Stone Soup for Writers
By Kristin Hacken South | January 23, 2025 |
The violent metaphor of writers killing their darlings has never appealed to me. I understand that we sometimes need to disrupt the comfort of our revision process, but may I suggest something a little less murderous? Tasty, even?
One of the treasured picture books of my childhood was Stone Soup. Have you read it? In this retelling of an old European fable, a hungry traveler approaches a village known for its miserly inhabitants. Desperate for food, he concocts a trick to get them to feed him. He sets up a large cauldron in the middle of the town square and fills it with water, then places a stone in the bottom of the cauldron. As it heats up, a villager comes to ask him what he’s doing.
“I’m making stone soup,” he replies, stirring the water and occasionally taking a sip. “It’s coming along nicely, but it would taste better with salt.”
The curious villager runs home and brings back some salt. By now, a crowd has gathered. The traveler seasons his soup with salt, takes another sip, and sighs. “An onion or two would be just the thing,” he says. A second villager brings an onion.
On and on it goes, with the additions of carrots, potatoes, and whatever else would go into a hearty stew. At the end, he fishes out his stone and shares a delicious meal with the no-longer hostile and selfish village. Together they’ve created stone soup.
This story delighted me on multiple levels. I loved the ingenuity of the newcomer, the gradual and piecemeal thawing of the villagers, the delicious soup that fed them all. I loved the chutzpah of fooling an entire town into thinking that a stone chucked into some boiling water could become something worth consuming.
As an adult, I still delight in the story of stone soup, but now I read it as a good metaphor for writing (isn’t everything?).
Your brain picks up a shiny bauble of an idea. It might be an interesting character, a fabulous setting, or a devilishly twisty plot. If a story in its most simplified form is simply a person, in a place, with a problem, then any of those three elements could be the stone tossed into the cauldron of your imagination.
The water comes to a boil as you go about your daily life. Soon, if your mind is at all like mine, your subconscious starts to sniff around. What’s cooking? Is it any good?
The nay-saying villagers who have colonized my mind, at least, can be a pretty suspicious bunch. They tell me that a rich and hearty story will never result from that bare rock sitting at the bottom of my pot—but they can be tricked into sharing the observations that are hidden inside the cupboards of my memory.
With a little persuasion, they open the cabinets and rummage around. Ideas, snatches of conversation, resonances from other books, and intriguing people I’ve met all add ingredients to the mix:
That guy with a scar that I saw at the bus stop? He’d make a perfect salty foil.
That snatch of conversation I overheard in the coffee shop? Unexpected zest.
That book I just finished reading, the one that tells its story in layers like an onion? I might slice it up for structure and throw it in.
And on it goes.
In the story of the stone soup, the canny traveler relies on others to provide the ingredients. Writers do the same: we take bits from anyone, anywhere. We’re greedy little scavengers—and that’s not an apology.
The hard part, in my opinion, is knowing when to fish out that stone, that exciting but inedible ingredient that started it all. Too soon, and the plot is weak and watery. Too late, and you get grit in your teeth.
Metaphors aside, it’s personal for me. I wrote a complete first draft of my current project but I knew, even as I wrote, that I had rushed the process. I had to let it rest overnight before I could taste which flavors needed correcting. When I came back to it, the problem was obvious. I hadn’t gotten to know two of my characters well enough, while the third had such a strong voice that he overpowered all else. Think garlic. Think ghost peppers. Worse, think cilantro (ugh).
In my current round of revision, I have removed that entire POV. Already I can hear the voices of my other characters more clearly. They want to tell a story that is less exciting and more easily overlooked than his. His voice was a boulder dragging my story down, and no amount of polishing would shape it into anything else. Without the sharp and commanding taste of his voice, I hope the remaining flavors—not bland but more subtle—will turn this novel into a quietly satisfying meal.
I ask you: don’t we, as writers, with our personal flair and favorite ingredients and exacting quest for intriguing flavors, have much more in common with cooks than with murderers? No killings required, darling. We don’t need to turn a beloved idea or chapter or exquisite phrase into a scene of carnage. And neither should we view an early draft as a millstone to hang around our necks or a cudgel with which to beat ourselves up. Instead, remove the superfluous stone from the pot, start another cauldron, and keep on stirring.
I like what I’m smelling. Care for a taste?
Do you write in an additive and subtractive manner, like this metaphor of stone soup implies, or does another method work better for you?
Have you ever had to throw out almost the entire pot of stew? How do you know what to keep and what to toss?
Kristin Hacken South is happiest on the days that she works on her fiction, which to date has included a few short stories, two middle grade detective stories, and two adult novels. She lives in Atlanta, with three independent book stores within walking distance of her house. Her idea of a good time is still a day in the desert with a trowel in one hand and a notebook in the other.
[coffee]
What is wrong with cilantro, I ask you? Try adding some (chopped) to chicken salad. Sprinkle in some toasted sesame seeds too. See? Even bland chicken salad can be elevated, a little bit anyway.
Add or subtract? Hmm. For me, what to subtract are junk calorie words. What to add are rhetorical spices. Mostly what I need though is not any ingredient but courage—the courage not to keep my characters safe in a warm soup story, but to truly starve, hunt and torment them.
The version of “Stone Soup” that I read as a kid it was three traveling soldiers who worked the Tom Sawyer-like trick on the villagers. The story works because it is a parable, simple and to a point. Today I wonder more about the three soldiers. Were they coming from, or going to, a battle? How will the stop in the village change each of them—and the village?
Nourishing post, thank you!
Hi, Benjamin. There is absolutely nothing wrong with cilantro. In fact, sometimes when I run out, I shave some soap into my food and it tastes just the same.
I appreciate your mention of starving and tormenting the characters along the way. As a cook, I value how much better food tastes when people are hungry than when they’re already satiated. “Don’t ruin your appetite,” a parent might scold, and writers also do well to remember not to hand out cookies before dinner.
Kristin, I’m on the run today, but wanted to let you know:
*first, that I love this metaphor and useful essay.
*and that, with cilantro, there is a measurable genetic anomaly that leads to tasting soap instead of a refreshing herb. We either fall into one camp or the other. It’s an entire category in the report from 23&Me. Also, be glad that I am not your personal chef, lol.
Keep on cooking! You just keep getting better.
Hi Vaughn! Thanks for stopping by. Yeah, I knew about that gene. I’ve also discovered that if I’m force-fed enough cilantro on a regular basis, it goes from horrifically soapy to merely unpleasant. Given how often people put cilantro in Mexican and Indian dishes, I’ll take it as an improvement.
I love this post, Kristin, not least because Stone Soup” was and remains one of my favorite tales. I also love your fresh perspective on darling killing in revision. I’m always a fan of any approach that feels constructive!
Thank you, Tiffany! I’ve just started reading your new book on Intuitive Editing and I’m sure it will provide many tasty insights. :)
I’ll admit, I felt gypped by Stone Soup as a child because there was no magic in it. But as an adult, I’ve come to appreciate how we bring the magic ourselves. There’s no magic wand to save us or make our stories work, but there is us, and that is magic enough.
No magic? I suppose that’s the difference between fables and fairy tales. I agree with you that there is some quite magical, though, about creating something out of whatever’s on hand, in our own little locales and brains.
The story I remember is the whole village was hungry. An old woman had a young boy help her to fill a cauldron of water and heat it on the fire. Put into what you can, she said. The boy put in some stones since it was all he had. Others brought what they had; some, I imagine bold spices, others bland meats and vegetables. In the end, the whole village was nourished.
I always imagined that soup, like the village, was a fusion of cuisines, bold flavors that worked with each other to create something new and exciting. (I realize now I was probably projecting my neighborhood onto that village.)
Comfort food, although I know it comforts many, is too bland for me, a disappointment. In my house it’s all about the spices. I suppose that’s the way I write and read, too. It’s not that I only want loud, bold characters, but that I like to read a good mix of unique characters, some bold and some quiet.
It’s interesting to consider writing as cooking. My best dishes are when I ditch the recipes and cook from experience, chance (what’s in the fridge), and intuition. Not surprisingly, that’s my most productive approach to the writing.
So, taste is subjective in food and in books. May there always be room on the shelves for every taste.
Thank you for the post.
Thank you for your thoughtful reply! It certainly seems like there is a lot more meat on the bone of this metaphor, so to speak. And isn’t it interesting that between you and me and Benjamin’s comment, above, we have three different variations on the same story?
Now I’m thinking about the mixes of spices that each genre might require: bold garlic, cumin, oregano and hot peppers for a spicy romance? Classic Italian seasonings for a literary novel? Maybe barbecue for a Western? Good fun. It extends the metaphor, too: once you decide on a genre/flavor profile, there are certain things you’re expected to include, and others that would be out of place.
I love your description of how you cook and how you write. It might be the difference between cooks (pantsers?) and bakers (planners).
I once started a pot of stew with a pebble, but that watery pebble got the attention of an editor, who requested I finish the dish. Over the next few years, I began adding ingredients, but it was never enough. After I added the kitchen sink, I realized that the pebble I’d dropped in at the beginning was just too little to do anything with. When I ended up throwing away the stew and the pot with it (it was too scorched to be cleaned), my distress was overshadowed by the joy of being free of that project I’d grown to hate and working on one I was passionate about.
I loved this post and the fresh perspective, although I imagine I’ll still get a perverse pleasure in murdering a darling or two.
I love this comment almost as much as I hate the situation that it describes. What a mess. You were right to toss the whole thing, but I hope you can be pleased with the results as you get a new cauldron bubbling!
This is fantastic!
Thank you, Paige! (And what a great first name for a writer!)
Well done, Kirsten. Such a poignant, savory post.
Amazing how the soup gets tastier when others contribute too, as
we take the bits they offer, we observe, and keep stirring…
It would get tedious and boring to be stuck with only what’s in my own mind/kitchen. Thank goodness for outside influences!
A tentacle of this thread drew me in. My stone was an emerald. Now it’s become part of a rock walled birdhouse.
What a lovely image! Starting with something so valuable, it sounds like the end product is functional and adds beauty to your surroundings, not least because of what it can attract to your yard/story.
Kristen, I loved your post. Stone Soup is one of my favorite folktales too. I often think of stories bubbling and brewing until completion. I always have some bone broth bubbling in my crockpot. And one of my simplest meals is adding miso and my homemade tonic (garlic, ginger, onion, turmeric, ghost-peppers) to a bowl of bone broth and it’s sooooo good. Raising my bowl to you! Thank you.
That does sound incredibly tasty. I’ve just started some ginger tea (thinly sliced ginger, cinnamon sticks, and lemon) with which I toast you in return!
Reminds me of a much missed writer friend who used to echo that long ago commercial, “Is it soup yet?” Some of us in the writers group kept re-writing and re-writing a short story or novel chapter. She told us that eventually we had to say, it’s soup already. Let it go. Submit it.
Wonderful point. There comes a time when any further tinkering will not make it better, whether it’s a story or a soup. That’s when it’s time to let it sit overnight and then, if it still tastes good, send it out into the world! Thank you for yet another pertinent extension of the metaphor.
Very late to the party…..love your post. Not much of a cook, but I throw in a lot when making a stew. It saves money…that extra carrot. But now I am in the process of rewriting. I look for any excuse to stay away. Lots of work ahead, but necessary. Each word is a gem…and sometimes the extra word must go. THANKS.
Thank you, Beth! Isn’t it funny how the carrots sometimes turn out to be valuable while the gems have to go?
Kristin:
Your metaphor for writing is one of the tastiest I’ve ever read. For better or worse, my literary freezer is full of set-aside WIPs. I really need to clean it out, but the pack rat in me thinks maybe it will taste better if I try it again … later.
I’m not sure there’s any way to say when you “need” to clean out the freezer. When you’re ready, you’ll do it and you won’t even mind. Until then, you might still be able to defrost bits and pieces…
I love your post and that story for its use of soup to bring community together. Soup was always comfort food, and ensured no leftovers went to waste, and concealed broccoli for fussy eaters who wouldn’t eat anything green (or – in your case – cilantro), and pureed it added necessary nutrition for those who were unable to tolerate solids. IOW, soup performs magic for the soul, just like reading does.
I’m thinking now about the potential for books to bring people together. They do, don’t they? Even though reading is usually a solitary activity, it has such a long tail in the discussions people have, and in the ways we think differently on account of it. Thank you for your comment!
Thanks for sharing your thoughts. Every school year, I read Stone Soup to my third grade students. Afterwards we made stone soup as an activity. So many layers to that story.
When I retired from teaching, writing became my passion. My current project started with an entry on my blog post, that then became my nugget for a protagonist serving up a pot of chicken stew in a most unusual manner. Needless to say there were repercussions for her guests.
Sounds like great fun (and slightly perilous!)
This was a great metaphor for writing. You add, take out, and add and cook until done. Remove from fire and enjoy. For now, I’m taking out and changing things around since I didn’t like the “taste” of what I had cooked already. But I know that the soup will be done soon and it will be something worth eating.
Great post.
Thank you. Bon Appetit!
Just want you to know I always enjoy your posts, but this one totally reminds me of the manuscript I’m revising. I, too, have characters I need to know better.
Thank you! I hope your characters will talk to you in ways that make your writing meaningful and enjoyable.