Through the Firefly Forest: G is for Gingerbread Cottage...
Is it too delicious to resist...?
This post is part of my Through the Firefly Forest series, where I look at the gifts and challenges of living a creative life. Please subscribe to get regular posts like these.
Surely you’re imagining it?
A little cottage in a forest clearing, with gingerbread walls and spun sugar windows and a roof of peppermint frosting. And wafting down the path, the scent of cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves.
It must be a mirage, because you are so very hungry and your stomach is rumbling and all you have in your pocket is a single stale crust.
It must be a mirage because those can’t possibly be marshmallow toadstools on the lawn, nor can the grass itself be sticks of sweet angelica. And you must definitely be imagining that the plump red apples on the tree have a glossy toffee glaze, or that the path to the front door looks just like honeycomb.
You can’t see anyone in the cottage, although the smoke from the chimney has a definite whiff of almond vanilla biscuits. And you realise that the gate is unlocked and is almost definitely made of chocolate and even has a marzipan key.
And what harm could it do, you wonder, to pull up a single sprig of candied grass, a spongey pink gummy toadstool, a handful of sweet crumbly wall? It would be ridiculous to just walk past it all when there are so many delicious things to be nibbled.
And suddenly, you find your hand pushing open the chocolate gate, your foot stepping onto the honeycomb path…
And then — you remember the warnings given to every traveller passing through the Firefly Forest. Warnings of gingerbread cottages and witches. Of cages and ovens and pots of boiling water.
And you back away slowly, before the door can swing open and a rosy-cheeked old lady tempt you with a tray of freshly baked almond vanilla biscuits. You tiptoe back into the forest, placing your handkerchief over your nose to blot out the sickly scent of cinnamon and nutmeg and cloves.
You know that you’ve had a lucky escape, yet you also know that there might be other strange cottages further on, for witchcraft is everywhere in these woods. Will you remember to keep your wits about you next time…?
The truth is that gingerbread cottages are always there to tempt us, mesmerise us and, at times, even send us into a frenzy. They promise to fill us up and offer endless easy delights, but they are always a trap. Because all too soon you will find yourself caged, seduced by the charms of some candied chalet in the woods only to find out that you were the food to be feasted upon, all along. That door to the gingerbread cottage is a hungry mouth that will eat up you and your art.
As a writer, I know all about gingerbread cottages, although I really wish that I didn’t. I know that they are wily and come in many forms, enticing you with sweet promises, hooking into your own particular weak spots. For some they might show up as a social media channel, or as a certain kind of relationship. For others they might come in the shape of a bottle, or as a street full of shining shops. But they always offer quick fixes and swift hits, the sugar rush of sudden comfort and escape. They are always a distraction from the true work that you must do in the world.
I know that these honeyed houses can never truly nourish me and once I’m tempted inside, I soon find myself trapped. By chasing the easy feast I become the easy feast — the audience, the consumer, the crutch.
I have many gingerbread cottages and they are all ways of avoiding writing, avoiding feeling and avoiding myself. Maybe you have a few too? If so, then try to forgive yourself for this, for these are clever bewitchments. And it is hard for creative people to escape them entirely, because the holes in our lives that might drive us to make art are also what gingerbread cottages promise to fill.
But next time you find yourself inside such a place, remember that you know exactly what to do: shove the witch in the oven, latch the door behind her and run as fast as your legs will carry you. Find better ways to nourish yourself. Continue on your journey.
There will always be a cottage in the corner with sugar-spun windows, waiting for you to find it. But likewise, there will always be an unpainted picture waiting for you too. Or an untold story. Or an unwoven tapestry. Your job is to turn away from the honeycomb path towards your own particular craft instead.
And if you aren’t sure what to, say, paint today? Just pick up your brush and paint the witch. She is always ready to pose for you. And she never, ever gets boring.
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This Substack is written by a wandering Scottish writer who is currently travelling across the UK as a full-time house-sitter. I hope that you’ll join me on the journey. If you liked this post then you might like Warning From a Tiny Doppelganger, Three Strange and Mysterious Stories from Sussex and E is for Enchantment.