“The ability comes naturally,” replied Kell. “The proficiency takes work.” — A Gathering of Shadows, V.E. Schwab
In V.E. Schwab’s Shades of Magic series, Kell claims a natural affinity for blood magic. He remembers no time in his life when he was without the capacity. As a result, he is one of the best (and few) blood magicians in the Londons. (Side note: Schwab’s world includes multiple Londons. As a blood magician, Kell can travel to and from them.)
Rhy, Kell’s “sort of” brother, says the ability means natural mastery. Kell, unlike him, doesn’t — or shouldn’t — have to practice basic magic. Kell can summon earth, water, wind, and fire to do his bidding with nary a flicker of thought. Rhy, in contrast, struggles to move the smallest bit of earth.
Kell disagrees. He says the ability comes naturally, but he has to hone it to become truly proficient.
- a•bil•i•ty: [noun] possession of the means or skill to do something.
- pro•fi•cien•cy: [noun] a high degree of competence or skill; expertise.
For him, natural ability simply translates to capacity and potential. It is energy at rest. He puts it to work to produce results. He nurtures the talent, studies other magicians, and accepts criticism and advice. Kell does the hard work required of a hard responsibility.
In many ways, he treats his natural ability as a matter of stewardship. He sometimes feels joy in using his talent, but he more often dwells upon his responsibility toward it. He can’t let the magic simply flow; to do so would jeopardize not only people around him but also himself. Blood magic unchecked pollutes the blood, destroys the soul, and subsumes realms in darkness—he knows the theory as fact because of Black London.
Because of that knowledge, he learns to control the blood magic. He is the master, not the magic. He harnesses the ability so that he becomes an adept, a proficient.
Writers, Ability, and Proficiency
Writers should take Kell’s approach when it comes to their talent. Even if they’re born with natural ability, they must refine it. Writing requires friction and encouragement to become better writing.
Such better writing demands practice and ongoing effort. It asks for them because the writing desires to be used and to be used well. It isn’t content with so-so results. The writing wants to become more than it is. It reaches toward and forward in hopes of making a slight improvement.
The better writing also requires mastery. Wild writing destroys just as well as Kell’s blood magic. It is Dillard’s lion reclaiming its natural bent. Better writers visit the writing every day so that the lion knows its place.
They tame the writing into submission, make the words obey. Some days, the writing and the writers align. Everything comes easy. Other days, the writing fights back. The better writers wrestle it into something usable, something with worth. Better writers do so because natural ability isn’t and won’t ever be enough. They want proficiency, so they do the hard work — a lifetime of work — to attain it.
Image: Yuri Westplat (Creative Commons)