You may have encountered suggestions like:

• Dedicate 10,000 hours to practice and you will master writing!
• You have a million words of nonsense inside you; just let them out!
• Consistent practice leads to perfection!

While these tips are well-meaning, they are fundamentally misguided. They imply that writing skills develop linearly over time, suggesting a straightforward journey to mastery, illustrated as follows:

This perspective presumes that you start as a poor writer who will steadily improve until you become a master. It suggests that with enough time, patience, and hard work, anyone can become an outstanding writer. Unfortunately, this is an oversimplified view. Research into expertise indicates a different reality:

Indeed, you may begin as an unskilled writer, and with consistent effort, you will see some improvement. However, you may only reach a level slightly above average before hitting a plateau where further effort yields little to no progress. True mastery may remain elusive.

This realization can be disheartening. However, to have any chance of becoming a remarkable writer, it’s vital to understand the three primary factors that contribute to this predicament where our improvement efforts can seem futile.

# 1. The Fallacy of the 10,000-Hour Rule

Unfortunately, Malcolm, your assertion is incorrect. Researchers do not agree that merely logging 10,000 hours of practice guarantees mastery. Even Anders Ericsson, who you referenced, did not view this number as a magical threshold. He became frustrated with the misuse of his findings and published an article clarifying that the 10,000-hour rule is misleading. In it, he outlined four key reasons why this idea does not hold true.

Firstly, there is nothing inherently significant about the number 10,000 hours; it merely represents the average amount of practice that the top violin students in Ericsson's study had completed by the age of 20. Had Gladwell selected age 18 as his cutoff, the narrative would have shifted to a 7,400-hour rule, which lacks the same ring.

Secondly, the 10,000 hours cited is an average. Some of the top violinists had practiced for less than that amount, while others exceeded it. Research by Gobet and Campitelli revealed that mastery could be achieved with as few as 3,000 hours, while others still struggled after 23,000 hours. However, a title like the "3,000-to-23,000-hour-rule-for-potential-mastery" lacks appeal.

Thirdly, Gladwell's rule fails to differentiate between any form of practice and a specific type called deliberate practice. Engaging in countless hours of playing chess, practicing the violin, or shooting hoops won’t automatically make you world-class. Mastery requires focused, deliberate training, where you critically assess your weaknesses and target them through rigorous drills. This is neither enjoyable nor simple, but it is essential for excelling.

Finally, the 10,000-hour rule implies that anyone can achieve mastery in any field with enough time. However, Ericsson's subjects were not random individuals; they were elite students from the Berlin Music Academy, an institution devoid of mediocre talent. Although he believed that deliberate practice was key to mastery, Ericsson’s research did not conclusively prove this, and many experts remain skeptical. The study of expertise is complex and ongoing.

Thus, the 10,000-hour rule is fundamentally flawed. It does not apply to violinists, chess players, athletes, or writers. Simply writing a large volume does not equate to becoming a skilled writer.

# 2. The Ambiguity of Deliberate Practice in Writing

While the 10,000-hour rule is inaccurate, it does contain a kernel of truth: mastery requires extensive practice. However, not all practice is beneficial. Practice does not equate to perfection; rather, it solidifies habits, good or bad. Only deliberate practice can facilitate progress towards mastery. This involves breaking down a skill—say, tennis—into smaller components, identifying your weakest areas, and focusing your efforts on improving them. If you err, you adjust and try again. When you succeed, you repeat until you achieve a high level of consistency (e.g., 95%). Once you reach that point, you move on to the next skill, repeating this process for years until you are proficient in each component.

The challenge for writers is that this method is difficult to implement. Why? Because there is no straightforward way to objectively assess your performance after each attempt. Writing lacks the immediate feedback that comes with hitting a tennis ball over the net. As a writer, you often face subjective criteria that complicate the evaluation of your work.

This does not mean that deliberate practice is unattainable for writers. Benjamin Franklin, for example, employed techniques to enhance his writing through deliberate practice. One such method was the deconstruction and reconstruction technique, where he would analyze a great piece of writing, take notes on each sentence, then attempt to recreate it from memory. He would assess his work by comparing it with the original. However, exercises like these do not provide the quick feedback loops seen in sports, making it harder for writers to gauge their progress compared to other fields.

# 3. The Complexity of Writing as a Wicked Problem

Writing is not only challenging due to the lack of clear feedback; it is further complicated by its status as a wicked problem. According to Wikipedia, a wicked problem is "a problem that is difficult or impossible to solve due to incomplete, contradictory, and evolving requirements that are often difficult to identify." In writing, we encounter several complications, such as:

• Uncertainty about when a piece is complete.
• Solutions are not simply right or wrong, but rather better or worse.
• There are no definitive step-by-step instructions to achieve success.
• Addressing one issue often leads to the emergence of new challenges.
• The rules and standards are ever-changing.
• Writers typically have a single opportunity to get it right, making learning from mistakes difficult.

While not every aspect of writing is wicked—spelling and grammar are more straightforward—creating a compelling article certainly is. Reflect on the points above: When is an article truly finished? What constitutes "correct" writing? How do you navigate the complexities of writing without affecting other components? How can you avoid being influenced by changing trends? And how can you replicate the same article under identical conditions to learn from your mistakes?

Wicked problems are inherently difficult to navigate, making mastery nearly impossible. Therefore, even if the 10,000-hour rule applied to chess, violin playing, or sports, it does not hold for writing because of its wicked nature.

# Conclusion

When a skill can be broken down into specific, repeatable steps with immediate feedback, improvement is swift. This holds true for learning instruments, engaging in sports, or mastering chess. However, with writing, where feedback is often delayed and ambiguous, improvement becomes a significant challenge—especially given the complexity of the wicked problems it presents.

Although this may sound discouraging, it does not mean improvement is unattainable. The journey for writers is undoubtedly more complicated than for those in fields where clear pathways exist to cultivate elite talent.

Nevertheless, do not be disheartened by this reality. All writers grapple with these same challenges, so you are not at a disadvantage. Moreover, writing may offer a unique advantage; it is less competitive than sports, where second place is often deemed a failure. In writing, you do not need to be the absolute best to find success. Aiming to be good enough, combined with a bit of luck, can pave the way for your achievements.