When to do something you're not good at

The book that shouldn't have been written

Apr 20, 2023

A few months ago, I joined a book club. For all the years I’d been reading, I’d never been part of a formal reading group, so I was suitably excited to see how the community would transmute my solo act of reading.

The first book the club picked wasn’t available on Kindle, my reading device of choice, and I wasn’t quite excited enough to find other ways to procure it, so I declined the invitation to the first month’s book discussion, telling myself I would join the following month’s, whatever the book.

When the second month’s book—which shall not be named—was announced, I wavered. The title gave off a vibe that wasn’t quite right, but I decided to give it a go. After all, it was a book about gatherings, and I’m interested in human connections. How bad can it be?

(Spoiler: very)

The book that shouldn’t have been written

The more of the book I read, the more dismayed I became. By the third chapter, I was skimming rather than reading. By the fifth, I was skipping whole sections. Over three weeks, I torturously progressed, page after agonising page. When finally the ordeal was over, I could have collapsed for joy. I’d never felt happier to finish a book. If not for the book club discussion, I would have gladly abandoned this shambles of a book after the second chapter.

I deeply value good writing. I strive to provide it as a writer, and expect to see it as a reader. If not always, then at least in traditionally published books that have supposedly cleared countless hurdles to reach the printing press.

If it were up to me, this book would have been killed at the starting line. I’ve never said this of any book, but this book is one that should never have been written. A one-page leaflet with eight bullet points would have sufficed. Expanding it into a 320-page monstrosity is a crime against writing. Not only is there not enough content to justify a book, the writing is bad—wordy, clumsy, at once careless and over-engineered.

One of my fellow one-star reviewers on Goodreads said the book was in need of a better editor. I’d go further to say it needed a better writer. The author might have been an authority on gatherings, but they were a complete beginner in writing. If they really wanted to bring this book into being, the least they could have done was hire a ghostwriter.

What was the author thinking? Did they not realise how bad a writer they were? Why did they insist on doing something they’re clearly not good at and offend an entire profession—including yours truly—in the process?

When to do something you’re not good at

This is the point at which you might expect me to say, just like the misguided author should never have written that abominable book, we should never do something we’re not good at.

That was where my rage-fueled thinking was going. But it’s not the conclusion I’ve come to. How can it be? When my life’s work consists of a series of “things I’m not good at” which I insisted on doing until, eventually, I got good at them?

Was I not a horrible English-to-Thai translator when I first applied to translate subtitles for movies and shows? Did I not have projects rejected because my “best” work still wasn’t good enough? Did I not toil and toil, learning from each feedback I received, until, eventually, I rose to the top?

Was I not clueless when I started teaching English privately all those years ago? Did I not try and fail with several students until, by happy accident and pure obstinacy, I stumbled upon a method that works?

Wasn’t the writing in the first year of Val Thinks also an abomination to the profession? Did I not insist on writing, week in week out, even though I had no idea what good writing was supposed to look like? Didn’t each tweak and rewrite gradually refine my craft to the point where I no longer cringe reading my words?

All of us start out not being good at things. And if we use “I’m not good at this” as a reason not to do them, how can we ever get better?

What do you think?

So, although I will never forget the pain the author inflicted upon me, I forgive them for writing the book and making a complete mess of it. I still think the book should never have been written, but that’s on the publisher and editor for not shooting it down. The author themselves cannot be blamed for trying. If I’m going to applaud myself for building a career doing things I’m not good at, I can’t very well turn around and condemn someone for doing the exact same thing.

This week’s question for you is part-philosophical, part-practical:

When to do something you're not good at?

How do you know what to try, when to persist, how to progress? Tell me your answer and I’ll tell you mine. Please hit “reply” or leave a comment—I read every response and I’d love to hear from you. Even better, share this with someone who’s getting better every day.