We Didn't Start The Fire

I've made myself two informal New Year's resolutions. The first is to lose 20 pounds. The second is to write. Now that they are listed somewhere other than the inside of my own head, I suppose they are now *formal* resolutions.

I'd thought that I'd write every day. There are two schools of thought on being a writer. Most professional, successful, popular writers will tell you to write every single day, regardless of how good the result is. Only with practice can we be perfect. My own school of thought is: why write something if you know ahead of time that it's going to be complete garbage? Why not wait until you have something good to write?

After years of following my own advice, a bit of self-inspection has revealed to me that I am neither a professional, successful, nor popular writer. Hmmm. Perhaps my way is wrong.

So I choose to write today without having a topic in mind. The only thing I can think of is a rhetoric question that popped into my mind lately. Why is it so easy to set your house on fire, but so difficult to start a fire in the fireplace? (I don't know where this thought came from. It may be that I saw or heard it in passing. It reminds me of those Stephen Wright-type questions, like "When you ship Styrofoam, what do you pack it in?". I still haven't found out the answer to that one.)

And then I remembered that starting a fire in a fireplace isn't difficult for everyone. My best friend is quite good at it. Mark (http://www.diveintomark.org/) went camping with us a few summers ago, and quickly proved himself as Campfire Man. Campfire Man can gather wood like nobody can. Campfire Man can light a bonfire with a single match. Campfire Man can keep the ashes going all night, so that getting a fire ready for breakfast is a snap. (What Campfire Man can't do, as it turns out, is cook the steaks medium-rare. That's the only time I was allowed near the fire.)

So how did he achieve this greatness? Years of practice, I supposed. But no, he had not been camping before. Aha! He must have read a book on the subject. I looked up "Firebuilding for Dummies", but it doesn't exist. ("Camping for Dummies", though, does: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/search-handle-form/104-1249955-2568737)

As it turns out, he could just do it. Like that 4-year old who plays Chopin like nobody's business. Or the kitten that somehow (hopefully) knows to use the litterbox instead of the priceless Oriental living room rug.

Now Mark has other talents too, ones he excels at. He's the best programmer and authority on Apple computers that I know. He can juggle 5 balls, and I can only do 4. He is a wonderful husband, and soon to be a wonderful father. Some of these he's had lots and lots of practice at. He's tried, failed, and tried again. Some of them he will have to practice at, and learn through experience (like to have a clean diaper open and ready to slip under the kid's butt as soon as the dirty one comes off. Trust me.).

But firebuilding just came naturally, and I'm really wondering how that happens. Does everybody have something that comes to them naturally? (And conversely, does everybody have something that they will never be good at, no matter how hard they work at it?) What happens in a person's brain that gives them the information, knowledge, and talent needed to succeed the first time?

I don't have the answers, but I'm awfully good at coming up with the questions. I don't know why. I guess it just comes natually.