It occurred to me Monday evening, while preparing to hit the publish button on the poem I had composed, that I often write about fire– in my poetry for certain and now, in my novel, I’ve burned down the cafe. And I suppose fire creeps into a lot of writing. It provides metaphors for all sorts of things: love, lust, war, creativity, warmth, cleansing, refining, life, death, destruction, rebirth…
I felt low that evening, as is sometimes the case after a long day. I’d begun the next chapter of the book, feeling unsatisfied with the way I’d left the previous one. The poem arose from that I think. But as I prepared my dreary little post, I reflected on why fire always seems to creep into MY writing. My approach is mostly from the death, destruction and possibly the cleansing perspectives of fire, rarely from love, lust and passion. And while I hate to psychoanalyze myself, because my mind is a messy, cluttered place these days, I couldn’t help but wonder….
I lost my paternal grandfather in a fire. My father was twenty years my mother’s senior when they married. He at fifty-five, she at thirty-five. My paternal grandparents were already in their eighties when I was born. Grandma Jennings died when I was three and I barely remember her. But Grandpa lived for a few years more. I had a lot more contact with him as a child. And as a result my memories are a lot clearer.
I was six years old when it happened.
Grandpa liked his cigars. He left one smoldering next to his favorite chair one Sunday evening before going up to bed. He must have thought it was safely stored in the ashtray but it wasn’t. The stub of the cigar either rolled or he carelessly dropped it right on the arm of the old upholstered chair. It smoldered. It consumed. It filled the house with smoke. It wasn’t a conflagration, it was a charcoal pit. When, in the light of day, the neighbors realized what was happening and called the fire department, it was too late. But Grandpa had known something was wrong. He had made it back downstairs in the smoke. They found him on the threshold of the front door in his pajamas and dressing gown. A few more steps and he would have been free.
That is the kind of information that a six year old girl most probably should have been sheltered from. But I wasn’t. I should fear fire. I should have a morbid dread of it. But I don’t. Instead, it creeps into almost everything I write.
This is strong stuff and from personal experience as opposed to my more theoretical and metaphysical clap trap. A tragedy, I am sorry.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Well, the pain of this has long eased. But it was certainly traumatic at the time. And the details should have been kept from me until I was older, I think. Also, your stuff is not clap trap.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Although it happened a long time ago it is still a tragedy, but time really does heal all wounds thank God. Thank you, maybe not clap trap but without the rawness of lived experience.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Sometimes you aren’t even aware of what you’re drawing on. I hadn’t thought about my grandfather in a long time. Just a lightbulb going off in the fog the other night. I couldn’t help but see the underlying connection.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Deep wells
LikeLiked by 1 person
Fire is fascinating, and I can’t take my eyes off it when I’m near one. But, I can’t imagine a worse way to die. 😕
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ugh, tell me about it. One of those things you wish you didn’t know. But I feel the same way about fire. Kind of drawn to it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yep. Ya’ know when you’re at a field party, and there’s a bonfire goin, and there’s one dude always poking and playing with the fire? I’m that guy. 😃
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ha! I totally get that! I’m that girl! 😃
LikeLiked by 1 person
My parents and grandparents used to tell me that playing in the fire would make you wet the bed. I called bullshit…and kept right on playing in the fire. Even to this day. 😃
LikeLiked by 1 person
That’s funny! Never heard that one!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I often wonder these adages and figures of speech come from. Somebody had to come up with it first. 😃
LikeLiked by 1 person
Some of them are really, really old, too. I used to follow a blogger, who has since disappeared, who used to post about the origins of some of those old wive’s tales and funny expressions.
LikeLiked by 1 person
My FIL has a million of ’em. My favorite is in reference to getting my boys to do something, when they were little and wild: “Like putting butter up a bobcats ass”. Wtf? Who comes up with that? 😃
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hahaha! Oh my god! i really am laughing out loud!!!!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Slicker than owl shit on linoleum is another of his masterpieces. He’s a trip. 😃
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh my word! 😀
LikeLiked by 1 person
He’s a white-hot mess. 😃
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh Meg, what a powerful and tragic memory. Thank you for sharing that. ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
It most definitely had a lasting impact on me. Thank you, Rita. ❤
LikeLike
Wow, Meg, you’re right- that should have been kept from you. How horrible. I think I can see a resemblance to you in his face. ❤
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, I think so too. That was not my mother’s style however. High drama, that one… Anyway, I think I resemble him too, around the mouth and chin, especially.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, that’s where I see the resemblance too. High drama- ugh. So not my style but I know people like that.
LikeLiked by 1 person
High drama and loves bad news. She’s a peach let me tell ya! 😦
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yikes!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, a six year old really shouldn’t have had any details, I don’t think. I’m glad you have good memories of him, though. I never thought about the fire theme until you mentioned it. Very interesting!
LikeLiked by 1 person
It only occurred to me the other night. I was searching through my media files for a fire photo and discovered the plethora and thought, hmmmm….
LikeLiked by 1 person
Definitely something you should have been shielded from, I agree. Such an insightful writing, Meg, and very personal share. Thank you for doing so. 💜 I can understand your fascination with it, on many levels.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Angela. 💜 Funny how you don’t see the connections right away. But I think its subconsciously effected me for a long time.
LikeLiked by 1 person
You’re welcome. I imagine it would, what a tragic thing, especially for a 6 year old to process.
LikeLike
I agree with all the others about that being too much information for you at such a young age. Something else strikes me though – how events of our childhood, both happy and tragic, shape our adult psyches. Fascinating food for thought about what makes us tick.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, indeed! I am sure this experience in all its facets has effected me deeply. Thanks, Rita. 💜
LikeLiked by 1 person
My dear friend, the fact that you are writing about it shows how affected you are. I’ve always felt that there are things that show-up in our behaviors, opinions, thoughts, feelings that our past has somehow impacted. I think this bit of exposure you have written is profound, deep and a bit chilling to the skin. But it’s raw, real and so authentic.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, T. It’s such a long ago memory that I didn’t readily make the connection. My young mind should not have been exposed to the details, of that I am sure. It makes me realize how deep we draw when we write, without even conscious thought.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Raw reality is life!
LikeLiked by 1 person
It certainly is!
LikeLiked by 1 person
What a handsome, distinguished gentleman he looks. Strange how fire features so much in language “Really on fire today, fire in the belly, fat is in the fire, fight fire with fire, play with fire.” The list goes on!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Peter. Fire is ubiquitous isn’t it? Especially in poetry. Such a universal metaphor…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Wow what a tragic story Meg. Your grandpa was a good looking man
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you Rob.
LikeLiked by 1 person
As many have said, yes, that’s way too much information for a six-year-old. I am currently keeping some things from my kids (at least for now) and they’re 12 and 9… I can’t imagine knowing these details at 6. Sorry you were not shielded from such things.
LikeLiked by 1 person
It was a long time ago, now and doesn’t cause nearly the fear and anxiety it did at the time. But it explains a lot I think.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I am sorry to hear about your tragedy. Six years old is an impressionable time. Kids process information and memories in unique ways, and writers process and deal with life through their writing, often indirectly. Stories from survivors had shaped the themes of my first novel.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Eva. Yes, I think those events hide just below the surface and we aren’t even aware we are drawing on them sometimes. Appreciate you comments.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ah, a fellow self-analyser. As far as being shielded from stuff like this when we were younger, if you were anything like me in that area as well, not a whole lot got past me, I heard and saw it all even when they thought I wasn’t listening or looking.
LikeLiked by 1 person
OH! Absolutely true. Plus I was an only child, no siblings to distract me. My mother was a ‘fear based’ teacher – “see what happens when you’re careless with fire?” It’s a wonder I’m not afraid of everything!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Very sad story, I’m so sorry, Meg. I’m glad you have managed to not fear fire in spite of that. ❤ Amazing what our subconscious can draw from…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. Funny how it will occur to you … I hadn’t thought about it consciously in a very long time. 💜
LikeLiked by 1 person
We store a lot of experience emotional, and physical in our DNA, I believe…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yep, I think so too. Especially young developing brains and neurological systems. Cellular memory.
LikeLiked by 1 person