Roses, Dumpster Fires, and the Power of the Pen

Controlling fictional narrative with words, intentions, and the magic of context

If a rose is a rose by any other name, why bother? But bother, we do. Words have power. Phrases take on a life of their own. Even within the family Rosaceae, which includes hundreds of species, there is so much variation that there’s no telling what the term ‘rose’ brings up for a person. Is it a wild rose, or a carefully cultivated hybrid? Does it come from a shrub or climb a trellis? Is it white, red, yellow? Some combination of the three? Specifics matter. Context matters.

Writers usually don’t leave it all up to chance—we set the stage, specify which rose we’re offering. I can’t adequately explain my joy—the sheer exuberance I feel every time I sit down to write or revise my writing. The real world is complex, unpredictable, and—at the moment—scary. In my little fictional world, I can change that dynamic. Storytelling is magic.

At the moment, I’m in the middle of editing a novel. I’m blending the best parts of an earlier version with newer ideas. While freshening up the dialogue, weaving in subtext, omitting extraneous chit-chat, my mind wanders. I grab a pen and tear a sheet from one of the free pads of paper I’ve received from a nonprofit.

A minute passes, and I open my eyes. I write the words ‘Dumpster Fire’ across the three-inch width of notepad paper. Is this an emotional response to my draft, or commentary on the world as I know it? Who can say? I make anagrams from the words. Mudstrep Rife, Trempsud Frie, Spumdert Ifer. I can only think I’m rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic, a cliched phrase but one that accurately portrays my mental state. No matter what I call my dumpster fire, no matter how I choose to rearrange letters—or deck chairs—the heat and stench which it emits is repulsive.

But is my dumpster fire identical to yours? We bring our individual history with us when interpreting words and phrases. If your background and mine are similar, there’s a chance our lenses will align. If not, I’ll have little idea what the image conjures up for you. I won’t be able to control what you picture, how you react. Yet when I’m writing, I allow myself to ignore that detail. If I’m paying attention to the context I provide for you, I have a decent chance of controlling parts and pieces of your experience. That level of control is the beauty of writing. Writers can choose to zoom in or out of a scene, giving an intimate look at one character’s persona or a view of the entire story world as seen from afar. Once again, specifics and context matter.

The freedom to read and write is worth holding onto, worth celebrating. By staying in community with others who understand the power of words, we build a safer world. I appreciate being part of the Substack community. Thanks for reading my words, and for being here, too.

I’ll give you a rose—a hybrid tea rose, yellow and delicately scented—to pin to your white fisherman’s sweater. Let’s run from the dumpster fire and meet in the small cafe just around the corner. I’ll order you an oat milk latte and a berry scone. We can grab a table by the window and watch people walking by. There will be dogs and babies, lovers holding hands. I hope your yellow rose brings a little joy, however impermanent.