Bonni Goldberg's Room to Write

I have been given a book from a dear friend who thinks I should write more (what's more, she's read what I have had published and yet still thinks I should plough on...) I am not convinced of any ability but in the interest of friendly harmony and marital harmony ("For God's sake get something written and earn some money will you?") I am giving it a go. And also in memory of my friend's late mother, Alice, who left this book behind to eventually find me - a small hint at her enormous energy and creative drive.

The book is name checked above and is a series of creative writing exercises to flex the creative muscle of the brain, kick-start the imagination and just get you going with words. I will outline each one daily and then do my bit below. So if you fancy joining in, please start your own. We could form a little purple prose writing circle!

Here goes:

DIVING IN. Today dive into writing by choosing any one of the following words that have more than one meaning: bear, cleave, lie, sewer, tear, or desert. Start by copying the word and quickly, without stopping for any reason, continue writing until you reach the end of the page (in my case I'll just go on until it feels like a page of A4's worth). Making sense is unimportant (thank goodness for that!). Your goals are speed and endurance. if you get stuck, repeat whatever word you've just written until something new spills out. After you finish read the result. Don't forget to breathe, and try not to tense up your hand (or fingers if you're typing) Ready, set, go...

Saturday 12th May 2007

A lie. "I don't love you any more." A bald-faced lie. What I meant was: "I love you, part of me always will, but I can't bear to live this life any more." What I meant was: "I love you so much it frightens me, and I know you love me, but I'm not ready to be half of you, a wife." What I meant was: "I love you. But you make me lonely. I love you, but you make me cry. I love you, but you make me angry. I love you, but you make me feel like someone other than myself. I love you but..." A lie. Words unspoken, words that would give hope, words that would break a heart.

I lie. I lie in our bed and look at you as you sleep. You look like a little boy. You are at rest, unaware that my betrayal is so complete. Unaware that I will go, I have been looking for somewhere new to live. That I have told my friends I will do this. That I have sat over a bottle of wine with my boss and discussed my future alone, asked for more money so I can get on with a new life as soon as possible. Asked for new responsibilities, more time in the office, less time to be alone. Less time to be answerable to you. Less time to deny you my help, listen to your empty words.

A lie. "There's nobody else." He listened. It's as simple as that. I was important. My fragility beguiled him. I was easy prey. He was handsome, kind, important, clever, sensitive. He had clean fingernails. He had soft, cropped hair. And he didn't smell of you. My heart shirred in two when I let him kiss me, but I had to do it. I had to betray you. I couldn't go back.

I lie. I look at this stranger in the hotel room. The rise and fall of an unfamiliar chest, bare and smooth where yours has dark hair. He, blonde; you, dark. He, tall; you, small. He, married. His baby daughter in my thoughts. His wife, unaware. Me, the other woman. Me, the harlot, now.

I lie in my own bed, in my own house now. He's here still, now and then. You have railed and cried. You laid on the floor when I left. You begged me not to go. A lie: "You'll be fine." I knew you wouldn't. New Year's Eve, 2am - the answerphone blinked. I knew what was happening. I hovered over the button. I pressed. I knew, I knew... My mind raced. If I ignored it would the call be traced? Would I be culpable? Would I be punished for my selfish actions? Would I be punished for wanting an end to this misery - yours and mine. An end to the threats, the break-ins, the angry phone calls at 2am, the lies about guns, the lies about drugs... I rang the ambulance.

You lie. You lie on a hospital trolley. You are drunk and maudlin, no more, I know that now. But I make you stay. Learn your lesson. Punishing you, punishing me. The man on the next gurney fishes a shard of glass from a pocket and cuts his arm. "No, don't...Nurse!" I cry. New Year's Eve. What becomes of the broken hearted? He comes home with me, doctor's orders, to my little house, my little shell, my sanctuary. He lies in my bed, alone. I lie on the sofa, more alone than I've ever felt. I brought this on myself. You do it to yourself, you do, you and no-one else, said the song.

A lie. "You ruined his life." A lie. A lie. I keep telling myself, a lie. He did that to himself.