From the Editor

Fall has been my favorite season for as long as I can remember. I love the shiny newness of it. Like January, it holds so much anticipation and possibility, only…

Dear Readers, As I write this letter, I await the blooms of our wedgewoods. The prior homeowners planted a ring of them around our garage. Even with the lilac halo,…

For me, this season is redefining what it means to vacillate between two roles: mothering my own mother and mothering my almost 21-year-old daughter. It’s a see-saw that touches on…

Every to-do list that I made in January reflected an almost absurd horror:  1. Buy baby Tylenol, dog food, ingredients for husband’s birthday cake, and whistles 2. Call state reps…

I’m old enough to know that the pressure to achieve a goal is less likely to motivate me than it is to ruin my experience of the process.

The Empire never really wins, as long as we are prepared to hold it accountable, time and time again. 

Last September I entered a new season of motherhood. My one-year-old suddenly became this eighteen-year-old launching her life halfway across the country. The days leading up were filled with late-night…

What if our openness to the world isn’t reciprocal? How do we live when it seems like our choices are becoming increasingly limited, and our best intentions may not have an impact beyond ourselves?

I have never met a mother who didn’t need rest and restoration, myself included.

I’d like to time-hop, jump forward a little and come back with the insight needed to do all of this mothering stuff right and better embrace the messiness of now.

During our hiatus, I’ve been so heartened by the way that our community of volunteers has rallied around the vision of Literary Mama. We are here because mamas need not just time and space, but also support.