A rare Jackson Hole native, Melissa Thomasma earned degrees from the University of Chicago and the University of Montana before returning to the Teton Mountains. Since declaring herself “into words” at the age of three, she’s made a career of arranging them on pages. As founder of Elevation Writing, she helps brands tell their unique stories through innovative, engaging digital and print content. When she’s not scribbling away, she loves cooking, fly fishing, and exploring with her husband and tiny humans.
When you’re out and about in Jackson Hole, be sure to pick up a copy of the most recent edition of Dishing. In its pages, you’ll find my article about the history of the iconic local restaurant, The Bunnery.
I have deeply fond memories of the coffee cake as a young child, and adore the fact that it still tastes the same today! I had a wonderful time sipping coffee and chatting with the restaurant’s deeply delightful owner, Gerard. A warm, engaging Frenchman, he’s as passionate about fly fishing as he is about creating consistently fantastic food – well – we had more than enough to talk about.
And – as an added bonus – I am honored to be this edition’s featured contributor! So, pick up a copy and hear some of my thoughts on how the dining scene in the valley has changed over the past few decades.
In this era, we have boundless access to stories. At any given moment, almost any podcast, song, film, magazine, book or television plot is a mere click away. It’s entirely possible to debate the merits of this instant gratification, and what impact it has on our actual engagement with media – but that I will leave for another day. Instead, I’d like to give you a tool to leverage your exposure to these stories, and use them to become a stronger, more adept storyteller and writer yourself.
It’s not a difficult question, but can be deceptively challenging to answer. And therein lies its utility. Ready for it? Get your pen out. Because here it comes.
When you see, read or hear something that you like, ask yourself:
Why does this work?
Challenge yourself to identify what about a particular story or song you find compelling, and describe it. (There is also some use to examining where otherwise good stories fall apart or go wrong, but in my opinion, simply listing why something is terrible isn’t quite as helpful to developing new writing skills.) Is it the overall tone that a film or play manages to create? Or do you find yourself deeply engaged in the emotional journey of a fascinating character? Is it the way in which rhythmic language is used in poem? Or the way negative space creates intensity in a photograph?
Really, I’m not kidding when I suggest that this tool can be used with anything you like. And when you start examining your answers, you’ll discover some inspiration for achieving similar success in your own narrative crafting.
I’ll give you an example. I deeply enjoyed the Cohen Brothers’ recent film, The Ballad of Buster Scruggs. In general, I am drawn to stories about the American West that challenge the stereotypical portrayals of Western narratives, and thought the film was dark, whimsical and wonderful. (If you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend hopping onto Netflix and giving it a go.) In particular, I found the final segment – The Mortal Remains – phenomenal. So – why does the story work?
The segment strikes a mysterious and macabre tone, and offers a deep, philosophical examination of human nature, love and death. This all unfolds as the sun slides lower on the horizon as travelers bounce along in a stagecoach toward a shared destination. It’s a simple premise – just a stagecoach ride and a conversation. And yet, it manages to achieve storytelling excellence. There are a great many things that make this portion of the film work, but here are a couple that I noticed immediately.
When the scene opens, the lighting is warm-ish; it appears to be early evening, and the sun is sinking down in the sky. The light transitions from kind, yellowish hues into deep blues and greens, with heavy shadows. This change – while simple and a literal everyday occurence – becomes ominous, and slowly builds the thrum of deep-in-your-gut tension around what’s really unfolding in the stagecoach.
Now that I’ve identified this simple thing – the way the changing evening light offers an evocative backdrop to an increasingly disturbing conversation – I can consider how that might be useful in a story. Could changing light or the waning of a day help with foreshadowing? Or perhaps a metaphor for a larger theme in a narrative?
Another factor that makes this particular storyline work so well is something that is never, in fact, seen. Two of the characters on board the stagecoach explain that they, under a requirement of their employment, are transporting a dead body. This corpse is never shown, and yet the references to its proximity cast an uneasy pall over the conversation. It’s an interesting example of how things unshown or not present can have immense power. It manages to stir up a huge number of unsettling questions, and thereby contribute to the overall macabre tone without explicit violence or gore.
These two simple elements of the film segment – changing light and a mysterious dead body – contribute hugely to the Gothic energy that infuses the conversation. There are many more details that could be examined here, too! What does it add to have the scene unfold in a moving stagecoach instead of in a static location? Why are the characters dressed the way that they are? How do their accents contribute to the energy of the conversation? Each answer can be a new tool in your writer’s kit.
This is an excellent journaling exercise, or an easy go-to when you’re feeling stuck by writer’s block. Perhaps you’ll start to discover patterns in what you’re drawn to, or inspiration to play with new or different styles and voices in your writing.
Better yet, the next time you sit down to create a rich, compelling scene on the page, think through these tools, and consider how you might use them to make your own work “work” at a higher level!
Rich, powerful stories evoke a depth of feeling. Superficial plots fall flat, and readers can struggle to connect emotionally to the story that a writer is telling. One way to give storylines depth and complexity is to ensure that they unfold against a backdrop that actively reinforces the tone of the central events.
When I write about the West, whether it’s a work of fiction or an article digging into real-life events past or present, I find that the landscape that surrounds the story almost always lends itself beautifully to helping craft the precise tenor that I’d like readers to experience. Below are four elements of the natural world that are simple to weave into your writing to add depth and craft overall tone.
Take a moment and reflect on the variety of ways that water exists and appears in the natural world, and how each have a different feeling. Imagine a crystal clear mountain stream, dancing swiftly around rocks on its way downhill, its sound echoing softly through the trees. How does that imagery compare to a murky, stagnant pond, opaque with grimy scum?
What does a rapid river evoke? Power? Energy? Tension? And how about a tiny spring, bubbling up among bits of gravel and tiny mint-shaded leaves? Hope? Freshness?
Water – as an element with great potential for motion, temperature or degrees of clarity – lends itself as an easy metaphor, and an elegant way to imbue a scene on the page with the emotional energy that you’re working to create.
The plant life that surrounds a story can be likewise helpful in creating depth of mood. Again, take time to consider how different kinds of vegetation evoke feelings. Consider a tall stand of pale, trembling aspens, with vivid leaves dancing in a soft breeze. How does this differ from a sparse plain, populated with gnarled sagebrush and tufts of crisp, wind-dried grass?
Vegetation isn’t limited to large-scale landscape uses, either. It’s useful in descriptions of urban settings, and even indoor spaces. How does a character with a decorative cactus on their desk seem different than one with an orchid? Or opulent vases overflowing with fresh cut lilies?
Yes, a sad person staring ruefully out a rain-streaked window is cliche. But it is entirely possible to utilize weather as a tone-crafting background tool in a way that is much more subtle and sophisticated.
Think instead how something like falling snow could be utilized to create a unique tone for a scene. Is it reinforcing the warmth and coziness of a peaceful indoor space? Or is it more menacing and sinister? A slowly-mounting intensity of cold and darkness? A thunderstorm can easily represent tension or conflict, but it can also bring long-awaited rain and restore life to dry streambeds.
Weather phenomenons – in the expanse of the American West, especially – can range from subtle to dramatic, and can add elegant nuance to the overall backdrop of a plot.
On a similar scale as weather, the overall landscape that surrounds a storyline has the potential to create an evocative and compelling context. Features can represent thematic elements within your story; mountains can be metaphors for challenges, canyons symbols of insurmountable differences between characters. But – like weather – landscape features have the potential for much more dynamic and subtle use as well.
How do human-shaped landscapes create a tone that’s different from wild ones? Do the straight lines of a cornfield evoke a sense of order? Or do they represent a loss of the whimsical and softer edges of the untamed world? How is the character and personality of a town different if it’s on a steep slope as opposed to tucked into a lush river valley?
Obviously, these are far from the only landscape elements that are useful in crafting tone in both fiction and nonfiction. But they’re an easy place to start, and can provide a starting point for writing exercises. Select a natural scene – imaginary or real – and describe it. What elements do you identify that can represent themes or evoke a reader’s emotional connection to the page? If you’re up for a challenge, do it a second time and aim for a different tone and feeling! Can you make the same forest feel peaceful and then sinister? Or the same meandering stream represent hope and then sadness and regret?
Developing your ability to weave carefully-selected and well-described background elements into your storytelling – whether fact or fiction – is guaranteed to make your writing richer and more engaging to readers!
It started as hundreds of wildfires do every year – a single strike of lighting sending a tree into flames. But before it was extinguished, it would claim fourteen lives.
The South Canyon Fire began in the White River National Forest outside of Glenwood Springs, Colorado, on July 3, 1994 – just over twenty five years ago. Initially, managers decided that the blaze’s location in the wilderness meant that it did not require immediate intervention or suppression. Fire is, after all, a critical element to the natural cycles of many Rocky Mountain ecosystems.
However, within a couple of days, nearby property owners began to clamor for action. After reconnoissance flights, firefighters laced up their boots and hit the trail up the rugged Storm King Mountain to tackle the blaze. All indications were that this fire was straightforward, and that suppression would likely be a swift task. Among those on the front lines were the smokejumpers from Montana and the Prineville Hotshots from Oregon.
“We saw this little wisp of smoke and figured we’d have this fire whipped by midnight,” recalls Missoula-based smokejumper Sarah Doehring. She remembers that as one of the season’s earliest fires, the crew arrived with a sense of enthusiasm and excitement.
But the next day, that enthusiasm was eviscerated. In what seemed like the blink of an eye, what seemed like a routine effort became a hellish nightmare from which fourteen experienced firefighters would not escape alive.
Survivors recall that the afternoon of July 6 was breezy, a fairly typical condition for a sunny Colorado day. “There was very little smoke coming off the fire. I wasn’t seeing any torching, any flames,” remembers former Prineville Hotshot and Storm King survivor Alex Robertson. Like Robertson, other survivors recall that the afternoon of July 6 was breezy, a fairly typical condition for a sunny Colorado day. The fire was behaving predictably. However, around 4 p.m., the moderate breeze was unexpectedly eclipsed by howling gusts of gale-force wind.
The Prineville Hotshots were working on a fireline partway up a slope on Storm King Mountain when the wind picked up. Embers from the active fire were lifted into the thick tangles of unburned brush below them, creating spot fires.
In the blink of an eye, those tiny spots exploded into a massive, fast-moving conflagration, racing upslope. The Hotshots ran, seeking safety, but for twelve of them, it was too late. Two smokejumpers were caught up in the upward wave of flame, and though they reached the ridgeline, they found no safety there.
Kathi Beck, Tamera Bickett, Scott Blecha, Levi Brinkley, Robert Browning, Douglas Dunbar, Terri Hagen, Bonnie Holtby, Rob Johnson, Jon Kelso, Don Mackey, Roger Roth, Jim Thrash and Richard Tyler never left Storm King Mountain.
Apart from feeling the tragedy of young, strong and enthusiastic firefighters losing their lives, what’s the value in taking time to remember disasters like Storm King? Why bother rehashing a difficult and painful incident that unfolded two and half decades ago?
The aftermath of the fatalities on Storm King Mountain brought some important new elements to the conversation around fireline safety and operations. These shifts in tactics, approaches and acceptance of limitations have undoubtedly saved lives in the past twenty-five years. And as climate change continues to exacerbate the frequency, size and intensity of wildfires, it’s critical that these lessons aren’t lost. The complexity and scale of fires are expanding every year, and the responses to them are scaling as best they can to meet these ever-growing challenges.
Additionally, Storm King called into question what leadership and communication on a wildfire should look like. Breakdowns in decision-making and discrepancies in messaging amplified the chaos on the South Canyon Fire, and undoubtedly contributed to the tragedy.
Today, advancements both in technology and training have empowered crews to communicate more clearly and more frequently, which helps every firefighter have a good understanding of fire behavior across the incident. Moreover, the culture of safety has matured, and though there’s still room for growth, includes conversations around stress management, the importance of sleep for crews and overall respect for team cohesion and crew limitations.
Remembering incidents like Storm King Mountain and others is important for those within the firefighting community as well as those of us who live in communities impacted by wildfire. Fighting fire is an inherently dangerous job; there is no perfectly safe way to engage in combatting uncontrolled flames that are burning in varied terrains, fuels and in dynamic weather conditions. It is critical for property owners to take as much preparatory action as possible in terms of fire mitigation, and it’s equally important for other community members to help prevent accidental ignitions in wild spaces.
Finally, it should serve as a reminder that we can’t take the work of wildland crews, hotshots or smokejumpers for granted. They face extremely dangerous conditions to protect the lives and property of people they do not know and will never meet. They’re brave, and willing to risk a great deal to save a great deal. In honor of those who never left the slopes of Storm King, let’s just make sure we’re only asking them to do so when absolutely necessary.
To get a more in-depth analysis of what unfolded on Storm King Mountain during the South Canyon Fire, I recommend checking out the award-winning book Fire on the Mountain by John Maclean.
Be sure to pick up a copy of Dishing Magazine’s latest summer edition – it’s on newsstands around Jackson now!
It’s full of great articles, and overflowing with inspiration for foodies of every type. This time, I had the unique opportunity to talk to some regional chefs about how they approach vegetarian fare, especially during summer months.
It was fascinating to glean insights from these culinary masters about crafting the perfect veggie-focused plate, and how to make it compete with more protein-focused dishes on a menu.
And let’s be honest – it made me extremely excited for farmer’s market season. Which, despite this dreary and chilly weather, really is right around the corner!