X formerly Twitter has a “for you” feed and that is how I stumbled on the story of Baby Gus.

Baby Gus was born with a heart condition and needed a heart transplant, which he received. But there were complications and it was around this time that the algorithm captured me with the father, Mark’s, update about Gus’s condition. It was January 16th, almost two months ago. He’d received a perfect match but the heart wasn’t beating. He was asking for prayers that the heart would start again.

It did.

“This little baby is going to make me believe in God,” I said to my husband.

He said, “I’m worried you’re going to be devastated if this doesn’t end well."

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It was sometime in 2010 and I was just finally beginning to crawl out of the hole that 2008 put me in. When the market tanked in 2008, I was teaching private yoga. It’s how I knew something bad was coming—because all my clients were dudes in finance and they were freaking the fuck out. When the finance guys freak out, that’s your sign that the sky is actually falling.

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(Sorry for the delay on this prompt—life happened.)

It was yesterday, in the middle of my virtual therapy session…

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I’ll go with the first place that comes to mind — which is Sri Lanka. I originally went to the country for what was supposed to be two weeks in 2013 and ended up staying for three months.

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We open on a woman sitting in her office staring at rooftops from her window. She can see at least six similar, but not exactly the same, rooftops from behind her desk. Although as soon as the lot next door is filled with a similar but not exactly the same house—she won’t have a view at all.

As has often been the case in her life—she’s wondering how she got there.

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I’ve been hiding from the world for the past two years. Pregnancy and postpartum had me feeling raw and uncertain. Shy and insecure. Moving halfway across the country was disorienting. There have been a lot of shocking and sudden deaths of people close to me in their prime. My primary concern has been protecting myself and my family from the outside world and putting down roots in our new home. I thought maybe I could leave the “Arena” or the Discourse or whatever you want to call it and retreat into the domestic bliss of being a stay at home mom. Retire my half-baked opinions and pivot to baking sourdough instead.

Unfortunately, I don’t know how to shut up—and as the hormones have receded, the spunk has returned. It’s 2:45 am on the night of the Iowa Caucuses and it’s become clear that Trump is going to easily secure the nomination for President. I have some thoughts.

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The first thing that came to mind when I read this prompt was probably following one of the darkest times in my life—maybe the darkest.

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In the days leading up to leaving Los Angeles I found myself doing this—driving around the city and viewing it as a memory. Goodnight angry citizens who all seems furious despite the relentless perfect weather and sun. Goodnight youth, wasted on this youngster. Goodnight party girls and influencers and dj’s and promoters. Goodnight aging women fighting father time. Goodnight oceans. Oceans of traffic, endless traffic, always, everywhere, as far as you can see to the horizon. Seas of people. Lines for everything. Goodnight homeless. Goodnight nightmares of armed robberies and break-ins and car jackings. Goodnight 1200 square feet, 100-year old home that we rented that will sell for 1.5 million dollars.

But there were the things I truly miss.

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How do you feel at this moment? Explain.

I love New Year energy. It’s got a morning vibe, when your life is filled with potential and you’re determined to live up to it. You haven’t squandered time scrolling, or missed that workout, or binged on potato chips or Netflix or both. New Year energy is a clean(ish) slate. I spent this morning looking through last year’s hopes and dreams and intentions. In some ways, considering that we moved halfway across the country and the fact that I have a toddler, I am proud of myself and what I accomplished—or at the very least—maintained.

In others—particularly one—I’ve failed myself yet again.

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Welcome to Write Club.

We will be doing two weekly writing prompts, every Tuesday and Friday, together for the entirety of 2024. I’ll post the prompt the night before for people in other time zones. I’ll always leave the prompt open to everyone in case you just want to silently do them on your own. My goal in life is to facilitate as many people tapping into their creative selves as possible. So take that writing prompt and run with it. Write a song. Or a poem. Or a novel. Or a song. Go run wild with the prompt. Share your genius with the world or hoard it in a secret journal you’ll leave to your favorite niece. I don’t care.

Just. Write.

If you want to read what I write and what others write for the prompt (personally this is my favorite part) please become a supporter!

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Here are the rules:

1. Just write. I don’t care if you do this alone or with us. The goal is to get you sitting down and writing every day.

2. Don’t be hard on yourself. If you do seven weeks in a row and life gets in the way because it happens, jump back on the beam and start writing again. Don’t beat yourself up, that’s a waste of energy. Don’t give up entirely. That’s for sissies. Just get back at it when you can. If you found us halfway into the year, who cares! Start now.

3. Start with five minutes. If you go longer, great. But the goal is to sit down and focus for at least five minutes on a random writing prompt and see what comes up. You have five minutes, I promise. Before you scroll Instagram, make yourself do a prompt and then reward yourself with the sweet neutral tones of IG influencers.

4. Tell everyone you know about Write Club. Tell your friends. Tell anyone who is feeling creatively stuck. Tell your girlfriend who is heartbroken and needs a distraction. Creativity is the way out of almost all human misery. Even if it’s not the way, in my experience it’s been a life raft we can cling to in our darkest hours.

There are so many fantastic writers, with intresting stories, just hiding out, all over the world.

Write Club is something I decided to do on a whim, as a way to force myself to be accountable to a writing practice. Writing is like breathing for me—but because of that—I take the skill for granted. As Steven Pressfield always says, the Muse will show up—but you have to sit your ass in that chair. Write Club is a way to get my ass in the chair. I hope some of you will join me.

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