Hay una pregunta que se repite en talleres y foros de escritura:
“¿Qué es más fácil de escribir, una escena de acción o una escena subida de tono?”
A primera vista parece un juego de preferencias, pero detrás se esconde una verdad incómoda: ambas son espejos de lo que el autor domina —o teme— de sí mismo.
Lo que ambas revelan: Acción y erotismo comparten un secreto técnico: ninguna funciona sin ritmo y propósito dramático. La acción vacía es pirotecnia. El sexo sin transformación es ornamento. En ambas, el riesgo es el mismo: confundir lo externo con lo esencial. Una escena impactante no se mide por el movimiento o el gemido, sino por lo que cambia en el personaje cuando todo termina. Una persecución solo sirve si acelera el conflicto interno. Una caricia solo importa si abre una grieta emocional. Ahí está la diferencia entre escribir para entretener y escribir para trascender.
La trampa de la acción: La escena de acción, cuando se escribe sin control, se convierte en una coreografía confusa. Verbos, armas, persecuciones, cuerpos que vuelan. Pero si se le quita el pulso, se vuelve mecánica. Una buena escena de acción no depende de la cantidad de movimientos, sino del ritmo interno del personaje. La bala no interesa por la trayectoria, sino por lo que provoca antes de impactar. Cuando el autor entiende eso, descubre que escribir acción no es un acto físico, sino emocional: una danza entre velocidad y silencio. El lector no sigue al héroe corriendo; sigue su miedo. El ritmo narrativo se sostiene en la respiración del personaje, no en la descripción del escenario.
La fragilidad del deseo: Y luego está la otra cara: el erotismo. El lugar donde no se narra el movimiento, sino la entrega. Una escena subida de tono no se escribe con valentía, sino con vulnerabilidad. El cuerpo puede mentir en combate, pero no cuando desea. Por eso tantas escenas eróticas fracasan: se escriben desde la imitación, no desde la experiencia sensorial. Se repiten frases de catálogo, posturas literarias, sin entender que el erotismo no solo ocurre entre los cuerpos, sino entre las conciencias. El lector no busca una descripción; busca reconocerse. Quiere sentir el temblor del deseo ajeno como si fuera propio. Y, cuando el autor no se atreve a sentir, el texto se enfría, pero cuando se atreve a sentir y contener, surge la alquimia: el equilibrio entre pudor y exposición, entre respiración y palabra.
“La enseñanza oculta”
Josh Waitzkin was a chess prodigy as a child and won multiple U.S. Junior Championships before the age of 10. Along the way, Waitzkin and his father had the opportunity to connect with Garry Kasparov and discuss chess strategy with him. In particular, they learned how Kasparov dealt with remarkably difficult matches like the one he faced against Karpov in the 1990 World Chess Championship.
Waitzkin shares the story in his book, The Art of Learning (audiobook).
Kasparov was a fiercely aggressive chess player who thrived on energy and confidence. My father wrote a book called Mortal Games about Garry, and during the years surrounding the 1990 Kasparov-Karpov match, we both spent quite a lot of time with him.
At one point, after Kasparov had lost a big game and was feeling dark and fragile, my father asked Garry how he would handle his lack of confidence in the next game. Garry responded that he would try to play the chess moves that he would have played if he were feeling confident. He would pretend to feel confident, and hopefully trigger the state.
Kasparov was an intimidator over the board. Everyone in the chess world was afraid of Garry and he fed on that reality. If Garry bristled at the chessboard, opponents would wither. So if Garry was feeling bad, but puffed up his chest, made aggressive moves, and appeared to be the manifestation of Confidence itself, then opponents would become unsettled. Step by step, Garry would feed off his own chess moves, off the created position, and off his opponent’s building fear, until soon enough the confidence would become real and Garry would be in flow…
He was not being artificial. Garry was triggering his zone by playing Kasparov chess.
—Josh Waitzkin, The Art of Learning
When the second half of the World Chess Championship began in Lyon, France, Kasparov forced himself to play aggressive. He took the lead by winning the 16th game. With his confidence building, he rattled off decisive wins in the 18th and 20th games as well. When it was all said and done, Kasparov lost only two of the final 12 games and retained his title as World Chess Champion.
He would continue to hold the title for another 10 years.
“Fake It Until You Become It”
It can be easy to view performance as a one-way street. We often hear about a physically gifted athlete who underperforms on the field or a smart student who flounders in the classroom. The typical narrative about underachievers is that if they could just “get their head right” and develop the correct “mental attitude” then they would perform at the top of their game.
There is no doubt that your mindset and your performance are connected in some way. But this connection works both ways. A confident and positive mindset can be both the cause of your actions and the result of them. The link between physical performance and mental attitude is a two-way street.
Confidence is often the result of displaying your ability. This is why Garry Kasparov’s method of playing as if he felt confident could lead to actual confidence. Kasparov was letting his actions inspire his beliefs.
These aren’t just feel-good notions or fluffy self-help ideas. There is hard science proving the link between behavior and confidence. Amy Cuddy, a Harvard researcher who studies body language, has shown through her groundbreaking research that simply standing in more confident poses can increase confidence and decrease anxiety.
Cuddy’s research subjects experienced actual biological changes in their hormone production including increased testosterone levels (which is linked to confidence) and decreased cortisol levels (which is linked to stress and anxiety). These findings go beyond the popular fake it until you make it philosophy. According to Cuddy, you can “fake it until you become it.”