The Little Matchsitck Girl Theme

Remember the story of the little matchstick girl? The cheery tail of a child peering into the windows of the houses she's sold matches to - all of them golden, warm and inviting - and then (SPOILER!) she freezes to death. If you were like me, you grew up wondering why the hell an adult would read that damned story to you.

Then you started middle school or junior high. Awkward preteen that you were, aching to find where you belonged - and possibly secretly hoping you could make yourself into one of the cool, popular kids - did you came to comprehend the story? Did you stand on the outside looking in they way most of us did? Maybe everyone does that at some point in their lives.

Was it that sports team you desperately wanted to make but didn't? Or the prom you so badly wanted to attend but no one asked or those you asked said no, so you pretended you didn't really want to go anyway? It could have been being skipped over for promotion, a longing to end up on a best seller list, or maybe (mission accomplished for Jeffe!) a golden statuette of your very own.

Why am I reminding you of the ache that accompanies wanting but not yet having? Because that pain point is where my stories happen. Every single one is, on some level, about wanting, not having, and either coming to terms with that, or becoming the person who is worthy of winning the wanted thing. Whatever it may be. Of course, I'm perverse enough that getting what you wanted is never, ever the end of the story. It usually comes just prior to the black moment, because I'm a terrible human being that way.

In any case, my characters start a story suffer various types and stages of alienation. They're all of them searching for a place to belong. A few require a bit of redemption before they're fit to belong anywhere. But without fail, they all start out as that little matchstick girl, nose pressed against the frosty glass while killing cold and isolation gnaw at their hearts.

Did your family read The Little Match Girl when you were a kid? Do you remember how you reacted? Is it healthy for a kid's story to haunt someone into adulthood? Asking for a friend.

Weed Themes in Writing: Not That Kind of Weed

No, not the kind you roll, the kind growing through your driveway. The kind you face down with a cannister of Round-Up, yet stay your trigger-finger lest you nuke the toads in the process. The kind when you rip the leaves from the stems still has a wide and deep root system waiting to grow another sprout or twelve. The kind that starts in the meadow and eventually pops up by the porch.

Try as you might, those weeds are survivors.

They're integrated into the soil of your imagination. Germinating while you're plotting. They don't need water or fertilizer; minding or tending. All they need is you focused on making the garden bloom, clicking out the word-count, sentences flowing, scenes growing, climaxes building, chapters swelling, denouements wrapping.

When you're done, and surveying the fields of your creation, you might not see them. You might not be aware that in midst of the herbs and flowers you meant to cultivate, are the weeds of themes that are intrinsically part of the way you look at life.

It might take a reviewer to point them out. 

Once you spot those weeds, raise a glass to them. Now you see the enduring power of nature.

Your nature.