How Can I Get Good at That? (or You’re So Talented)

Welcome to a new feature on the WCWF website: recurring thoughts about writing. I’m happy to have been invited to be a regular contributor here, and if all goes as planned, you should see something new from me on the 4^th Wednesday of every month.

A bunch of years ago, I sold my first short story to a magazine. Of course I told all my writer and teacher friends (and random strangers at the coffee shop—I was exceptionally happy!), but something weird started happening after I’d sold several more pieces: someone would read a story of mine, or hear I’d sold another and say, “You’re so talented.”

It bugged me.

I think just about anyone who is good at something, who is also not an elementary school kid being patted on the back, flinches a little when told, “You’re so talented.”  Almost everyone who has become way better than average at any activity, whether it’s painting, playing the violin, running long distances, or writing, got there through a lot of applied effort.

“Talented,” in this context sounds like “You have a gift that was given to you.”  It’s possible the person you’re saying it to will feel you’ve demeaned their achievement rather than praising it, as if “talent” was a golden path, making the work easy.

If I broke down the ratio of talent to effort for the artists I know, it would be one part talent (or less) to nine parts continuous exertion (or more), so the visible iceberg tip of achievement balances on a submerged mass of time and persistence.

I’m not saying “talent” is a meaningless concept, but it can be overrated. Everyone has talent to a greater or lesser degree. Work at any activity for a while, and you will be better at it than the majority of people you meet.

The secret for many “talented” people is a great deal of the labor is fun, and most of the background work may have happened before the “talented” person even recognize it was “effort.”

For example, one of my best friends is a fine artist.  He’s 72 now, and he sells his art to large organizations who want public art installations.  When he sells a sculpture or painting, he gets a good-looking paycheck, but he also has to work a long time to produce the piece.  I’ve heard people tell him he’s “talented,” but he tells me that even when he was a little kid, he was sketching constantly.  He didn’t do it because he thought it would pay off by making him an artist later, or he’d be selling his work later in life.  He drew because he enjoyed the act of drawing.  He still sketches every day.  He likes the activity.

He can use coffee and brush to create an amazing portrait on a Starbucks napkin. It might take ten minutes to complete the image. If an admirer said, “You’re so talented.” My artist friend could reply, “Thank you. It took me a lifetime to paint this.”

For many established writers, the “effort” that happened before they even knew they were working was reading.  For me, I started reading early, and I was one of those kids who burned through several novels a week.  I read during classes at school; I read at family gatherings; I read when riding in the car.  I read just about in any location and at every occasion.  I didn’t know my reading would be the background work to help me as a writer.

I did it because I loved books.

Later, I started writing poetry and short stories. I submitted some work to magazines, but it was a long, long time before I sold something. I’m pretty sure if I never sold a story, I’d still be writing. I’m like my artist friend: I find the act of producing poetry and stories to be gratifying. I don’t need to be successful at it. I enjoy writing.

I’m not suggesting to be good at something in life you had to start doing it as a child, but I do think whenever you start, you’d better find you like doing the activity.

You’d better be doing it because some part of the work fulfills you.

A journey’s joy is not just the destination. You can glory in the walk.

James Van Pelt has been selling short fiction to many of the major venues since 1989. Recently he retired from teaching high school English after thirty-seven years in the classroom. He has been a finalist for the Nebula, the Theodore Sturgeon Memorial Award, Locus Awards, and Analog and Asimov’s reader’s choice awards. Years and years ago he was a finalist for the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer. He still feels “new.” Fairwood Press recently released a huge, limited-edition, signed and numbered collection of his work, THE BEST OF JAMES VAN PELT. He can be found online at his website or on Facebook.