When people gauge authors, they tend to discuss writing skills. “That guy is a great writer,” “That guy is a crappy writer.” So on and so on.
Truth is, when it comes to books—and certainly when it comes to biography—pure writing ability ranks about fourth on the importance list.
No. 1, without any question: Research skills.
In the course of completing Sweetness, I probably spent two years just digging and digging and digging into Walter Payton’s life—and six months writing. This isn’t just a matter of traveling to Mississippi and Chicago and talking to people. It’s the grind behind the grind: Standing alongside a copy machine for five … six … seven … eight days. Thumbing through yellowed, mildewed archives in the basement of some nowhere library in some nowhere town. Tracking down phone numbers that haven’t been called for years; researching people who, post-sports, vanished into the abyss. It’s a grind. An absolute grind.
And yet, it’s what I love most about writing books. When I was a young punk, coming up at The Tennessean, I knew nothing of reporting. I was sloppy and arrogant, and thought smooth sentences were enough. Well, they’re not.
I’ve been working on my new project for about two months—and I have yet to conduct an interview. It’s been all clip digging, day after day after day. Come midnight, I’m exhausted, and my hands are coated in newsprint.
I love it.
