The Greatest Marshmallow Test

Perhaps one of the greatest challenges I face with the prospect of building a career as a professional writer is the reality that it will most likely take a long time before I get frequently published and can generate consistent revenue.

I am intrigued by the lack of prodigies when it comes to creative writing. Some exist, but not nearly as many as the fields of visual art or music. The fledgling savant artists and novice gifted musicians far outnumber the young, talented writers. Occasionally, such a writer may hit it big with one of their first stories through some combination of fortune and merit. And yet these young writers don’t have the kind of long-lasting, sustainable careers that I would wager most of us desire.

Many of the writers that I look up to are not one-hit-wonders. Instead, I tend to be drawn to ones that start writing at a young age but don’t tend to produce their best work until their forties or fifties. I wouldn’t be surprised if this were my trajectory as well.

This phenomenon makes me think about Malcom Gladwell’s theory of 10 000 hours. While he was generally referring to more cognitively demanding fields of expertise, I can’t help but feel that it applies all the same to creative writing. It appears that those with the most consistent success are those who have dedicated a substantial portion of their life to the craft.

As a result, I’m faced with the biggest exercise in delayed gratification of my life. The greatest marshmallow test. I’m twenty-three as I write this - I likely won’t reap the rewards of all the work I’m doing for decades.

It is a sobering feeling, especially when I start every new project with the fantasy that this will be my magnum opus. Especially in that honeymoon phase of each new story, where I’ll concoct fake interviews in my head to provide my audience some insight on just how I was able to build this masterpiece. 

I recognize I won’t get there overnight. But damn, that’s a tasty looking marshmallow.