There are many ways people try to explain what writing a story is like. Just this morning I was on my way home when I started thinking about “dead wood” – I’d earlier told a friend that I was trying to get rid of dead wood. Yet writing isn’t really about getting rid of dead wood because that implies a tree and a story isn’t really like a tree. A tree has many branches that usually don’t come back together – they just spread out more and more.
But the dead wood analogy inspired a different notion. Writing is like trying to start fire without matches, a lighter, gasoline, etc. There are certain ingredients you need to make fire, and there are certain basic tools required. You can try rubbing two sticks together but, chances are, you won’t accomplish much beyond blisters. Come on, if it were really that easy kids would never need to be playing with matches.
The best tools in the world won’t matter if the tinder isn’t right. If it’s damp (boring) it will take a long time to catch, smoke a lot (which stings the eyes), need a lot of attention to keep it lit, and if you are lucky enough to get some kind of a flame, it will be small and relatively cool. Might do to keep mosquitoes away but little else.
So you pick out the damp stuff and the bits that don’t even burn, and you rub the sticks. Finally an ember falls in just the right place, and you carefully groom it into a flame. You build your fire on top of it – no, no you twit – you start off with small, dry twigs, not logs. You don’t want to smother it! That’s it, you build it into a raging inferno, and you’re good to go.
If you’ve done it right, you have a fire that provides warmth against the cold and a means to cook. And even if you’ve no food and it’s August in Phoenix, a nice fire still fills you with a certain mmm.