will give them paid time off. It also touches on my own experience taking six weeks off from work last year with my (then) five-month-old daughter Isabella. Check it out.

His most recent New Yorker article, “Offensive Play” asks the question “how different are dogfighting and football.” The piece is alarming, fascinating, and effective. It doesn’t just try to provoke the reader with a provocative comparison for the take of being sensationalistic: Gladwell reveals that football, at almost every level, is much more brutal and damaging than most of us fans would like to realize. He doesn’t just make an argument: he tells stories, and builds a case, piece by piece.  Gladwell would have made a fine prosecutor.

Tim Wendel,  one of my mentors at Johns Hopkins, once advised us that when we see an article that blows us away, we should go back and rip the story apart, dissecting it to see how the author put it together and why it works so well.  Wendel described how earlier in his career, he literally cut up good nonfiction magazine stories into chunks of paper and spread those snippets out on a table to study how it all fit together.

So let me briefly do my dissection of “Offensive Play” here.  First here’s a brief outline of the piece:

• Scene: former NFL player Kyle Turley melts down at a bar
• Description and background on Turley
• Turley’s experience isn’t an anomaly: background and description of other NFL players who suffered from similar mental and physical problems after their careers
• Quotes and more first-hand stories from Turley
• Shift to background and summary of Michael Vick dogfighting trial and sentencing, followed by his recent reinstatement into the league
• Background on dogfighting
• Detailed, graphic description of a dog fight
• Transition: back from dogfighting to football: what is a “morally acceptable” sport?
• Shifts to medical research on dementia & Alzheimer’s; physical indications of neurological problems caused by head trauma
• Introduces researcher who found connections between ex-boxers and ex-football players and brain injuries
• Introduces second researcher who further found links between football players and high frequencies of neurological disorders; symptoms described echo those of Turley in the opening scene
• Description of how findings of symptoms match Turley’s breakdown
• Description of second researcher & her office.  Would she advise her own son to play in the NFL?  She’d tell him no, “Not if you want to have a life after football.”
• Transition: moving from research of sports injury risks and how other sports handle them. Is the injury risk inherent to the sport, like dogfighting, or can it be reduced?
• Example of how NASCAR improve safety after death of Dale Earnhardt
• Background, history on football and long-standing concerns about injury risks
• Examination of football injury research at UNC; how researchers determine that a routine tackle or a block can be the physical equivalent of being in a car accident
• Key take-away from UNC research: it’s not just one or two big hits that damage players; it’s the cumulative effect of countless “little” hits as well
• Also: Helmets can only help so much:  players today are too big, too fast
• Transition:  back to Vick’s surviving dogs; how the most prized dogs were bred & trained for “gameness” and willingness to fight
• Transition: linking the “gameness” of dogs to the “gameness” of NFL players;  back to Turley and the pressure to play “all out” despite injuries; anecdotes from final, painful days of his career
• Transition: Ira Casson, chair of an NFL committee on brain injuries, and the limits of what can be done
• Closing thought that the sport won’t be changed or eliminated any time soon, as so many fans love the sport, in spite of what it does to the players
• Echoes his closing thought with a quote from a book on dogfighting that describes the passion of the spectators

The story is just short of 8000 words, but it’s a fast, gripping read.  Why does it work?

First, reporting matters. Gladwell doesn’t just sit at his laptop and argue against the brutality of football and warn that it does lasting damage to players.  Above all else, the story is reported well.  He talks to three medical and science experts, two former football players, a trainer who is trying to rehabilitate Vick’s former dogs, and an expert on the business of NFL football.  He also digs into the history of football, the nature of dog fighting, NASCAR safety issues, and the Michael Vick case.  He can quote both what the NFL commissioner said about Vick and what Teddy Roosevelt said about the sport in 1905.  In short, Gladwell dug through old documents, talked to people, and asked a lot of questions to collect the raw materials for his story.

Second, scenes move the story.  The piece is loaded with science, research data, and historical information, but scenes drive the narrative.  By my count, there are at least twelve scenes in the story, moments that he vividly recreates for the reader.

Third, characters count.  Gladwell doesn’t merely quote the people he interviews; he shows them. The reader gets a vivid idea of what Turley looks and sounds like.  We see researcher McKee’s office, which includes a statuette of Brett Favre on a shelf.  We don’t just hear about Vick’s dogs; Gladwell shows them playing with a trainer in Utah.  All of this humanizes and deepens the story.  The human characters put a face on the scientific, medical side of the story: he uses Turley’s experience as bookends to the piece.

Finally, he shows more than he tells.  Gladwell doesn’t rail against football or dogfighting; rather, he lays out the evidence and the connections and largely lets them speak for themselves.  He closes with the disturbing idea that we hate dogfighting because of the suffering and harm it does to the dogs, but love football, despite the apparent long-term suffering it inflicts on many of its players.  He paints the connections that he discovers, but doesn’t overstep his role and hammer those findings into his audience.

Gladwell leaves the readers in a troubling spot: he doesn’t provide any real solution to the problem, but nonetheless makes the compelling case that the sport is possibly every bit as cruel and harmful as dog fighting.  He shows that the reader complicit in the problem, then leaves them on their own to decide what should happen next.