Notes on Being a Writer

I call myself the writer, but am I a writer? I've done seven years of art school for writing. I've been published. I've performed. But so what? Do I internally, in every morsel of my soul really resonate as a writer?

I'm making a new goal for myself: write, damn it, just write. This blog will turn into a daily writing routine. Fingers crossed I'll stick to it. Perhaps I'll end up with some kick ass pieces from this. Someone once said "If I write a short story a week I'm bound to have at least one good story out of 52." Well this is me experimenting to see if a daily/weekly writing habit speaks some truth about quality and growth.

Mainly, I don't tend to write when a prompt isn't shoved under my nose. That sounds awful but it's true. A classroom tends to make some incredible things exist, whether I'd like to admit it or not.

So here's a random prompt I found off the internet:
The interplanetary travel nonprofit Mars One is holding a competition for those eager to be the first humans to live on Mars. One of the finalists has said, “If I die on Mars, that would be an accomplishment.” Would you ever volunteer for such a mission? Do you have what it takes to survive on a desolate, desert planet? Write about how you’d feel if you got the opportunity to leave Earth. What would you miss, and what would you be glad to leave behind?
(http://www.pw.org/writing-prompts-exercises)

2015 Mission Call for Mars

The television lines blur dampened voices: "a hundred candidates! be the first to sip breath on Mars and create civilization." When  I think of Mars I think of my mother in her frail nightgown on the couch with a pen between her lips, a sudoku puzzle on a print of black and white newspaper cushioned between her legs. I think of the clutter coughed beside the couch: coiled candy wrappers sucking up life from their aluminum forms, a lamp laughing down at humanity in the dance of its drunk dulling bulb. The Earth would not spin for me without these few unmistakable things. The voice of a mother: even the simplest  how was your day creates life in a home. I wouldn't make myself say goodbye to here if I had the planets tied on leashes like sprinting dogs in my bleeding palms.