I lead a pretty boring life. So do most people, but that doesn't stop us from sharing all the details with anyone who will listen. Long ago, I realized that there were two ways to become a better writer: have a really interesting life, or learn how to phrase and describe boring things in a really interesting way. Since most things aren't all that intrinsically captivating, I began reading lots of poetry, because they seem to have it down. Think about it; there are famous, anthologized poems about a pot, a tree, and a flea. But still, sometimes a good story helps, and in studying the best stories, a pattern emerges: bad decisions make for good stories.

Take this example: you are walking down a dark street late at night. You see a group of young men hanging out and trying to appear inconspicuous. It would be smart to avoid them while not looking afraid. Conversely, it would be pretty dumb to walk up to them, spit on the biggest one, and call them all pussies. Now look at the stories that would come out of those decisions.

Decision #1: “I was walking down the street and saw a group of possible muggers, so I avoided them and went home.”

Not the best story in the world, not to mention extremely short, and it assumes that the muggers also made a good decision in figuring out that the storyteller isn’t a good victim.

Decision #2: “I was walking down the street and saw a group of possible muggers, so I walked up to them, spit on the biggest one, and called them all pussies. Then they attacked me, so we got into a fight. One of them hit me with a pipe. It really hurt. Luckily a cop car came by and they ran away. I had to go to the hospital; it turns out they cracked a rib. I told the cops they attacked me first.”

Now, this is a much better story. There’s pride, violence, justice, and consequences, possibly even a lesson, a lesson our first storyteller figured out a while ago: it’s a bad idea to provoke a fight you won’t win.

Also, this story assumes that every decision beyond the first one is a good one: the possible muggers knew they could win a fight against the narrator but not the police; the police knew to be at a place where crimes might occur; the hospital workers were competent, and that the narrator was smart enough to lie about the cause of the fight. As we change these decisions, the story gets progressively more interesting.

Two Bad Decisions: “I was walking down the street and saw a group of possible muggers, so I walked up to them, spit on the biggest one, and called them all pussies. Then they attacked me, so we got into a fight. One of them hit me with a pipe. It really hurt. Luckily a cop car came by, but the muggers pulled out guns and started shooting at the cops. The car swerved and hit a pole, which sent live electric wires all over the place. One landed in a pile of garbage, which then caught fire. In the mayhem, I managed to crawl away. The cops pulled their car away to a safer distance. Then the cops got out, and from behind cover started opening fire back at the muggers. I kept moving away from the action as quickly as possible. Within minutes there were tons of cop cars showing up and before I knew it, it’s all over. It turns out that once reinforcements showed up, the guys surrendered. The Fire Department was there waiting to put out the fire once the area was safe. I had to go to the hospital; it turns out they cracked a rib. I told the cops they attacked me first.”

As the decisions get worse, the stakes get higher. If the muggers would have kept shooting to their deaths, the story would escalate even further. If there were no firefighters, the fire could have consumed building after building, and if the residents inside those buildings had made their own bad decisions, the story would escalate into a horrendous disaster. The disaster could be personal instead if the nurses used a dirty needle or gave the wrong drug. The story could end in a comic tragedy of the narrator saying to the cops, “Yeah, I started the whole thing. I wanted to kill those fucking bastards for looking at me funny. I walked up to them, spit on one of them, and called them all pussies. Then I hit them first.” Of course, if every decision made were the worst one possible, the whole planet would explode within hours. It wouldn’t take long for the cops to declare martial law, call in the national guard, and soon enough, the nukular weapons start flying.

It must be easier for storytellers to exploit bad decisions instead of explaining really good ones. A character is only as clever as its author, and decisions good enough to be worth reading about demand much from their creators. Also, most stories revolve around topics that have been written about innumerably already, so most of the really good ideas have been taken. Not only does a decision have to be clever and interesting; it can’t remind its readers (or viewers) of five other books and movies where the same thing happened. Then again, judging the books and movies available, maybe that last criterion isn’t so important after all.

Bad decisions cause problems that will do major damage if not resolved, ripples that turn tidal. In fact, that might actually be the definition of a bad decision: a choice that causes damage unless resolved. The damage itself can take many forms, and in each of those forms a decision can be weighed as a good or bad one. A decision may work well financially but not emotionally, socially but not personally. There are multitudes of possible positions from which to judge a decision. Every desire held will clamor for decisions that bring it closer to reality, and every fear affected will come clambering out from the darkness at what we are about to do. Part of our desire for external structure might just come from this inner conflict; when we have too many voices inside, it can be comforting to have one booming voice from above to overpower them.

The paradox we face is that decisions that will enhance our life are typically the safer ones, but making every decision a safe one is a quick trip to a meaningless existence. We have to ask what we enjoy more: the living of life or the telling of it.