Monthly Archives: January 2009

There are many reasons why a writer need not write. Thousands of them; ten thousand even. My work’s no good. It will never get published. No one will read it. I’ll never make money from it. I have nothing new to say. I’ll write when I retire.

Here’s one reason to trump anything your doubting mind can come up with. Studies have consistently shown that excellence at a complex task (such as fiction writing) requires a minimum level of practice, and experts have settled on 10,000 hours as the magic number for true expertise. Malcolm Gladwell, in his book, Outliers: The Story of Success. (In statistics, an outlier is an observation that is numerically distant from the rest of the data). Talent, that indefinable factor-X, will get a person through certain doors, such as a creative writing program, but beyond that whether or not a person will achieve brilliance as a writer will depend on the sheer number of practice hours he or she labors. In study after study (of composers, basketball players, fiction writers, chess players, master criminals) this number comes up again and again. Ten thousand hours is equivalent to roughly three hours a day, or 20 hours a week of practice over 10 years. No one has yet found a case in which true world-class expertise was accomplished in less time. The brain requires this period of training to assimilate, to rewire, and to forge new patterns which display true mastery.

I find this idea sensible at an intuitive level. Although I have some questions about what exactly counts as practice for fiction writing. Does thinking count, I wonder. Much of my time as a writer goes into thinking about what inspires me and what I want to say about a theme even before I begin writing. And while I am writing, I think about what to add or edit, sometimes waking up from a vivid dream with a great idea. So do my dreams count toward the 10,000 hours?

Artistic geniuses, such as Lewis Carroll, Dostoevsky and Van Gogh had a condition called hypergraphia. They had an obsessive need to write or paint. In the lives of many writers, we find some degree of this compulsion to write—perhaps not compulsive enough to be classified as a condition, but certainly a driving ambition. Most writers keep journals and notebooks where they record minute details of daily life. All of which, I suppose, contributes toward that magical 10,000 hours.

Likewise, some writers exhibit hyperlexia, or at least, a precocious ability to read. And all writers learn their craft primarily by reading analytically literature that they admire (See Francine Prose’s book Reading Like A Writer). Each great work of literature is a free manual on the craft of writing. So then, does reading analytically count toward my 10,000 hours of practice?

Then there is the matter of age. Writing, unlike sports, requires a certain level of experience under one’s belt — we all know child actors, young millionaires even, but how many 12 year-old prodigies can you name that have written works of great fiction? Great writing requires deep contemplation, a maturity and insight about life, living and relationships. So which parts of my life’s experiences can be included in that magic 10,000?

I am told that the average writer in Canada is in his mid-fifties when he first gets published. And given the level of maturity that writing well requires, generally a writer begins writing in earnest later in life. Suppose a person waits until retirement to begin his or her writing career. By the time his brain has figured out all the intricacies of writing well (which require 10,000 hours) then he or she may be 75-80 before he is fit to be published. Given an average life expectancy of 75, is it worth even starting then for a man or woman of 65?

Here is where a belief in reincarnation comes in handy. In the Bhagwad Geeta, Lord Krishna tells his doubting student Arjuna that none of his practice will go to waste; he will continue in his next life where he will have left off. This is how reincarnationists explain prodigies like Mozart, who composed the opera, La Finta, in 1768 when he was 12. Mozart carried over the rewards of his practice from his previous life or lives and built upon them till he reached outlier status.

Yes I should put in my quota of writing today. But look how chilly/warm/quiet/lively it is outside. Jeez, and I haven’t done any laundry in days. Oprah has a really interesting … Shut up and write!