Analysis of my short story: "My Boat Almost Blew Up."

Analysis of a story, “My Boat Almost Blew Up…”

As promised. Again, here is the story if you want to read it first.

You should read it first.

Let’s dive in:

My boat almost blew up two days ago.

I scraped some raw ground beef into my pan and turned on the gas stove.

My fume detector goes from green to red and starts BEEPING.

I am TERRIFIED. Why?

Because last year year a fire nearly ended our marina...

Rewind to July 2022:

OK SO THE ABOVE PART IS CALLED A HOOK. I’M SURE, SPENDING TIME ON THE APP FORMERLY KNOWN AS TWITTER, YOU’VE SEEN LOTS OF TALK OF HOOKS. HERE I HAVE A COMPELLING FIRST SENTENCE, AND I DRAW YOU INTO THE MEAT OF THE STORY WHICH HAPPENS IN A FLASHBACK.

LIKE A SCREENPLAY WRITER, I CAPITALIZE WORDS THAT YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO REGISTER. THIS ADDS PUNCH.

I am on the upper deck of my motor yacht getting a LaCroix from the fridge.

I see what looks like a fire from the upper deck of my friend’s house barge, two docks away. It takes me three seconds to believe my eyes.

In that three seconds a tendril of fire roils out the lake-facing window.

My adrenaline dumps. I call 911 and tell them there is a fire on a boat in my marina. I remain on the phone with them, giving them relevant details as I quickly exit my boat and unplug it from shore power. I also unplug my neighbor’s boat.

My marina is a tight squeeze. 32 boats, houseboats, and barges all packed together like sardines along 3 docks, parallel to the lake.

I WANTED TO DESCRIBE WITH GREAT ALACRITY AND SPEED WHAT HAPPENS, BUT ALSO ROOT YOU IN TIME AND PLACE, WHICH IS WHY, AT THE END OF THIS STANZA (YES, MUSICAL WORDS CAN ALSO BE USED [AND SHOULD BE USED] TO DESCRIBE WRITING]) I GIVE A BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF THE LAYOUT OF THE MARINA. AS BRIEF AS POSSIBLE.

I hope to God that my friend —we’ll call her Shiela— is okay…

I dash from the dock to my next-door neighbor’s back door, and pound on it. He opens, startled. I tell him there’s there’s a fire, and to grab whatever’s vital and get out.

Shit. I have to do that for myself.

I OPTED HERE, TO FOREGO THE WHOLE “SHIT,” I THINK TO MYSELF, I HAVE TO DO THAT FOR MYSELF—I HOPE THE REASONING IS OBVIOUS. REMEMBER THE RULES CAN BE BENT.

I run back to my boat, and cast a glance back to the flaming housebarge. The entire upper floor is now on fire, and the flames are licking the wall of the neighbor’s housebarge, where two PROPANE TANKS are situated.

There are propane tanks on every boat. In this situation, for all intents and purposes… they are bombs.

IN THE OVERALL NARRATIVE, I HAVE TAKEN US INTO ACT 2 WITH THIS REVELATION. OR, IF YOU PREFER, I HAVE JACKED THE STAKES UP A MAGNITUDE HIGHER, OR “TWISTED THE KNIFE.'“

"Please God, not that," I think to myself.

I re-enter my boat, grab my passport, some cash and (REDACTED).

A FUN LITTLE THING TO LET US KNOW WE’RE IN A REAL STORY.

I exit again, meeting my next-door neighbor on the dock, and we make for the shore-side exit of the marina.

Everyone is exiting their boats now, many people are frantic; we’re all hoping we don’t get blown up by a propane tank chain reaction on the way out.

I’M REMINDING YOU OF THE STAKES HERE, IN CASE YOU FORGOT WITH ALL THE OTHER SHIT GOING ON.

The burning housebarge is now 100% engulfed in flame, which is now visible from every point on our lake, which is situated in the geographic center of my troubled city, Seattle.

THIS IS CALLED A ZOOM-OUT. IT’S GOOD TO VARY THE PERSPECTIVES FROM TIME TO TIME AS IT GIVES YOUR STORY ADDED DIMENSION.

I now beg God that Shiela, and her tenant—we’ll call her Marie— are not inside.

AGAIN, REMINDING YOU OF THE MOST PALPABLE, IMMEDIATE STAKES—THE POSSIBLE DEATH OF MY FRIEND, BUT DOING SO WITH MORE POINTED LANGUAGE— “BEG,” INSTEAD OF “HOPE”

As we exit to the street, the fire department shows up. Not one truck. Fourteen of them. Police too. And frogmen.

Why such an outsized response?

Because this has happened before. A firework took out a hundred drydocked boats on the 4th of July; I forget when, but recently.

Remember, boats are made of highly flammable fiberglass. When it burns, it suggests ice cream melting in hot sun. You can imagine how these flaming, molten pieces can quickly spread a fire.

ICE CREAM MELTING IS AN IMPROBABLE, YET VERY REAL METAPHOR

But this is even more dangerous because every single boat, barge, sailboat and Cruise-A-Home has at least one propane tank, with the valve OPEN.

AGAIN, IF YOU HAVE A DETAIL LIKE THIS, SLAM IT HOME.

On the street, everyone seems to be accounted for.

Everyone except for Shiela and Marie.

I call them both. The calls go directly to voicemail.

The fire lights up the night. The fire department battles the blaze from every conceivable angle.

WE’RE NOW TRACKING TWO PARTS OF THE STORY

Bathed in the terrible hue of blue and red lights, we all speculate to one another. Who saw Shiela? Who saw Marie? When?

Marie shows up. Devastated, but at least she’s alive.

We all keep calling Shiela and reaching voicemail.

The fire continues to burn, but it doesn’t look like it’s spreading.

This is due to the quick response of the Seattle Fire Department!

There is a Fox news affiliate across the street from us. An interview crew shows up on the scene. They interview me, because I volunteered, and I seemed to have it together more than most.

THIS REALLY HAPPENED, WHICH IS WHY I PROVIDED THE LINK.

The video is attached. My interview portion starts at 1:15. At this point the fire seems firmly under control, but still… nobody knows where Shiela is.

THE DIMENSIONS OF THE FIRE, WHICH I SPENT THE MOST WORDS TRYING TO ELUCIDATE, WAS QUELLED HERE, BUT THE REAL TENSION (WHERE IS SHIELA) IS STILL OUTSTANDING, SO I DO MY BEST TO SHIFT THE TENSION, AND CALL AS LITTLE ATTENTION AS POSSIBLE TO THIS SLEIGHT OF HAND.

We wouldn’t know for another 45 minutes. Those 45 minutes were some of the longest in my life. In all the lives of everyone close to her...

Shortly after midnight, she finally arrives.

Praise God. No really. Praise God.

AND HERE, THE STORY PEAKS.

She was out dancing, which is why she didn’t hear the sixty-odd voicemails.

Later, we were allowed back into the marina. Her houseboat was burned to a crisp, and three other neighboring boats were scorched on the fire-facing side.

Miraculously, no propane tanks exploded. The firefighters got to the neighbor’s tanks in time and tossed them in the water. Shiela’s tanks seemed to have fallen off on their own…

I SPENT TIME STRINGING YOU ALONG ABOUT THE PROPANE TANKS EXPLODING, IT’S ONLY FAIR THAT I WRAP UP THAT THREAD.

Nobody was injured, and nobody died… a miracle.

TRULY.

A few of us who were close to Marie and Shiela stayed up all night with them and held space.

The next day, damage was assessed. While the forensic investigators were not able to ascertain the cause of the fire, they believe it most likely was an an aftermarket battery in a Dyson vacuum.

ALSO TRUE. DO NOT BUY AFTERMARKET LITHIUM BATTERIES FROM AMAZON!

With a shrill, staccato beep, we fast forward to TWO DAYS AGO, to me, my boat, the fume detector going off, and the events I just described compressed into a split-second flash in my mind.

NOW WE’RE BACK IN THE PRESENT, BUT WITH AN AUDIO CUE - THE SHRILL BEEP. THIS IS A CINEMATIC TECHNIQUE (FYI YOU CAN USE MANY CINEMATIC WRITING TECHNIQUES WHEN WRITING ANY FORM OF PROSE. WE ARE MOSTLY VISUAL THINKERS AND HAVE SEEN SO MANY MOVIES AND SHOWS THAT WE INTUITIVELY UNDERSTAND HOW THIS WORKS.

I immediately turn the gas off, and open all the windows.

The beeping persists.

I exit the main cabin, climb onto the upper deck, find the propane tanks, turn my propane tank off, and disconnect the hose.

I poke my head back in the cabin.

The beeping has not stopped.

I re-enter the cabin, go to the fume detector and press the “reset” button.

The beeping stops…

Then RESUMES.

THERE ARE SOME MINI PEAKS AND TROUGHS HERE, BUT THE REAL MEAT OF THE STORY TOOK PLACE IN THE PAST. BUT I AM CREATING, IN THIS SCENE, RISING ACTION, AND A MICROCOSM OF EVENTS THAT COMPOSED THE LARGER STORY.

I make for the dock and call my landlord, who assures me that as as long as the room is being ventilated and the propane is disconnected, there is zero risk of explosion.

He has to assure me several times.

After a few minutes, I re-enter my boat.

The beeping has not stopped. I press the reset button again.

That stops it.

For real this time.

But I am left puzzled until I look up the fume detector manual online. Turns out it’s sensitive to hydrocarbons. Of any kind.

And I just used a spot remover on my shirt in the galley next to it. The spot remover, called Folex, contained something called S,S,S-Tributyl phosphorotrithioate. Apparently, this is what triggered the fume detector.

WEIRD, RIGHT?

I finally exhale.

And make lunch.

ALL OF THE PRESENT DAY PORTION (FLASH FORWARD) ACTS AS A DENOUEMENT, OR “COMEDOWN” FROM THE PEAK. UNCONVENTIONAL, BUT EFFECTIVE IF YOU CAN FIND A WAY TO KEEP THE TENSION GOING.

Another day.

I would love it if you wrote a short story. I would be happy to analyze it.

That’s all for now. If this was valuable, share it please.

I’ll see you on the path,

Patrick Christell

P.S. If you want to know how I was able to do deep work, at will, for twenty years, in the highest echelon of the most competitive form of professional writing known to humankind, click here.

***

I am a professional storyteller.

I’ve been doing it for over two decades. I’ve synthesized everything I’ve learned into a self-actualization framework wherein anyone can apply the structure of epic storytelling toward becoming not only a master storyteller, but the master of their own life story. I call this StoryChanging. For more, browse the rest of my newsletter here, follow me on X or check out my website.

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