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EDITOR'S NOTE You'll Know. Something has changed. Writing is progressive for me now. Used to be, I’d submit anything, anywhere, anytime (maybe I’m exaggerating, but I didn’t discover Submission Guidelines as soon as I should have). Used to be, one rejection letter or seeing my SASE in the mailbox would send me into self-sabotage, with hapless “I’ll get back to my manuscript another time,” thinking. Used to be, I’d find excuses not to write, but take every opportunity to talk about writing. Does anybody know what I mean? There has been a leap in how I feel about this craft and I hope you know what I mean because it’s a good feeling. These days, although I still have trouble getting up very early to write, I somehow make time to do it more so than talking about doing it. Extracting the wisdom of Norman Mailer, I don’t discuss my current works in progress or ideas as freely as I would, for example, share a recipe (and now my recipes only appear on my blog). I’m getting the hang of this, and in due time. It certainly can’t be rushed. Has this ever happened to you – you state you’re a writer, and suddenly realize you’re surrounded by fellow writers? Not too soon will you learn that anyone can call themselves a writer. From the age of 13, I kept journals, had mental catalogues of manuscript ideas, and scribbled poetry, but not until I joined the company of other writers – in Nancy Cleary’s publishing cooperative, at MWLM, and in different publications – did I consider myself a writer (and you are the only audience I will tell). It takes a daily commitment to stay on that course. Like everything else, writing is work we sweat to improve. Sometimes, like motherhood, writing isn’t a paying job. But, as I recently heard at a Writer’s Conference, “writers can’t not write.” So here we are together, us writers, us moms. Welcome to our Spring 2008 issue! I love Spring, I think, the best of any season. Baseball returns, and I still get the occasional dramatic thunderstorm I need. I also get the warm, not-too-hot sunshine with life sprouting everywhere. Such worthy metaphors. But Spring is just the beginning. Something has definitely changed. I know, like you know, that writing is what we are supposed to be doing. Writing is less of a pastime and more of an identity, and what I create with words, I love like my children. One comes before the other, though. So spring forward until the two seasons blend together in metaphorical, surprising ways. There is so much to say. Dive in, the water is getting warmer now.
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