The Knife

One of my favorite authors of all time is Stephen King. I have many of his novels at home, as well as some of his non-fiction books on the art of writing. In one of these, Danse Macabre (which he wrote in 1981 about the history of the horror genre), he's written a passage that has stuck with me since the moment I read it:

"I think that writers are made, not born or created out of dreams or childhood trauma -- that becoming a writer... is a direct result of conscious will. Of course there has to be some talent involved, but talent is a dreadfully cheap commodity, cheaper than table salt. What separates the talented individual from the successful one is a lot of hard work and study; a constant process of honing. Talent is a dull knife that will cut nothing unless it is wielded with great force -- a force so great that the knife is not really cutting at all but bludgeoning and breaking (and after two or three of these gargantuan swipes it may succeed in breaking itself...). Discipline and constant work are the whetstones upon which the dull knife of talent is honed until it becomes sharp enough, hopefully, to cut through even the toughest meat and gristle. No writer, painter, or actor -- no artist -- is ever handed a sharp knife (although a few people are handed almighty big ones; the name we give to the artist with the big knife is "genius"), and we hone with varying degrees of zeal and aptitude.

"I'm suggesting that, to be successful, the artist in any field has to be in the right place at the right time. The right time is in the lap of the gods, but any mother's son or daughter can work his/her way to the right place and wait."

Now, this isn't a blog about writing, of course. But that doesn't make this illustration of Mr. King's any less relevant to me and my craft. I've encountered MANY pipers over the past 10 years, and unfortunately a lot of them rely solely on their talent (whatever amount they've been blessed with) to get them through rehearsals and performances. "Good enough" is good enough for them, and they rely on the very-true fact that the average person doesn't know enough about pipe music to tell if mistakes are made.

I've been one of those pipers too. Fairly recently, in fact. By chance I've been given perhaps a bigger talent knife than some others -- I have a keen musical ear, a solid internal metronome, "good fingers," according to some highly reputable teachers, and I can sightread circles around most other pipers. But when life gets in the way and time gets short, the honing of my talent is the first thing I stop doing. I can perform very well on the fly... but my development has plateaued. And it makes me feel a little funny to think that my students practice more than I do!

I recently heard it said that "the internet is the world's largest elephant, and it never forgets." So let me make this promise to the internet in general, and anyone who is reading this in particular: Today I will begin to re-hone my talent, to recommit to practicing, to sharpen my knife. The people who I teach and for whom I perform -- those who fork over money for what I do -- deserve better than hearing from a plateaued piper, even if she happens to be quite good. And I deserve to feel that I'm striving for my absolute best, rather than being "good enough."

Slainte --