Digging for fire

It’s no revelation to say it, but my writing seems to flow better when there’s fire in my belly.  I’m never short on finding things to irritate, challenge or upset me and I quite enjoy tempering those emotions with some logic.  The resulting posts are usually the ones that touch a nerve with others.  In digging for the fire my words sometimes reverberate and I find out I’m not so alone.

But every now and then the fire subsides.

Last Saturday I had lunch with some family.  I had a few bridges to mend after writing too hastily.  Words were misinterpreted.  I never started blogging with the intention of telling other people’s stories or hurting them so I’m learning to search for new fires.

And sometimes there are none.

Just the cold realisation of how fortunate you are.  On Saturday I came across people with all types of fire in their belly.  Mine feel so incredibly trivial.  They are almost non-existent.  And I just can’t find anything to write about.  I’m digging for fire but I can’t even find a flame.

In a separate dwelling of my body lie so many raging fires.  I douse them with water because they involve other people.  I douse them with water because resonance is not a virtuous enough outcome.  I can’t temper the emotions with logic.  I still wonder what the words would look like.



Do you have fires you wish you could write about?  Do you write them somewhere private just to get it out?