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Wynelda-Ann Deaver

Room to Write: Daily Invitations to a Writer's Live
By Bonni Goldberg
Jeremy P. Tarcher/Putnam
ISBN: 0-87477-825-5
$12.95 US/ $18.99 CAN

Bonni Goldberg's Room to Write is a small book filled with writing prompts to get you going every day, or whenever you need a pick-me-up. I have to admit that when I first saw the book, I was looking for another title. This one seemed charming, if a little different from what I normally read. 201 pages filled with writing prompts, the small volume has been called "…Funny, eye-popping, and wise."

I picked it up, not knowing how much use I would get out of it. I tend to not "do" many writing books (in case you haven't noticed). This one, I thought to myself, might be different. I might actually get some use out of Room to Write. If nothing else, I could use it to do guided journal entries.

It is a good place to stretch your writing muscles. The prompts are good for any sort of creative writing—be it fiction, essay, non-fiction or poetry. The prompts that I have used so far have come up with astonishing results. Some of them have been rather bad, but others have had nuggets in them that can be mined for other uses. Just as a Stair Master™ can help get those muscles ready for a nice hike, Room to Write can get the juices flowing again.

The following is from the exercise on fire. The instructions are to: "Explore a personal story, memory or belief about fire. Or, start by writing the word fire on top of the page and write without stopping for two pages." (Room to Write, pg 30).

Campfires, to me, are the only reason to brave the big outdoors. Since my first sleep-away camp in the 4th grade, flames licking the night sky have fascinated me. At camp, we were wild things around the fire. Heathens dancing and singing and wondering who brought the marshmallows (no one had). As I grew older, it was around the campfire that we sat and talked into the night. The flames still licked at the night sky, sparkling like a forgotten god. Crackles, followed by a soft hiss, punctuated our conversations. We would roast our marshmallows, grinning like loons as the sugar puffs caught the essence of the fire and lit. Quick, blow it out! Crunchy outsides with melting insides, bitter surrounding the manna enclosed, slid burning hot down throats cooled by the night air.

Rough—yes. But some of the images are ones that I like—the fire as a forgotten god. Where I'll use it is something I do not know at this point. But inside, I am still glowing by the light of remembered campfires past.