“This is a book about living and writing. It offers the courage to do both more creatively,” says the author, and she’s right. Burn Wild is a beautiful book, with flowing prose and enticing ideas, all told in a natural tone of voice that never falters or palls. Fascinating quotes start the chapters. Carefully crafted sparks encourage the creative mind. And wise advice uplifts the soul from its beaten-down, I’m-no-good-at-this conventional misery.
Forget left brain, right brain. What about flesh and spirit, creative and critical, “Dr. Codger and the Dream Kid”—a wonderful concept that’s followed by a clear simple table elucidating the magical differences. The author refers to matches and sparks, wild fire perhaps that first has to be lit and then protected. Then she offers her own shimmering sparks, simple reminders and questions to light your fire.
Oh how easily I relate to the mom, twenty-some years ago, raising toddlers and juggling priorities. How well I remember that incessant guilt about time taken for myself. And how truly I need to be reminded, I have a right to write. Of course, I do write now. I write as if it’s my chocolate treat at the end of a busy day. I look forward to writing but still find it clouded in guilt—like that chocolate treat, imagining it has to somehow turn out badly for me. I tangle myself in Codgerly demands while my Dream Kid wants to play.
This book will be perfect if you wish you had time to write, or paint, or draw cartoons, or whatever floats your boat. But it offers wonderful inspiration even if you have time and do enjoy those creative arts. It’s a reminder of passion, a call to play, and a welcome warmth of fire with the excitement of the chance to dance.
I write because I love it. That’s why I read too and I really enjoyed this book. Burn Wild is self-help written so pleasingly you’ll not want your reading to end. It’s so convincing and valuable it will stay with you and just might light a fire behind your writing and give your passion pages of expression after all—even if they’re stored in a ratty notebook. And it’s filled with amazingly practical and wise suggestions for the writer’s journey. “Withholding your gift is selfishness,” says the author. And suddenly I realize I really must send off that next submission and “[f]ind the people with whom [my] gift resonates.”
Thank you Christi Krug. I may still never keep a journal, but I love this book!
Disclosure: I was given a free ecopy of this by the author who rightly thought I might enjoy it.