You Can't Start A Fire Without A Spark

Bruce Springsteen clearly has a lot to teach us. Okay, he might have been talking about love when he sung that line from Dancing In The Dark, but it's a pretty apt observation. You certainly can't start a fire without a spark. Not only is it applicable to love and life and adventures and happiness and new starts, but it coincides with writing.

At this very moment, I've sat down to write a short story, just to get into the habit of writing again, and I need the spark. I can't start without it. If I do, I will remain uninspired and the words will dry up, dwindle, and fade away, then I will have another beginning without a middle and end. The creative juices shall not floweth until I get a flicker. A bit of heat. Some sort of combustion would be nice. Something that will turn into an all out inferno.

It's hard to know when it will come. What will feed the fire. If the spark will fizzle due to lack of oxygen, much like every spark I've had in the last couple months. The best is when you do get the spark and a decent flame going, you're putting kindling on it, stoking it, blowing, and it catches! Oh, it's a glorious feeling to watch the fire build, then you need to put something bigger on it, so it can heat the whole house and not just the living room. This is where it turns into a real challenge. What if the bones aren't dry enough? What if it starts raining doubt and uncertainty? Sometimes a huge gust of negative wind will sweep through and threaten to extinguish the fire of creativity.

Sometimes it does, and you feel so angry that you spent all that time trying to build the fire. You're frustrated because you didn't get to put it out yourself. There are times you kick at the depressing ashes. Other times, you crouch back down and blow on the coals, hoping against all odds you can revive it. The joy that comes when you succeed is exhilarating, nothing compares, but so many times it simply burns out. You promise to come back to it later in the day. Days turn to months. Months to years. Every now and then, you revisit it.

All of this glorious work and frustration and excitement doesn't happen if not for one little thing.

A spark.

So, we wait.

Oatmeal Vonnegut

Two of my favourite people collaborating. The Oatmeal and Kurt Vonnegut.

The Ones We Love

Lately, I've ben thinking about how we treat the ones we love. The elusive we.

Or more accurately, how we mistreat the ones we love.

We don't mean to. It just happens. Unintentional.

No excuses.

It's the ones closest to us, the ones we love the most, that suffer our wrath. Our bad days turn into their bad days. They take the brunt of our unhappiness and anger. Become acquainted with our temper tantrums and feelings of displacement. When we wake up on the wrong side of the bed, they roll out next to us, stand awkwardly in the kitchen and try to figure out what to do or say. Nothing. They can't do or say anything.

The ones we love, they witness this. They get the first dose of crotchetiness.

And at the end of a long, unsatisfying day, our loved ones are there. Standing in the kitchen again, taking our cold shoulders and sharp tones. Trying to figure out if they can make something special for dinner to turn it all around. No amount of home cooking can fix this. There is no confectionary bandage.

It sucks.

I wish I had a more eloquent way of phrasing it, but I don't.

It just sucks how harsh we can be to the ones who love us the most. Because we start to wonder. How the hell can they even love us? That's only if the pattern gets out of control.

Most of us manage to hold ourselves together for strangers. After all, it isn't polite to snap, crack and pop people we don't know. We put our feelings aside for the faceless nobodies who walk through our doors and into our live. Because it isn't acceptable to tell them to 'leave you alone' or ask them 'why are you following me around?'.

Who wrote this ridiculous rule? Since when is it okay to vent and moan and bitch and whine to our loved ones? We say it's because they love us. They will forgive these behaviours, but if we really loved them, wouldn't we want to shield them from this sort of hurt?

It doesn't matter whether we mean to do it or not. We still do.

I'm human. I make mistakes. I snap with snark and roll my eyes. I let the frustrations of my job, my upset tummy, and my lack of patience get the better of me. Not all the time, but enough to take notice of. Enough for me to be not impressed with it.

It happens back to me. A grumpy boyfriend, annoyed co-worker, and frustrated sibling. I might make excuses for being snapped and scowled at, but it doesn't make it hurt less. It's one of those weird idiosyncrasies of life.

And good for you if you're not one of us. Good for you if you've never taken your bad day home, or said something out of frustration you know you shouldn't. Congratulations if you never got short with your children or gave your spouse your back because you're so overwhelmed with debt and disappointments.

You're better than I.

A lot of it comes down to not wanting others to think we are bad people. We don't want them to think us mean or harsh, or blunt or temperamental. But as someone rushes around shutting windows and whispering, what will the neighbours think? I'm standing there wondering, what about what I think?

Damage is done.

Maybe it's time to start giving our loved ones the same consideration and understanding as we give strangers. Or maybe not.