Three Bolts, Two Clamps, and One Hose

hree bolts, two clamps, and one hose were all that prevented me from simply getting in my car and heading in any direction to any location I wished. How much does one need to prepare and concern oneself with such trivial things? Much more often and with greater care, it would seem. Most of the events of our lives are dependent upon items so common that they seldom catch our notice until they oppose our desires. Then the simple element with a simple function complicates the course of our day, consumes our hours, squanders our minutes; frustrates our plans. The details overlooked seed the clouds of circumstances that overwhelm. The smallest thing demands its due recognition. There are no skipped steps and no details so insignificant that may be neglected.

t is the same with writing. All of the rules of style and format and spelling and grammar and punctuation are only the foundation. If one is to write a truly human work there can not be the luxury of skimming over the little things. One hose failed and confined me to a two day sentence of imprisonment. Not only did I have to contend with the failed component but also the failed maintenance schedule, budget, preparation, grocery shopping, and attention to the little details of cause and effect. Then there was the assessment of the ways and means to navigate a problem that had been the result of another human being’s imagination. Every method that could resolve the failure had to satisfy the conditions inherited by me from the design and assembly of some unknown hand.

here is always trial and error, and despite the naturally great distaste for failure, it must be given its due. There is a part of me that recognizes – that actually knows and has admitted – that I do not learn much at all from success. My tuition has been in the failing. I need to remind myself of these things as I write. I need to make certain in my stories that I plan for failure more than the characters realize success. All of those elements of anticipation mingled with denied gratification are necessary to bring that delicious tension to the work which draws in the reader. Like the necessary uncertainty that comes as a stringed instrument is strained and tuned to pitch as to whether it will break or hold, I need to slowly give the work that one, last, critical twist. I think I am going to strive to bait the reader with the false belief held by the whole human race that mankind is fundamentally good and that good always prevails. Then I shall let the details rip that fallacy to shreds. The truth I would like to confront my audience with is that mankind is basically flawed and all good comes from concerted strain and effort against the natural order of chaos.

ven after I had bled and bruised myself from the strain and contortions that I had no choice but to go through in order to replace that hose there was no assurance I had been successful. Sometimes, doubt, is a powerful motivator. Was the replacement secretly flawed? Had another of those little details escaped my view and was it possible I had damaged the very thing I had endeavored to mend? Were those clamps positioned to maximize their effectiveness in securing that hose to its couplings? Did I tighten those three bolts in any combination of too loose or too tight – anything other than correctly? Was it all for show or was it good to go?

hat uncertainty is the very thing I want my readers to feel when they risk driving off in the work of my hands and the vehicle of my imagination.