Every player has their own way to improve. Some learn Dvoretsky's Endgame Manual back to front. Some search every opening under the sun for the magic bullet. Others swear by the bullet binge. I analyse my games and talk to myself about them on the internet. I don't claim mastery of the subject, but with 622 games and counting just on this blog I think I am qualified to offer some pointers on this vital craft.
I got into analysis very early in my chess life, inspired by Peter Lalic's diligent coverage of his best games on YouTube. But my idol has always been Botvinnik - the boy who started late and lacked the talent of his peers but always believed that, through superior drive and application, he would prevail - and he taught that you must analyse everything. If you can't apply a critical attitude then you will be wasting your time, and this applies to your opponents' play too. I can attest that not all of them will thank you for searching for spots on the sun, but it's important to learn that nobody is perfect.
I got into analysis very early in my chess life, inspired by Peter Lalic's diligent coverage of his best games on YouTube. But my idol has always been Botvinnik - the boy who started late and lacked the talent of his peers but always believed that, through superior drive and application, he would prevail - and he taught that you must analyse everything. If you can't apply a critical attitude then you will be wasting your time, and this applies to your opponents' play too. I can attest that not all of them will thank you for searching for spots on the sun, but it's important to learn that nobody is perfect.
In chess, nothing is accidental. Mistakes don't just happen, and your goal is to identify their cause, enabling you to explain the outcome of the game and what can be learned. 'Autobiographical' annotation is best of all because only you know your hopes and fears at the board. Analysis is a form of storytelling; I write hoping to explain my games to players of all strengths, which stops me glossing over that which seems banal. Unfortunately it seems to make me most effective annotating processional victories.
Two key elements of a game are often overlooked. Firstly, the 33rd piece: even if you don't suffer time trouble, record clock times after every move. It is essential context and reveals where your time goes. For instance, I dither over committal moves, whereas KJCA's regular top board knows that falling behind on the clock against titled opposition is equivalent to resignation for him. Secondly, even absurd draw offers can be psychological flashpoints, and they must be noted. (I actually punctuate some.) The Laws of Chess do require you to record them on your scoresheet...
The place of engines is a controversial issue. Hardliners forbid them completely, but personally I lack the necessary self-discipline. Besides, I think the benefits are decisive - they see tactics quicker and better than I ever will, aren't constrained by pattern recognition and provide a second opinion to challenge my assumptions. That said, the engine is a useful servant but a terrible master. Never forget that it can be wrong! Its stranger ideas will offend your intuition, and when this happens you should delve deeper - you'll be surprised how often you can refute them. (See my game against Duncan Kerr last month for some recent examples.) Even objectively correct evaluations can't account for practical chances in a human game, so you need your judgement. Computer variations can be used if they are helpful or interesting - but humans evaluate in prose, not to two decimal places. If you are struggling to grasp a silicon idea, then 'threat mode' (toggled with the x key in ChessBase) is a nifty tool which makes the engine analyse with the other side to move.
My way of working - not gospel truth! - is to first note any ideas or variations from the time which seem important. Since I'm unduly suspicious of my intuition I pay special attention to moves I wanted to play but didn't. Only here do I switch the engine on, looking for mistakes or anything interesting I didn't consider. Then I write the story, that is, explain the course of the game and what happened at the critical moment(s). Putting the game online is a final opportunity to summarise the lessons.
I fully expect to convince precisely no-one with this post, but I feel strongly it's one I should write. Yes, the time commitment is substantial. So are the benefits. Analysing your games instils a critical attitude, directs further study, covers all areas of chess and - if you play regularly - keeps you always ticking over. As Aagaard wrote in Excelling at Chess Calculation, "while you can only calculate the ideas you see, you will find it easier to see ideas if you know and understand a lot of chess. And the easiest way to acquire this knowledge and understanding is to analyse something yourself."
That brings the second series of 'improvement for all' to a close. I've covered my spectrum of styles, the coach/student relationship, a thematic guide to the Najdorf and how to analyse a game, which seems like a good haul to me. Now it is time for me to go quiet for a while, but I'm sure I will come back from the British Championship with plenty more to talk about - for good or ill.
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