Fire! Halp!

Oh. Right. Well, in one of my writing classes, we were asked to write a short piece that described Fire. It could be anything, but we had to try and keep each word to just one Syllable. Do you know how hard that is when describing something? I ended up writing the piece as I wanted, then had to keep switching out the words in order to meet the assignment.

Anyways, I *think* I succeeded. What do you think?


As I sit in the cold night air, the soft glow of the fire brings needed warmth that seems to soak into my body through to my very bones. My breath on the small newly born flame brings it to life. Wrapped in charred white rocks the fire snakes and weaves its way around the small put, looking for a new way to escape the binds of its cage.

The sweet smell of resin soaks my clothes and the air near me as its set fire to. The fire burns with a singing joy, many snaps and crackles jump to fill the air as it feeds from the twigs and logs, as a warm glow settles in the dark night air. The flames flash bright reds and gold’s as they reach up and climb high into the air. Its ruddy glow emits a calming heat that quiets my fears and puts me at ease, coating me in its cosy grasp.

As the logs crash and fall over each other, I feed the flames with small sticks and twigs, watching them grow and fall back in tune with the fiery roar that breaks the quiet of the glade. A bank of hot ashes glows at the fire’s core like a bright ruby, but I dare not reach for it, even as it tempts me.

I lose myself in its depths as the fire dies away, the last of its flames trip and quake as they look for more fuel to burn. Ashes lay jilted, left in the dirt where they fall as the faint hues of red turn ever dark till only the black of night is left.


Sometimes we need reminding

I thought I’d share with you one of the quotes that I have pinned to my inspiration board. It’s one I found while researching on the internet but no longer have the source of. I often read this out loud to myself as a reminder that sometimes, you just need to be patient. It’ll all come together at the end.

“Sometimes, writers stand still in a story. Sometimes, writers just don’t go anywhere with the words. Sometimes, the words are quicksand and the writer is just stuck there, ankle-deep, sinking without knowing how to get loose. There’s no rope to grab (not yet), no helping hand, no good way out. The writer is trapped (trapped in his or her own anxiety and panic, usually), and the adventure is how to get unstuck so you can reach that ancient temple in the middle of the jungle where the treasure, dragons, flying bunnies, prince-you-got-to-save — pick your poison — is waiting for you.

Nothing is going to stop you, of course. Not this little bit of sand sucking on your ankles. You’ll calm down and get loose, with a bit of grit and stubbornness, common sense, and good attitude.

If you are stuck, you will be fine. Nothing sinks forever. Nothing stands still forever.”