Diaries Magazine

In the Remains of the Fire: Lessons from Literary Granny George Sand & Writing in Community

Posted on the 30 April 2013 by Juliejordanscott @juliejordanscot

In the Remains of the Fire; Lessons from Literary Granny George Sand In the Remains of the Fire; Lessons from Literary Granny George Sand

George Sand, also known as Armandine Aurore Lucille Dupin

I wrote this poetic piece of prose during an afternoon of writing with friends. We had been working with the words from who we called "The Two Georges" - well respected women authors who chose to use men's names: George Eliot and George Sand.

We told stories around a circle and created a collaborative story and in between circles, we wrote.

Once again I am reminded of the power of writing with others, both for the passion in the moment and most importantly in the what comes next.

I find truth in the remains of the fire. Not in the flames, but the remnants of wood, the coal gray scratches on my hand as I let go. There are the tingles of pain as I breathe it in, the repetition of the now missing fire into my chest. Afterfire

I have to pause.

I have to ask my heavenly father-mother about the fire’s path, now that it has died, now that the fire no longer breathes.

What can be made from this no-longer fire?

Truth lives in the what’s left, not in the romance of the heat or the momentary kisses and skin against skin, the wooziness of being there in the fire in just that moment when up the smoke goes, up around heaven’s chimney, the shouts of climax, the pleasure of the otherworldlyness.

The truth vibes in the messiness of the charred wood and what we find from that. Sometimes it is stuck to our shoes, left unswept on our floors, stuck in our hair. The truth lives in being willing to sit amidst the rubble and not quickly, giddily push it away to make more room for more fleeting moments of ecstasy but instead…

Be there for the almost wordless wonder that is born when I release my addiction to the fire and instead, learn to play with the dust it left behind, to not cry when I wash my smoky sweater but to laugh at the profound meaning of what the deposits of those flames left against my skin.

* * * * *

UBC-bannerbox200This post is Number 30 of 30 and was inspired by the Ultimate Blog Challenge. Throughout the month I will be posting writing and creativity tips especially to make your writing (and your writing experience!) better.

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