How to be a genius (2006)
How to be a genius

        
                
                
                    My mother, rest her merry, brainy soul, convinced me early on that I was – as she liked to put it, quoting the cartoon character Yogi Bear – “SMARRR-ter than the average bear!” I happily assumed that my Yogi-like intelligence would ensure great things. My sense of entitlement grew when I easily won good marks in school, then grew some more when three different college professors told me I had a talent for writing. Rising to the top, I gathered, was a matter of natural buoyancy.
The reality check came in my twenties, when nearly a decade of middling effort failed to cast the glow of my writing genius much beyond my study walls. By my early thirties I saw the obvious: my smarts and “talent” – above average or not – would count for little unless I outworked most of the other writers. Only when I started putting in some extra hours did I get anywhere.
About the time I had my epiphany, a growing field of scholarship was more rigorously reaching the same conclusion. It seems the ability we’re so fond of calling talent or even genius arises not from innate gifts but from an interplay of fair (but not extraordinary) natural ability, quality instruction, and a mountain of work. This new discipline – a mix of psychology and cognitive science – has now produced its first large collection of expert reviews, the massive Cambridge Handbook of Expertise and Expert Performance (Cambridge University Press, 2006, ISBN 052184097X).
The book essentially tells us to forget the notion that “genius”, “talent” or any other innate qualities create the greats we call geniuses. Instead, as the…
                                    
            
    