Once upon a time, I couldn’t read. I practiced sounding out the words, and each day seemed like I was making no progress. Then one day, I could read–haltingly, but I could read.
Once upon a time, I couldn’t write a line of code. I’d see these long elaborate programs listed in the early computer magazines and wondered how people figured this stuff out. I practiced, and practiced, and one day, I wrote a simple program. And then another, and the programs got more complex, and the languages changed, and I get better and better at it. Today, I make a living a software developer.
Once upon a time, I couldn’t fly. Then I took flying lessons. I practiced as much as I could. I passed my written, and then my oral test, and finally, my practical test, and came home from the airport that day with a private pilot’s license in my pocket.
Once upon a time, I couldn’t write. My stories had no identifiable beginning, middle, or end. They- characters were carved out of thin cardboard. The language was in primary colors. The dialog dripped adverbs. The plot was an overly complicated Rube Goldberg contraption. I practiced. I read a lot. But I practiced a lot. I tried to learn from my mistakes when that was possible. I sold a story, and then another, and then another, and then more.
Without practice–a heck of lot it in my case–I would never have learned to read, or write code, or fly a plane, or tell stories that at least a small number of people seem to enjoy. If there has been any overarching lesson in my life, it has been this: don’t underestimate the value of practice.