21 ACROSS
A personal essay
SEPTEMBER 26, 2023
My quest to find an enjoyable hobby began in the first grade when my parents signed me up for after-school soccer. At the ripe young age of seven, I hadn’t yet developed interests or skills or a general ability to discern between the activities I liked and didn’t like. To remedy this shortcoming, my family and I agreed to enroll me in whatever generic sport was located closest to our suburban San Diego home and pray that it would stick.
It didn’t take long for me to realize athleticism was not my strong suit. Before my first soccer practice, I’d spent the day watching the Magic School Bus, and I had more interest in pretending that I myself was a part of the television show than memorizing soccer’s seemingly arbitrary rules. During games, I would emulate Mrs. Frizzle herself; as I approached the soccer ball, I’d yell her classic phrases like “seatbelts everyone!” or “okay bus, do your stuff!” and then kick the ball in whatever direction my little heart desired.
Needless to say, my coaches weren’t fond of these antics. They soon moved me to the position of goalie, but my new role did little to conceal my lack of athletic ability. Whenever the ball was on the other end of the field during matches, I’d simply sit down. With my legs crossed, I didn’t bother standing up until the opposing players got close enough to the goal for them to actually shoot. In my defense, I was correct in my assumption that the other puny first graders were not, in fact, strong enough to score on me from the other end of the field, but I don’t think this was a very compelling argument to my coaches.
In an attempt to motivate me, my parents promised to take me to Borders Bookstore (a now-forgotten relic of 2008 America) and buy me a book of my choosing if I stayed standing for the entire game. It was at that moment when we realized that my passions more likely lie with the written word than on the athletic field.
As long as I can remember, I’ve enjoyed writing. When I was nine years old, I set out to write a book titled “My Life as a Chicken,” a piece of narrative fiction inspired by a 60 Minutes segment I’d seen on chicken farming. I remember writing pages upon pages of this book over the span of a few hours. I ended the day feeling smugly proud of all that I’d accomplished. Recently, I decided to revisit this writing, and to my surprise, my novel was not the masterpiece I remembered it to be. The book begins with “Chapter 1: That Date”:
“Ahhhh. I remember that date, December 31 2000. That’s the day I started my journey. Oh I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Winston. Winston the Chicken.”
It is not the most compelling prose, but I suppose everyone must start somewhere. In the following fifteen pages — which I assumed was the average length of a novel at the time — Winston can be seen in chapters like “Chapter 2: Hatching Up Trouble” and “Chapter 3: A Japan Adventure.”
Now in my twenties, my fascination with the written word has evolved into an obsession with the New York Times mini crossword. Produced by crossword creator (crosswordist?) Joel Fagliano, the mini is a 5x5 crossword published daily since August 21, 2014. I fell down the mini rabbit hole last summer and ended up solving each of the 3,300+ puzzles. Occasionally, I’ll mention that I’ve solved every New York Times mini crossword to people. They often respond like this fact is impressive, but it’s really just a sign I was unemployed. The fastest I’ve ever solved a mini crossword was when I did the February 14, 2017 puzzle. I’m sure plenty of happy couples celebrated a lovely Valentine’s Day in 2017, but that day will forever live in infamy as the day I solved the mini in eight seconds.
I now use the mini crossword as a personal predictor for how my day will go, an astrology of sorts. If I can solve the day’s mini in under 25 seconds, it’s a sign from God himself that I will bring fortune and good luck to everyone I meet. If the puzzle takes me longer than 40 seconds, God has put a curse on my family name, and it’s best to not leave the house that day.
Recently, I started making my own mini crosswords. After a few months of practice and many unsalvageable puzzles, my crosswords are now published weekly in StudLife, WashU’s student newspaper. I once heard a crossword creator (crosswordian?) assert that a good crossword makes the solver feel smart. I love this philosophy, and I try to incorporate it into my puzzles. My mini is also a good outlet for me to bug people about whatever art or pop culture I’m interested in that week, be it David Bowie or Wes Anderson or Arrested Development.
Creating a mini crossword is deceptively simple, so other people are often convinced that they themselves would be brilliant crossword creators (crossworders?) if they ever actually sat down and tried. On a few occasions, people have found a scrap of paper and started making one in front of me, charging boldly ahead with an overconfidence akin to the Titanic’s captain on its maiden voyage. They’ll perk up when their first few words fit together nicely, acting like they’re an intrepid explorer who just discovered new land. But, as they add more and more words and begin to realize all the little incompatibilities, they will cope in one of three ways:
1. They change the dimensions of the crossword (“Why does a mini crossword have to be a five-by-five grid? Can’t it be an elegant seven-by-three?”)
2. They will start insisting words that are not words are words (“I’m certain AFBAC is a word; I heard someone use it last week. I think it’s an acronym.”)
3. They give up.
While it’s often entertaining to see peoples’ hubris clash with reality like they’re Icarus taking flight, I can’t help but think of all the times I’ve reacted to my puzzles in the same way. Perhaps someday this stress will cause me to grow tired of making crosswords. Maybe I’ll give up the hobby entirely and move on to writing haikus on an uncharted mountain. Until then, I’m proud to be a crossword creator (cruciverbalist, apparently), and I wish I could reach through time and tell my seven-year-old self that my quest to find an enjoyable hobby has reaped great rewards.