Throwing Pots
Writing is a skill. Like any skill, writing requires practice. Lots of practice. Malcolm Gladwell, author of Outliers, posits that it takes 10,000 hours of practice to get good—really good—at anything. In fact, he says, “Practice isn’t the thing you do once you’re good. It’s the thing you do that makes you good.”
Authors David Bayles and Ted Orland would likely agree with Gladwell. In their book Art and Fear, they refer to a pottery class, in which the students were told their grade would be dependent either on quality or quantity, and they could choose. Those who chose quality only had to create one pot for the semester, as close to perfection as possible, to receive an A. Those who chose quantity could turn in 50 pounds of pots to receive an A, 40 for a B, etc. At the end of the semester, guess who received the highest grades? “Interestingly, those who chose quantity turned out far superior pots than those who had chosen quality. Rather than those who chose quality, and likely spent the majority of the time theorizing about how to create a flawless pot, they spent their time producing as many pots as possible, learning from their mistakes, and moving on" (49).
So in my classes, we will throw a lot of pots, learning from our mistakes, and moving on. In writing, we do this through revision. Revision literally means to see again, or to re-see. Revision is necessary in writing. As an author, one thing I’ve truly learned to value is seeing my draft through someone else’s eyes: peers, friends, etc. Sometimes students think revision means that they’ve failed because they didn’t get it right the first time. But everyone revises, or rewrites. Even fancy shmancy authors. James A. Michener, who has written hundreds (literally hundreds) of novels, famously said, “I’m not a very good writer, but I’m an excellent rewriter.”
If you are going to be a writer, you might as well be good at it. And this is how that process happens. So embrace the idea of drafting, and learning, and getting better each time. That’s all part of becoming a better writer, which is what I am all about, as a teacher and as a writer myself.
Authors David Bayles and Ted Orland would likely agree with Gladwell. In their book Art and Fear, they refer to a pottery class, in which the students were told their grade would be dependent either on quality or quantity, and they could choose. Those who chose quality only had to create one pot for the semester, as close to perfection as possible, to receive an A. Those who chose quantity could turn in 50 pounds of pots to receive an A, 40 for a B, etc. At the end of the semester, guess who received the highest grades? “Interestingly, those who chose quantity turned out far superior pots than those who had chosen quality. Rather than those who chose quality, and likely spent the majority of the time theorizing about how to create a flawless pot, they spent their time producing as many pots as possible, learning from their mistakes, and moving on" (49).
So in my classes, we will throw a lot of pots, learning from our mistakes, and moving on. In writing, we do this through revision. Revision literally means to see again, or to re-see. Revision is necessary in writing. As an author, one thing I’ve truly learned to value is seeing my draft through someone else’s eyes: peers, friends, etc. Sometimes students think revision means that they’ve failed because they didn’t get it right the first time. But everyone revises, or rewrites. Even fancy shmancy authors. James A. Michener, who has written hundreds (literally hundreds) of novels, famously said, “I’m not a very good writer, but I’m an excellent rewriter.”
If you are going to be a writer, you might as well be good at it. And this is how that process happens. So embrace the idea of drafting, and learning, and getting better each time. That’s all part of becoming a better writer, which is what I am all about, as a teacher and as a writer myself.