How was your summer? I am not disappointed to be making some of my autumnal favorites in the kitchen. I am not sad to kiss barometer-breaking days good-bye. What I am is overwhelmingly happy to say “Hello” again to the readers of our Fall 2007 issue.

Being our second print issue, I would say, so far, so good — more than good! There is so much for us to talk about, write about, and we’re only getting started. Mom Writer’s Literary Magazine’s Summer 2007 debut print issue found it’s way to many of you, and the subscriptions reach from Micronesia to Alaska, all the way to Germany. We’re honored you share your very limited spare time with us.

Since we’re sharing time together, I am almost certain that motherhood has affected you, changed you and written on your soul. Tell us about it. Of course, we have our own theories and have published ones we really like, but we’re still waiting to be moved by you. There is a reason this magazine is in your hands, mailbox, inbox, car, or bag. Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote “Temperament is the iron wire on which the beads are strung.” I’m going to say that motherhood is the tectonic plate upon which future generations will stand. A mother has a hand in the type of man her son becomes, a direct impact on the way her daughter sees herself. Knowing that, I often ask myself, as a parent, “What have I gotten myself into?” or I think, “I’ve got to write about this.”

I’m no stranger to plate shifting and fault lines. I’ve lived in California almost all of my life. (We talk about the San Andreas fault line like it’s a living, breathing, unpredictable person — “There she goes again!”) I can tell you, when the Earth moves, you move. Everything moves, as a matter of fact. Kind of like when Mama isn’t happy, no one is happy. It’s smart to ride out the shaking and go with the flow, or so I tell the members of my family, although I can’t admit to abiding by this philosophy all the time. I am responsible for a lot of pseudo-quakes and mini-dramas.

When I feel my foundation shaking, I pull out a chair from my kitchen table, get comfortable, and pour into my laptop. When inspiration strikes away from home, I grab the little notebook I keep in the diaper bag, or the composition book in my glove compartment, and scribble away with the pink mini-Sharpie attached to my keychain. For Lisa Garrigues, mom writer, whom you see on the cover of our Fall 2007 issue, hiking and keeping what she calls, a “Mother’s Notebook”, are essential to her. Michelle Herman, also featured in this issue, seems to be speaking to me when she says getting a two-hour window to write is “lucky.” Yes, I know — boy, do I know — because right now my son is poking me and chirping about a Disney cell phone holder in a catalog (for his non-existent, far-in-the-future cell phone) and the baby, whom I put down for a nap 40 minutes ago, is already crying for me to come get her.

Everyone benefits from the availability and practice of a mom’s creative outlet, in our case, writing. When you happen to chat with another mom at the park about the best car seat for traveling, it’s the same concept. We come together to share our experiences and we learn from each other.

Of course, there are days when my creative outlet backfires on me. Two days ago, I started one column after another; tried to write a chapter in my next book; and attempted to put a family recipe into metric-system format; only to exclaim, “THESE SUCK!”

Writing rescues me; writing stresses me. It causes quakes then puts a salve on the fault line. Or, as Michelle Herman says, writing “cracked her open more.” Writing is a disruptive process to our lives and within ourselves, with some of the best stuff coming from our maternal epicenter. The vibrations may not always be good ones, but when they’re strong, they’ll get a creative mind going. That’s as real as it gets, mamas. The symmetry and harmony we seek as mom writers is found in extremes and at the limits, if we keep our eyes open, our centers active.

“To the limit” unsettles me. Occasionally, I protest the shifting and shaking. I protest, but simultaneously I’m aware that without that movement, life would lack panache, have no verve — life just wouldn’t be fun. In other words, there would be no writing material.

That’s just unacceptable.

Yours,

Samantha Gianulis
Editor-In-Chief

editor@momwriterslitmag.com  

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