Sound Your Barbaric Yawp
Tenacity Tale: On getting by with a little help from your friends
Tenacity Tales is HIBOU’s monthly celebration of the tiny tenacities in a writerly life. If you have a tenacity tale you’d like to share, comment below or send me your pitch at hibou@substack.com. To learn more about what we’re looking for, read the original Tenacity Tale here.
Every so often, this 57-second video of tenacity incarnate 1makes the rounds on social media.
I don’t know the story of the flesh-and-blood folks in this video. I’m not sure of the relationship between the man and the boy in this video, and really it doesn’t matter to me if they’re father and son or coach and (very young) player.
When I tracked this video down to share, I took it from an old post on a FIFA website, but I could have taken it from any number of places.
The video is a montage of a little boy trying to leap onto what looks something like an overturned laundry basket that’s a smidge more than half his height, which doesn’t look like much until I think that for my 5 foot 10 inch self this would be the equivalent of jumping three feet into the air and sticking the landing. In other words, no small feat, a fact made abundantly clear by the montage of this kid failing and failing and failing to stick the landing.
Not that this is a montage of failure—this is clearly a montage of effort. Because as often as the kid fails, the kid keeps getting back up and trying and trying and trying to stick that landing.
It’s almost as if that stool is a metaphor for shitty first drafts, huh?
As inspiring as the kid’s refusal to give up is, there are two other moments in the video I like even better.
There’s the triumph at the 45-second mark when the kid throws his hands into the air and lets loose what can only be described as the barbaric yawp of his small yet mighty can-do spirit.
It’s almost as if that yawp is a metaphor for the rush of finishing a writing project, right?
But my favorite moment comes at the 27-second mark. When the voice that has been yelling what I assume is encouragement—while I can understand the longing and striving and triumph on a soul level, the words are spoken in a language I don’t understand.
But at the 27-second mark a man steps into the frame to give this kid a quick pep talk. He kisses the boy’s forehead, pats his behind in that way sporty boys seem to find encouraging, slaps the platform, makes the kid clap his hand, shouts “OK!” then claps his hands himself before he leaves the kid to it.
And for seven seconds nothing happens.
The kid holds his arms back, stares down his platform nemesis, and—after seven long seconds—he throws his arms into the air, leaps, and sticks that landing.
As I watch the kid and the man share that mighty barbaric yawp, I can’t express in words how much I adore that the next leap after the pep talk was the one that succeeded.2
If the stool is a metaphor for shitty first drafts, and the barbaric yawp is a metaphor for reaching the end, then the pep talk that led that kid to dig deep and stick the landing is a metaphor for a supportive writing community.
I’ve written about the importance of writing community before—see “It Takes a Village”—but as we near the end of November when so many writers are pushing to wrap up their NaNoWriMo goals and I’m pushing to finish part one for my NaNoReviseMo goal,3 —I can’t help but be grateful for all the writers who’ve supported me like the man in the video supported that kid.4
This month I’m particularly grateful for:
Silent writing sessions on Zoom with Jenna Blum and Chuck Garabedian—There’s a flurry of texts before the Zoom room is opened for the day then we log in without turning on cameras or mics, and write knowing that at least two people are in the trenches with you on the other end of the digital line right this very moment. There’s occasional messaging in the chat—generally as someone signs off and quickly reports their progress—but mostly it’s quiet solidarity for at least a part of my writing day.
A writerly Slack community run by Crystal King over at —This community is year round, but in November there’s a NaNoWriMo channel added for all those who play along. The group is full of lovely writers, full stop, but it’s also quite lovely to be able to tap into a social network without falling down a social media rabbit hole.
And Sarah Tomlinson for decades of friendship writerly and otherwise—Sarah is the queen of pep talks (we call it talking each other off the ledge), she’s just launched
, a music-themed Substack she describes as a regular sonic Valentine, and I also just want an excuse to let the world know she’s kicking ass and taking names this week—Publisher’s Weekly had this to say about her debut novel, The Last Days of the Midnight Ramblers: “ Tomlinson ably parlays her knowledge of the ghostwriting trade into an entertaining tableau of rock and roll’s grit and glamour. Classic rock fans will find much to enjoy. ” I mean, why are you still here reading this tenacity tale when you could be pre-ordering your copy of this beautiful book??
So what about you? If you were pushing on a NaNoWriMo-inspired project this month, are you sounding your barbaric yawp or are you still in your try, try again loop. Spoiler alert: all the writers I know spend the majority of their time in the try-try-again loop, but at least we can keep each other company until we can yawp ourselves hoarse the next time one of us sticks a landing!
Originally this was imbedded, but it was removed, so I’m linking to it instead.
If you have a theory about how artful editing might be at play, I do NOT want to hear it.
I’m currently revising the last chapter in the opening section of my novel that has been giving me fits for months—when it’s done I plan to release a yawp of my own!
Though to be clear these writers have my back and not my backside.