Dear crime dogs. Due to an unexpected family emergency, I am en route today to New Jersey. Not sure when I will be back or when I will have extra time. Didn’t have time to finish my planned post on anti-heroes. Will save my notes for my next round. So forgive me today for re-posting an old topic dear to my heart. Will try to weigh in during layover in Chicago. Thanks for your patience!
By PJ Parrish
“Talent is insignificant. I know a lot of talented ruins. Beyond talent lie all the usual words: discipline, love, luck, but most of all, endurance.”–James Baldwin
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. 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 meet and interview almost every famous dancer of my era, including Barshnikov, Margot Fonteyn, Bob Fosse, you name it, I also got to cover the birth of the Miami City Ballet, and became friends with the artistic director the late 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 gums 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.
You know, sort of what we try to do where at The Kill Zone.
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?
Which brings me back to James Baldwin’s quote. There are, indeed, many “talented ruins” out there. And there are many not-so-talented writers making a good living from their books. Some even become bestsellers.
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 once said: “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.” True, Jaws is a little cheesy, but it was one of the greatest serial killer thrillers ever imagined.
Agreed.
When/if you think you may have the talent (and a little luck), go out and learn as much craft as you can, and go ahead and try to write what you think you want to write.
Then, after you put in the WORK for long enough, you’ll either confirm that you do have the talent – or that you don’t, but gave it a good try, and move on to something else.
You’re not going to find out unless you try – there are a gazillion things to learn, and no talent will give you craft without work. No true long-term writers can wing it forever.
“If you can do anything else, do.”
Most people aren’t even going to write their first novel, so you’re way ahead of the game simply (ha!) if you do. And then you can abandon the field honorably if you wish. Me, I found out I actually like doing the work, plus I’ve published two big fat novels, and am working on the third. I am content.
Hey, I am with you on that — most folks aren’t going to finish their first novel and if you do, well, that’s nothing to sniff at. Even if it’s not published, it is a learning experience.
Sometimes the “craft” gets used in different ways, often based on the innate talent of the individuals. For example, the not-so-good ballplayer who learns the craft might become the best team manager. In contrast, the best ballplayer might never manage the team to a winning season. Jim Collins’ Good to Great gave the analogy of not only getting the right people on the corporate bus, but placing them in the right seats. The guy or gal who misses the mark writing fiction might become a bestseller in the right non-fiction market. From my point of view, it all boils down to starting with these ten two-letter words. “If it is to be, it is up to me.” Then work it, baby, work it!
That’s a very good point, that even if you turn out to be not-so-great at something, there are often rewarding ways to still be in the game. Your example of someone not doing well at fiction reminds me of a workshop student I had years ago that never did publish fiction but ended up writing an excellent memoir of building his own boat.
Kris – family comes first. Do what needs to be done. We’ll get along.
Ballet, piano, and in the 60s, guitar. Sucked at all of them.
Not sure how I’m doing with this writing gig, but it’s fun. And apparently, based on my email box, the AI bots love it.
Am halfway to Newark….delayed in Chicago. Going up to help a family member whose spouse is just entering hospice. He’s kind of alone and we’re doing what we can to spell him and lend support. I, too, sucked at guitar, btw. (Didn’t help that I am left-handed so I stuck to bass and redid the strings a la Paul McCartney). But I took up piano at age 50 and loved every moment of it,
Hope all goes well.
Delivering pizza in the high rent district allowed me to meet several professional athletes. I am trying to figure out the line between talent and skill. I know practice fits in their someplace. I could probably learn to throw a slider. But not as well as Uncle Charlie who can throw sliders and strike out Hall of Famers.
Well, I guess you can’t succeed without developing skills, no matter how much “natural” talent you might be gifted with. And you can ride the determination horse pretty darn far.
Kris, sorry about the family emergency. An unfortunate fact of life at our age.
I’ve known writers with incredible inborn talent but, when the going got tough, they gave up. Only those with that burning, irresistible, can’t-stop-ourselves drive kept going and made it.
Is that what talent is?
Could be. I’ve known quite a few folks who could craft gorgeous stuff, but only to a point. They lacked the drive and grit to finish the job or learn the craft of novel structure to the point where they could produce an actual “product.”
I used to bother with people who said they wished to write a novel some day.
Then I realized they were not serious enough – all my suggestions for places to start were met with objections.
Now I just smile and offer to provide some craft book leads when they’re ready.
Agree, Kris. And just a quick word for my man Robert Benchley. It was he who quipped “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.” Maybe his grandson borrowed it.
Or I just misquoted him. 🙂 But don’t you think it really fits the offspring? Jaws is a medicore book. I will die on that hill.
I also agree, Kris. Without some talent and drive, craft can only get you so far, and vice versa.
Sorry to hear about your family emergency. Hope all goes well.
Hope everything goes well with your family, Kris. Safe travels.
I agree with the others. It takes both natural talent and skill to be successful.
Thanks for the note about Michael Jordan. We were in Chapel Hill during the Jordan years, and watching him play basketball was beautiful.
Talent (and voice) are needed in order to write successfully, but I believe they are more common than realized. Like that famous Chicago Bulls phenom, learning writing craft and practicing writing craft, and practicing some more while also getting informed feedback, is essential to being able to write stories that succeed for readers.
Meant to add I hope your family emergency goes well, Kris. I have several of those this year myself. Keeping you in my thoughts.
I’ve read easily over a thousand first chapters or partials as a teacher and a writing judge. True talent is very rare. The ability to grab me emotionally with the story and the characters goes well beyond craft. Those with only craft may be successful, but they write potato chip fiction–mildly amusing during the read but easily forgotten.
I take more solace from, “It wasn’t what I expected, and I found the early stages surprisingly difficult, so after a while I wandered off and did something else.”
I don’t see the point in invoking Fate or Talent here.
Nutshell version. LOL
Thanks for the kind thoughts, guys. Am going up to spell a family member whose spouse is entering hospice care. He just needs some support. I think we’re finally boarding here in Chicago. See you all soon.