I
went with my wife and two children on the cusp of 9 and 12, to Lake Placid, an
upstate ski town in New York best known for hosting the Winter Olympics in
1980, when the U.S. Hockey team upset the Soviet Union with a 4-3 victory.
“Do you believe in miracles?” said the television announcer. I wasn’t even a hockey fan back then, just as I turned 13, but I marveled at the underdog rising to victory.
“Do you believe in miracles?” said the television announcer. I wasn’t even a hockey fan back then, just as I turned 13, but I marveled at the underdog rising to victory.
My
kids ski. So does my wife. They also ice skate. I have mastered warm-weather sports like
biking, walking, baseball and just lounging on a beach. I just can’t relate to the idea of enjoying
being out in the freezing cold and then doing something that surely leaves me
flat on my ass or with a broken leg. But
they love it and I support them, so I tagged along and hung out in the town.
Lake
Placid has what I believe is the tallest mountain in the Northeast, Whiteface Mountain,
not that any of that means anything to me.
My highest point is walking up a few steps to get to the cozy lodge
we’re camping out in for four nights.
To
the town’s credit, they do play up themselves as an outdoor pleasure zone. You can do bobsled rides, rent a snowmobile,
go snow-shoeing, ice skate outdoors on a frozen lake, frolic in the snow, ski, snowboard, and go on a dog-sled ride.
They have spectator sports as well.
We watched ski-jumpers going high and far and we saw Stars on Ice, a
gathering of former Olympians doing an ice skating performance.
It
snowed while we were there, with temperatures mostly in the 20’s. It was quiet and peaceful. But every day was cloudy and overcast. I felt like I was at the bottom of a dirty
refrigerator.
Lake
Placid struggles to find a balance between highlighting its rich history of
housing both the 1932 and 1980 Olympics – and emphasizing the lively winter
sports fare available today. There is an
Olympic museum that pays homage to that history but The Olympic Center also
holds some U.S. and even world championships for some winter sports. I asked one of the caretakers if they’ll ever
get the Olympics back and he seemed certain it wouldn’t happen.
“The
Olympics are too big for us now,” he said.
Just
37 years ago this was the place to be and now he bemoans that the supersized
Olympics would find their facility offerings cramped and inconsequential. It’s amazing how things change, but I guess
it’s similar to athletes. One day you’re
at the top of your game and then the next minute you’re leaving the sport.
Our
windows for success can be small.
Standards change. Competition
copies each other. New players and
strategies develop. It’s hard to get to
the top and even harder to remain there.
Maybe
the book world is similar in that it’s hard to break through and be a
best-selling author. Even though we hear
of a number of authors hitting the best-seller lists over and over again, it
really is quite a rare feat, given the millions of authors penning books.
Lake
Placid can be – and is – a living, breathing place where sports of the winter
flourish. It also remains holy ground to
historians. When I went to Rome’s
Coliseum, and to Greece, and Barcelona, and Montreal, I too, felt the reaches
of Olympic history shouting at me. But
these are not burial grounds. They are monuments to human achievement that continue
to inspire and motivate athletes of all sizes, ages, and capabilities.
What
places serve such an inspiration to authors?
Is it the library or bookstore?
Is it being at a book exhibit in a museum or visiting the house of a
long-dead writer? What is most similar
to Lake Placid, where lots of writers can gather, reflect on history’s
successes and then focus attention to the practice of their craft? Where’s the writer’s church, White House, or
arena?
Writers
get inspiration from everything and everyone.
Writers live twice – first in the unfolding of events that they
participate in or witness; then, in the free release of their wild imagination
and analysis of the world around them.
Maybe they don’t need a special building, site, or gathering place to
feel connected to the past while pondering the future. A writer is a writer wherever he is always,
practicing his craft in the way he thinks even if he’s not in the act of
writing.
One
thing Lake Placid could improve on is its bookstore. There was just one in town -- and it failed to live up
to expectations. I figured an independent
bookstore in a town of skiiers with disposable income would fill its shelves
with lots of books of great variety.
Instead, the store felt empty and sparse. It needed to double its
offerings – and it had room to do so.
The
town has plenty of good restaurants.
It’s definitely doing well and as long as people value winter sports or
believe the Olympics mean something, Lake Placid should do well. Writers will still soar
high because there’s really a Lake Placid everywhere they go. Writers train
their whole lives for a shot at getting to a grand stage. They won’t have to jump off a mountain to gain
fame, but they do have to climb their own mental mountains to achieve.
All-New 2017 Book Marketing & PR Toolkit
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.