Does Talent Matter?

 A Facebook meme a while back read, “People who say talent doesn’t matter are those who don’t have any.” (Or something like that. I’m retired, but I still have enough of a life not to worry about the precise wording of old Facebook memes.)

I don’t know if I agree completely, but I’m there at least ninety-nine percent of the way. I’d modify it to read, “People who say talent doesn’t matter are those who don’t want it to,” which strongly implies they don’t have it without being quite so accusatory.

This puts me in mind of what might be the best-learned lesson of my abortive musical career. I was never the best trumpet player beginning any level of school. I busted my ass and became one of the best at that level by outworking everyone else.

Then I went to grad school, where I encountered people with more talent who were willing to work as hard as I did. And a few who didn’t have to work nearly as hard.

I was, and remain, good friends with a player whose skills amazed even our teacher in the Boston Symphony, who said,  “I can’t play some of the shit he seems to sight read.” My friend went on to play Principal Trumpet in Memphis and retired a few years ago after twenty-plus years as Associate Principal in Montreal.

I’m not saying my friend didn’t work at it, but he started on a plane so much higher than mine there was no way I could keep up with him, let alone narrow the gap.

That’s what talent does for you.

Writing is like that. Stephen King once said there are four levels of writers:

1.    Incompetent

2.    Competent

3.    Good

4.    Great

He also said an incompetent writer cannot become competent; there’s something missing in how they’re wired or they wouldn’t be incompetent in the first place. A competent writer can become a good writer through studious study and application of the craft, but a good writer can no more become a great writer than the incompetent can become competent. There’s something missing, and that something is talent.

No one wanted to be a trumpet player more than I did. No one ever worked harder. Music got my best effort and I’m comfortable with the decision to leave. To use a baseball metaphor, I was at best a AA talent trying to play in The Show. I could hang in short stretches, but sooner or later the holes in my game would be exposed.

Writing has been different. There are ways to take advantage of one’s strengths and hide weaknesses that are available to writers that musicians can’t rely upon unless they get to play only the music they choose. I applied the lessons I learned from music and, I believe, promoted myself from competent good on.

And that’s as far as it goes.

I admire the work of Dennis Lehane and James Crumley and Elmore Leonard and Dashiell Hammett and many others. I learn from them. But I know I’ll never write at that level. That’s not a defeatist attitude. It’s a firm grip on reality. I’ve had two publishers, been nominated for two Shamus awards, get panels at every conference I attend, and have the respect of people I respect. If that’s as good as it gets, I’m fine with it.

Kurt Vonnegut was correct: It’s all right to be less than wonderful at something you love. What’s not all right is to have a false idea of where your ceiling might be and make yourself miserable trying to break through it. Life is too short. Take what victories you get from writing and use them to enhance your life.

This is why I don’t believe in bucket lists. I know too many people who have missed out on everyday pleasures because their eyes were too far down the road. They consider themselves failures unless they attain a level of accomplishment that may be beyond their control.

(This does not apply to writers who are still so new they don’t know where they fall on King’s spectrum. People need their dreams. They also need to know when to accept reality.)

I’m not saying anyone should quit if things aren’t going your way. I’m suggesting that, if the frustrations of the industry are sucking the joy from the craft, remember to enjoy the ride, even if you have to find a less ambitious destination.