August 23, 2019
Can Good Writing Be Taught?
One of the key themes in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is to which extent our morality is a product of our environment. Are you born bad, or do you become? This might sound like an irrelevant point for our topic – can good writing be taught? – but in fact it’s directly relevant.
The reason? Instead of asking, can good writing be taught, we can rephrase the question and wonder: Are you born a good writer, or can you become one?
Want yet a third reformulation of the same question? Is good writing a matter of talent or skill (that can be practiced and taught)?
Obviously enough, this is a critical thing to know. If good writing cannot be taught – in other words, if you are only born a good writer – then you either have it or you don’t. In such a framework, someone who is not born with the talent, cannot be a good author.
If this sounds a bit too peculiar, and you resist it, your instincts are right. However, the opposite isn’t quite true either. There is such a thing as talent in writing, though probably not in the way you expect. Ah, how wonderful… There are never any simple answers, are there?
Can Good Writing Be Taught: The Basics
In order to answer this question (no matter its manifestation, it’s still one and the same question), we must first ponder on definitions. What do we mean by “good writer”, what by “be taught” and what by “talent”?
On “Good Writers”
Words such as “good”, “successful“, or “love” are pretty flexible and handy. They can help you express a wide variety of meanings. However, that’s also part of the problem. We might use the same word but mean something else.
And so, in our context, a “good writer” is neither someone who makes money from her/his writing (that would be a professional writer), nor someone who writes what people like to read (that would be a popular writer).
In our context – the way I choose to define it, inevitably introducing a certain bias – a good writer is someone who is in full control of her/his text, expressing the things s/he wants to express, the way s/he wants to express them.
This definition is lacking in major ways. Most crucially, it does not take audience or public reception into consideration. Surely, you might ask, a “good writer” has to be someone recognized as such.
This might or might not be true. Effectively, it takes us back to the issue of popularity, though in a slightly different manner. An author can be recognized as good (or great), while being somewhat unpopular.
Think of James Joyce. He is certainly recognized as a great author by literary critics, academics, and the “audience at large”, however, you’d be hard-pressed to find nowadays (and perhaps ever!) someone who would read his novel Ulysses for pleasure.
Therefore, I believe it’s more productive to focus on the author as a separate entity from the audience. And the only gauge of being a good writer is, ultimately, the author her/himself.
On “Talent”
Let’s leave the “taught” part aside for a moment, and focus on talent. “Talent” is an easier term to define, though one that can still cause some confusion. Talent refers to a certain natural, innate tendency to be particularly well suited for a task.
For a writer, to have talent in writing means that this person has the kind of thought, personality, behavioral patterns, etc. that are well suited for writing.
Alright, then. But now we must answer these:
- What “kinds” of thought, personality, behavioral patterns are suitable for writing?
- Is talent, then, needed?
In my opinion – which is a result of experience in writing as well as expertise in literature – to be a talented writer means to exist in an interacting relationship with the world.
Some people can see an entire universe of possibilities, connections, thoughts, and feelings in the petals of a rose. Or, in the words of such a man, “To see a World in a Grain of Sand/ And a Heaven in a Wild Flower/ Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand/ And Eternity in an hour”.
Others can’t.
Some people become enthralled and emotionally connected by noticing a discussion between two random individuals.
Others couldn’t care less.
In some basic, vague sense, talent in writing begins with experiencing and continues with reflecting on this experience. Putting the experience in words only comes later. It’s basically a long, complex chain that makes memory so crucial in writing.
But is talent needed? Is it enough? And what do we mean by “teaching good writing”?
Can Good Writing Be Taught: The Linkage between Talent and Working for It
And now, after this short but necessary detour, let’s acquire a sharper focus on our topic. Can good writing be taught? Can you become a good writer? Or are your chances sealed at birth, somehow?
Let’s be clear about it first, and I’ll open up the arguments afterward.
- Yes, good writing can be taught.
- Talent does make the process far easier…
- …but no, it’s not enough by itself; occasionally it can be a hindrance.
- Not everyone can become excellent, but everyone can become better.
Remember our definition of “good writer”: to basically be happy with what you have produced; to recognize it as your thoughts, feelings, and states of mind, in written form.
To reach this stage involves a process of authorial evolution where you, the writer, must develop certain skill sets. For those whose brain happens to be wired a certain way – those who have “talent”, “it”, “the touch” – some of those skills are either already developed by the time they decide to write, or are very easy to develop much faster.
To use an example, if you have a writing talent (the way we defined it here), you don’t need to spend much time understanding how and why symbolism works, or why narrative tension makes good stories. Your life experience, in a way, may already help you see and grasp these elements quickly.
However, a giant red flag needs to be raised here: Not only is not talent enough by itself, but it can be a hindrance.
The Pitfalls of Talent
The best way to visualize this, is the famous story of the tortoise and the hare.
When it comes to racing, the hare has an obvious talent. But his talent and perceived superiority make him arrogant. The hare ignores working with his talent and, as a result, the tortoise amazingly wins the race.
If you do have a writing talent, don’t let that happen to you.
To have a talent is pointless if you don’t understand what it is: not an excuse to avoid developing your skills, but a booster that can make this development easier, perhaps more enjoyable, and more effective.
We can teach people how to write better, the way we can teach them how to put together a computer or to make a cake. It requires a number of skills.
There is one question left to answer, however. If you are perceptive enough, you must have noticed the issue yourself.
How good is good, and can excellent writing be taught?
Can Good Writing Be Taught: We All Have Our Limitations
I’ve always been interested in many different things and experiences. Perhaps as a result of my curious nature, I like giving myself challenges. Can I play chess at this level? Can I play this song on the piano? And can I make a plot-development app?
Some of those things I can do at a level that mostly satisfies me, though I know I could do better if I wanted to (this is important, we’ll get back to it soon). Others I can do well – some might think I can do excellently, though from my perspective, I don’t have the skill required for that.
If that last statement confused you, let me say that when it comes to writing, I can both write at this level, and recognize that it’s excellent. Don’t confuse this with arrogance; it’s only a matter of having the experience to understand your own production.
But when it comes to, say, playing the piano, I’m simply not interested enough to put in the work. Every now and then I think “hey, I’d like to play that song on the piano”, and then I spend a few hours a week practicing, until I can somewhat play it. Then I stop practicing, having lost my interest.
The Path to Excellence
To be excellent at something, you must also want it. Talent is always a booster, but if there’s no work involved, there’s nothing to boost. Think of it like this:
- talent + some regular & consistent work → good writer
- hard, more regular & consistent work → good writer
- talent + harder, even more regular & consistent work + drive to achieve it → excellent writer
Perhaps you are a bit taken aback by the fact that there doesn’t seem to be a path for someone without talent to reach excellence.
It’s of course plausible that I’m wrong about this (feel free to let me know why in the comments below), but I’m finding it hard to see how someone can reach excellence in a certain field without having a natural tendency to be in that field in the first place.
Let’s take as an example a very young child (sadly, there are many such cases) who has no interest whatsoever in music – but likes, say, painting. Her parents force her to take piano lessons since the age of 4. Endless hours every day, hours away from playing, and being a child, and painting.
That child will become a great piano player, perhaps a soloist for an orchestra, able to flawlessly execute any arrangement. Now, I haven’t really defined excellence in this post – I leave that as a little exercise for you – but let me say this: excellence in execution and excellence in artistry are two very different things.
Ultimately, the key takeaway to the vast majority of us should be this: In writing, and other activities, not everyone can be excellent (and quite often we shouldn’t be), but everyone can be better putting in the work.
2 Comments
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Hard enough work + some basic talent for words is almost indistinguishable from talent + at least basic competence.
I don’t remember who explained it this way, but the bottom x% of writers (pick your percentage at will) will never be good or great. Period.
The top percentage will be great (again, pick your metrics) because they have a natural talent for it and put in enough work (or lots of work – think Tolkien), and have a passion.
But if you’re in the fat middle of this oreo (the double-stuff kind), you can move from wherever you are ALMOST to the top level by enough passion and a lot of very hard work, because what moves you in the white layer is craft, and craft can be learned. And improved.
I think many popular and selling novelists do NOT bother to improve their craft – they’re doing okay, and don’t want to put the work in. The same amount of time will put out more, adequate books, and their fans are reasonably satisfied. You probably have your own list of authors you don’t respect.
Working hard takes time, and reduces the output. It may not be commercially successful.
Your choice. Your name on the book. I don’t know if the need to satisfy your own standards is built in or picked up somewhere along the way. I suspect it comes from omnivorous reading as a child.
Very apt observations, thanks for your comments!