“Write when the heat is in you.” – Henry David Thoreau
Heat of passion, heat of anger – heat of pain, heat of despair? Which kind of heat did he mean?
The moment when ‘that heat’ is in me is rarely the same moment I’m sitting before a blank screen or have time (or inclination) to grab-pad to start scribbling thoughts. They happen in traffic, they happen on the phone, they happen in public places in groups of people.
Heat, fortunately, doesn’t connect to my vocal chords.
It used to, and that never did much good.
I’m quieter now, less boisterous and less-quick to react in a physical way; my knee-jerking happens less and my think-it-through-thoroughly maturity seems to be growing. Not fast, not a lot, but growing
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