It took me fifteen years to discover I had no talent for writing, but I couldn’t give it up because by that time I was too famous. –Peter Benchley
By PJ Parrish
I wanted to be a ballet dancer. This was way back in grade school, when I was as round as a beachball and rather lost. Watching a ballet pierced me with the deepest ache of envy. So I bugged my dad until he let me enroll in Miss Trudy’s School of Dance and Baton Twirling.
Did I mention I was chubby? Did I mention I had no talent? Neither stopped me. I had a ball trying and to this day, I can remember every step of my first recital dance. I eventually lost the weight but never the desire to dance. So around age 30, I took up lessons again. I did pretty good. Until I got to pointe. You know, the part where you shoe-horn your feet into those pretty pink satin shoes with a hard box at end and then you’re supposed to just rise up on your toes?
It hurts like hell.
So I gave up. Did I mention I had no talent?
Flash forward. I became a dance critic. Those who can, do. Those who can’t, well…
I got to cover the birth of the Miami City Ballet, and became friends with the artistic director Edward Villella. One day, he asked me if I wanted to be in The Nutcracker. In the first act party scene where the parents do a little minuet-type of dance. I accepted. So I danced, in front of 5,400 people. I didn’t screw up. It was one of the most memorable nights of my life. To quote one of my favorite writers, Emily Dickinson:
I cannot dance upon my Toes—
No Man instructed me—
But oftentimes, among my mind,
A Glee possesseth me,
This is my round-about way of getting to my topic — talent vs technique. See, I had the desire, but I didn’t have the body type, the turn-out of the hip joints. I knew the steps, sure, but I didn’t have that vital muscle memory that comes to all dancers after years and years of learning their craft. I didn’t have the music inside me that separates the mere dancer from the artist.
So it is, I believe, with writers.
Years ago, my friend Reed Farrel Coleman wrote an article in Crime Spree Magazine titled “The Unspoken Word.” It was about his experience as an author-panelist at a writers conference. Reed was upset because he thought the conference emphasized technique to the exclusion of talent.
Reed wrote: “To listen how successful writing was presented [at the SleuthFest conference], one might be led to believe that it was like building a model of a car or a jet plane. It was as if hopeful writers were being told that if everyone had the parts, the decals, the glue, the proper lighting, etc. to build this beautiful model and then all they needed was the instruction manual. Nonsense! Craft can get you pretty damned far, but you have to have talent, too. Writing is no more like building a model than throwing a slider or composing a song.”
At the time, I was the president of the Florida chapter of Mystery Writers of America, and our board decided, after much debate, to purposely steer SleuthFest toward the writers “workshop” conference. We did it because attendees told us they didn’t want any more authors getting up there just flapping their lips telling tired war stories. They wanted authors to pull back the green curtain and show how it is done. They wanted to hear authors talk about how they created memorable characters, how they maintained suspense, how they built a structure, why they chose a particular sub-genre. That’s what we gave them.
But Reed did raise an interesting question in his article — can novel writing really be taught? I think it can and should be. I think unpublished folks can go to workshops, read books, and learn the basics about plotting, character development, the arc of suspense, the constructs of good dialog.
Does that mean they have the stuff they need to be a successful writer? No, it only means they might — if they work hard — have a chance of mastering their craft. And I don’t care how talented you are, you aren’t going anywhere without craft.
Let’s go to the easy metaphor here — sports. A person may be born with a natural ability for basketball. They may be tall, able to shoot hoops with accuracy and be a fast runner. But that’s not enough. There was this guy who played for the Chicago Bulls…I forget his name. He didn’t make his high school’s varsity basketball team until his junior year, and when he got to University of North Carolina, he told the coach he wanted to be the best ever. Yeah, he had talent. But he worked like a dog. He became the best.
When I teach writing workshops, I preface everything with this one statement: I can teach you the elements of craft but I can’t teach you talent. Anyone can learn to hit a baseball. But only a few are going to have Ted Williams’ eye. The rest are going to be the John Oleruds of the world — competent major league role players. And what’s wrong with that if you can at least get to The Bigs, have a healthy backlist and maybe take the kids to Disney World on your royalties?
So where to I come down on the talent question? I agree with Reed. All good writers have some talent. But I also believe you can’t have talent without craft and desire. Peter Benchley’s self-effacing quote to the contrary, his book was a little cheesy, but it was one of the greatest serial killer thrillers ever imagined.
As the great acting coach Stella Adler said, “Technique makes talent possible.”
Well said, Kris, about talent needing craft and desire. I don’t think Calvin Coolidge ever wrote a novel, but I like what he said:
“Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent.”
And the Robert Benchley quote is one of my favorites. Were you perhaps thinking of his grandson, Peter, and his book about fishing?
Oh dear. Will make the correction! Thanks. 🙂 This is why we all need editors.
Good post, and thought-provoking. Do you think an emphasis on technique can get in the way of natural talent? Instead of letting the words flow and telling the story, is working to make sure you hit the correct story part at the correct percentage point stifling?
Yes, I think an emphasis on technique can be inhibiting. I remember interviewing the great ballerina Violette Verdy and we talked exactly about this. She observed that some dancers were so concerned about correct technique that they lost the impulse of musicality and soul. I’ve seen many many dancers like this on the stage. Ditto for professional writers; their work is something you can admire but never love. But I think it’s good to remember that without the underpinning of craft, you can’t master your art. I’ve used this analogy often here but consider Picasso. He labored in his youth to master all classical techniques. His early works are unrecognizable to us because they are so academic. But he had to learn this to free his true artistic nature. As he famously said, “It takes a long time to become young.” In other words, you had to learn the hard lessons before you could return to freedom of a child’s innate creativity.
Letting the word flow is fine in the first draft, but, if you don’t know enough craft to make is accessible to the reader in the next drafts, no one will want to read your story. Craft and grammar are all about making writing accessible to others.
I didn’t think about writing until much (AARP level) later in life. Never took writing classes. I did it because I wanted to try something new, and it was fun. As long as it’s fun, I keep doing it. Honestly, I don’t think about craft or talent as I write. That part comes after the words are down. Yes, I’ve worked to hone the craft, but I have this imposter syndrome thing going about whether I have the talent.
But I’m content where I am, and every now and then, I get the little boost like the comment on my blog the other day when I’d mentioned I was back to work on my next book. She said, “Yay!!! A new book!!!”
As long as there are readers out there–few as they may be relative to the Big Names–I’m going to chug along.
Yup. Readers keep you going and provide a vaccine against imposter syndrome. (I feel the same way). I don’t think readers understand the power they have over us, the boost of an email or a Amazon review.
Talent is “a natural aptitude or skill.” I always looked at talent as a writer’s starting point. If writers fall on a 0-10 scale, then the more talent God gave you, the closer to 10 you START at but your work and discipline and attitude determine where you’ll finish. I think there are lots of scenarios where Writer A starts at 2 and Writer B, the talented one, starts at 6. What happens when Writer B is lazy?
That’s a good way to look at it…a starting point. You can be lucky to get the right genes but if you lack the other elements (See James’s comment above), the talent is wasted.
I think inborn talent, at best, gives someone a tiny head start, like the equivalent of a 3-yard head start in a marathon. Metropolitan Opera timpanist Jason Haaheim is even more blunt by asserting that “the traditional notion of talent is dead.” I highly recommend reading his blog post on his journey from research engineer to professional musician and his views on practice vs. talent: https://jasonhaaheim.com/i-dont-care-how-good-you-are-i-care-about-the-trajectory-youre-willing-to-set/.
Thanks for sharing that blog link. Loved his story. It also illustrates the role that certain people can have on your life. In his case, he was besotted with a girl who nudged him more toward music. And he was lucky to have a good teacher. I had this happen in my professional life. I pinballed up against a two key people who sent my life in new directions. First, my dad insisted I go to college when I was determined to get a job right out of high school. And second, a mentor in college directed me to a new career when teaching was a dead end — journalism. Journalism led to novels.
Great post, Kris. Thanks for the reminder. That’s why we’re here.
The Serenity Prayer:
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change (talent), courage to change the things I can (persistence), and wisdom to know the difference (craft).
Have a great day!
Ha, love your rewrite.
Talent is a word I try not to dwell on. It has its positive & negative side.
This post brought back very strongly to me the example of tennis. I was never ever sports minded. EXCEPT that I loved watching ATP tour tennis and by the time I was about 17-18, began to play. A puny 5’2″ and growing up sickly, I never once entertained the notion (nor had the desire) to become a pro player, but while I was engaged in the sport, I pursued it freely just seeing how much progress I could make (for the record, my max tennis rating was about 3.5 so I’d call that “high beginner”).
My two favorite tennis players were Andre Agassi and Stefan Edberg (and when they retired, I retired from watching tennis — lost my interest). Andre Agassi was pretty much universally acknowledge as being gifted to play tennis but I watched in irritation as he was heaped with scorn over the years for not doing things & living his life the way others wanted him to on the tennis court (and off). Could he have won more grand slam tournaments? Possibly. But he’s also one of a small number of men’s tennis players who won all four major tournaments (Australian Open, French Open, Wimbledon, U.S. Open, on different surfaces).
As a writer, it’s possible I’ll be scorned for not handling my writing life the way others think I should. I believe we are each given a certain amount of talent for what we’re interested in, and we have to pursue it–those issues of craft, etc, we talk about. But it’s also about passion. I can’t speak for anyone else, but passion waxes and wanes for me. So my writing life isn’t going to look like someone else’s. The passion I have for what I do is going to determine how much of that talent I mine and turn into books. And if I pursue that passion, use that talent, I’ve got a fair shot at success (that mystical measurement that is different in everyone’s eyes). 😎
Thanks for the good honest comment. I am of the same mind and mood as you — as I age, my passion for writing waxes and wanes. It used to bother me (I felt I was wasting my one gift). But not any more. I take each “gift” of wanting to write just as that. Which is why I really love still hanging around this joint with you all.
I think talent is important, and that many who aspire to write have at least some talent—storytelling seems to very much be part of what it means to be human. Technique can unlock and boost that talent by orders of magnitude. At the same time, as I’m relearning again right now, you need to internalize that talent so that you can focus on story when you write.
Thanks for another great post!
Ah, focus. That is another necessary element. Which is different than passion or determination.
I danced en pointe for almost twenty years and loved every second. I had talent and great teachers but I also had curves and big breasts. I was thin, but I never fit in the stick figure corps. I enjoyed being a soloist. When we reach the point where big-busted girls get to be ballerinas we will be enlightened.
I think talent makes us hang in, that little spark of Divinity where God’s plan for us and our need to do what makes us happy coincide. Before we get the craft down, there’s still that pull that doesn’t let us give up. For me, I think of it as my guardian angel going “Remember why you’re here. You’re so close. Don’t give up. Keep at it.”
Thanks for the insights, Cynthia, and yeah, the “ballet body” is a big deal, which has led some to health issues in maintaining the ideal. And as you know, you can’t start too late in ballet. That was also my problem. (Never had an issue with breasts :))
And yes, the “pull that doesn’t let us give up” is quite powerful.
I so agree. There are natural-born storytellers, but even they need craft. And I don’t think we ever quit learning. Each book we write will teach us something.
Oh, and that basketball player was Michael Jordan. I used him as an example to the kids in the schools where I taught about abstinence.
That’s a good point, that each book we produce (and finish) is itself a valuable learning experience. Especially the ones that never see the light of day.
“Especially the ones that never see the light of day.”
You mean the ones published on Vella?
My sister studied ballet for years and was offered a slot in a touring company headed for Japan. For one bad reason or another, she turned it down.
I loved to dance. (Not ballet, though!) Truth is, the music danced me. Even today, I can’t sit still when I hear anything by Creedence Clearwater Revival. Before Covid, there was a dance exercise class at my gym. The last two times I danced there, I got high fives as I left the floor. But that was back when I was only 79. Not sure about now.
the music danced me. I love that! Isn’t it the same with books, whether reading them or writing them?
The book read me. 🙂
Yes, a good book and a good reader resonate–the story whips you away to the author’s world, will-ye-nill-ye, and you project your emotions on their characters, if the writer has done the job right.
Yes…great phase. That was my problem. The music didn’t dance me. 🙂
I think there’s a danger for those who are severely talented. They may take that talent for granted and never acquire the skill to excel. I like the quote from Adler you used: “Technique makes talent possible.”
You met Edward Villella? And danced in The Nutcracker? I’m green with envy. I traded my ballet slippers for Nikes years ago, but the ballet is still my favorite form of the performing arts.
I was lucky to be working as a critic in the heyday of dance touring, when the NEA was funding nearly every great regional company to tour. Saw them all. Also saw every great international company, inc the Bolshoi and the Kirov Ballet (now renamed the Maryiinsky). I have a tour sweatshirt from the Kirov Ballet that I wear all the time. Just realized the other day it says “Russia” on it. Gonna put it in mothballs for a while…
A thought-provoking post, Kris. Thanks. It got me thinking about what “talent” really is so I Googled it, finding a simple definition of “natural aptitude or skill”. All well said and done which brings up the “natured/nurtured” debate. Personally, I think “good” writers are some sort of combination of natural aptitude and hard-earned skill through life-long leaning and practice.
While I was discussing talent with the Google, I found this gem from Einstein. “I have no special talents. I am only passionately curious.”
Ha! Dontcha love Albert? He’s so quotable.
The craft must be learned before we get to see where talent will take us if anywhere. And that takes a while.
Oh, there are a few of what used to be called “idiot savants” that can cop a half million dollar book deal without lifting a pen (think the ‘Opal Mehta’ scandal) but the rest of us scuffle along and labor in the vineyards learning our trade.
My first real career was as an aircraft engine mechanic on one particular type of engine. It took a year of steady work to be safe and not ruin anything and then maybe another year before I could leave the shop and know you weren’t going to get in trouble, and another three years before synthesis kicked in and you started to think independently.
The key to this was as you get to the end of year five you have reached a point at which you don’t have to follow the script to the letter anymore or connect the dots but you have reached the point of synthesis and system understanding.
I think writing’s like that. You start with some basic skills if you stayed awake in high school and you start connecting the dots. It is only later, through synthesis, that you learn what you can really do. And still there are things you don’t know about.
I most often hear this “talent” thing in the ruminations of people in literary circles who’d like to keep the secrets all to themselves just like the London cabbies with “the knowledge”. It’s often used as a subtle putdown.
Fortunately for working stiffs and knockabout guys like us, the world has opened up and that’s why TKZ exists.
The way of ‘holier than thou’ is passing. And I say let it be buried.
“Synthesis and system understanding.” Or as dancers call it “muscle memory.” Don’t know what we writers might term it. I sort of collect quotes about writing and found this one recently from Lillian Styles Allen:
“An amateur works until he can get it right. A professional works until he can’t do wrong.”
I, too collect quotes on writers and writing. Maybe we should swap quotes on a KillZone thread sometime.
I also collect favorite quotes on writing. We should have a post on quotes in the future where everyone can nominate their favorite.
Loved this discussion, Kris. The talent vs. technique tension is prevalent in many of the arts, as has been pointed out here.
In college, I was a vocal performance major. I’d been singing since I was about 10…no AGT back then, though. Dang! I had a natural talent handed to me by my Mom. My children have musical talent also.
I thought I’d just naturally rise to the top in vocal performance in college without much work (since I had all this talent), but nay, nay.
My first jury performance was pathetic. Then I decided I needed to take technique seriously, i.e. learn to breathe properly, use my lips, my teeth, my tongue, my HEAD (that’s particularly important when performing), my diaphragm . . . and practice, practice, practice.
I never took the music world by storm, but when I lived in L.A., I did sing at a few gigs with attendance over 1,000. 🙂
Great story, Deb. I have an ex sister in law who tried to become an opera singer. She practiced until she was literally blue in the face. But she never got up the nerve to perform. I’ve known dancers like that — they stare at themselves in the mirror, mentally taking themselves apart at the barre. They can do amazing things in the studio yet on the stage they fade. Thanks for sharing.
As a retired writing teacher and the perpetual volunteer of hundreds of unpublished writing contests, I’ve read thousands of first chapters and partials, and true talent and creativity is surprisingly rare. So much same old, same old that lacks that spark that says read this book, it will be interesting. I can teach craft, and I can help a writer polish a book to a publishable gloss, but talent has to be there in the first place.
I so agree Marilynn. I’ve done countless critiques over the decades and found the same pattern — competence, evidence of hard work but so much same-old same-old. Is it the mere aping of what they already have read? I don’t know. But it’s great when you see a true spark of originality. Especially in genre fiction where the “trick” is to be fresh within the dictates of a tradition. Sort of like ballet — only five positions of feet, head and arms, but oh, what variations can come of that.
Well said, Kris. I think talent can’t reach its full potential without craft. Natural talent, in my view, only shows after years of study. Sure, some are born with a natural propensity to strings words together, but without knowing where and when and how to place those words, all the talent in the world won’t get you far. It’s a fascinating subject, talent. Where it comes from and how to nurture it.
Re the nature vs nurture side of the question: I’m currently reading Robert Plomin’s “Blueprint: How DNA makes us who we are.” On Page 6, the influence of DNA on both school achievement and verbal ability is 60%.
I was reading five grades* above my grade level by the time I was nine years old. Was that nature? On the other hand, my father’s library held thousands of books, so I’d been reading daily by that time. Was that nurture? Possibly. But the same innate skill that made me a reader was in my father’s** genes, which was why we had 3,000 books at home in the first place. It’s hard to separate the two.
* The test only measured to 10th grade level. And it didn’t measure my marketing skills, which are probably somewhere around K level.
** My mother was no slouch in the reading area, either. But she was very athletic, having once scored 50 points in a high school game.
The debate rages on. I get it, the thing about reading within the family framework. My parents read TO us at the earliest ages and I think that did much to establish our love of it. Ditto for some treasured teachers in elementary school. But I have to believe also, at some level, that nature has a heavy hand in this.
Talents and skills
One afternoon, I was getting ready to attend a party with my mother. She told me to grab my jean jacket. Non-conformist that I am and was, my athletic letters were on my jean jacket. It was an odd choice for a fancy “adult party”. My mother said the OB who delivered me would be there. He said I would never be a good athlete. She wanted to show him how far he was off.
My college degree is in Aeronautics. I am a pilot. After not getting a job as a pilot, I became a manager for “game piece” pizza, a rather large pizza delivery company. In both worlds, navigation is important. Both jobs have taught me some people can’t do it. It isn’t training. It isn’t desire. It is something they are born with. I watched a driver get lost going to the house three doors down from the one he had just been to with a trainer. My classmate Karen, got lost going to an airport on a lake. A lake you could see from altitude. With a radio beacon on the end of the runway. And an interstate highway you could follow all the way.