Recently my husband discovered that we could stream TV programs over the Internet. I don’t usually get into reality shows (because they seem pointless and not at all connected to real life) but last night we watched several episodes of Canada’s Worst Driver 4. It was hilarious—mostly because driving is something that ALL of us do and the people on the show were soooooo bad at it.
I realize that the eight people on the show were chosen because they are so bad at driving, but it was still almost scary to see how they drove. Especially when a couple of them are from cities near us. Like, they really are out on the roads? Everything that they weren’t doing right—from parallel parking to proper lane changes to what road signs mean—is in a little booklet that every fourteen-year-old has to read and study to be able to get their learner’s exam. Maybe our government should consider making drivers retake that test every two or five years.
Even when one driver got kicked off the show for being such a bad driver that the instructor wouldn’t drive with her anymore, she kept insisting she wasn’t a bad driver. She was shown video proof of how bad she drove and she wouldn’t believe it. Made me think maybe that’s a malady in our society. We’re all “good” drivers in our own definitions.
So besides providing a few laughs, maybe Canada’s Worst Driver can get us thinking about our own driving skills... and trying to drive a bit safer on Canada’s roads.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
The Lynching
The rain drizzled down steadily from heavy grey clouds that showed no signs of breaking up. My hat dripped in front of my nose and raindrops ran down my plastic poncho with each step I took. Mom had stopped singing her rainy day songs and we were simply trudging along the trail, cold and wet and wishing we were at camp. That was when Dad decided to stop by the trail to cook lunch, rather than pressing on for the next campground.
We hiked for a bit further before the glad cry came that we’d found a stream by the trail. It was a short scramble down a slight incline, but there were also heavy spruce trees there to provide cover from the rain. In a minute my brothers and I had dropped our packs beside the trail. Dad sent Bob for water while he got out his cookset and we began manufacturing pizzas. My job was to open the cans while Dad mixed up the pizza dough.
As the first pizza went into the frying pan, decorated with mushrooms, pineapple, and meat to Will’s taste, a couple of teenagers hiked past. They just nodded to us, but the next group of three stopped to chat for a minute, explaining they were part of a youth group and were hiking into Berg Lake for the night. The group continued to trickle past in twos and threes; some stopped to talk and catch glimpses of the fresh pizzas coming out of the frying pan and being devoured by my brothers and I; others just kept walking, their heads down against the rain. They’d be cooking their ichiban noodles for supper once they got to Berg Lake.
Then one of the group leaders came along and recognized Dad. Dad introduced his family to his old acquaintance and they caught up on the news. They were hiking further than we were, so chances were that we wouldn’t meet them again. Then Dad’s friend headed on, the last of the youth group straggled past, and we finished our pizzas, packed up our “kitchen,” and hit the trail once again. With hot food in our stomachs, the rain no longer seemed such a problem—Dad had showed his usual skill in motivating his young hikers.
A couple days later we were back at Kinney Lake campground, packing up after breakfast for our short, seven-kilometre hike to the trailhead. The same youth group began hiking through camp, in the same bunches of two and three, and Dad’s friend stopped in our cook shelter to say hi again.
“You know,” he mentioned to Dad just before he went after his group, “by making fresh pizzas on the trail like that, when those kids only had ichiban noodles to eat, you almost got lynched.”
We hiked for a bit further before the glad cry came that we’d found a stream by the trail. It was a short scramble down a slight incline, but there were also heavy spruce trees there to provide cover from the rain. In a minute my brothers and I had dropped our packs beside the trail. Dad sent Bob for water while he got out his cookset and we began manufacturing pizzas. My job was to open the cans while Dad mixed up the pizza dough.
As the first pizza went into the frying pan, decorated with mushrooms, pineapple, and meat to Will’s taste, a couple of teenagers hiked past. They just nodded to us, but the next group of three stopped to chat for a minute, explaining they were part of a youth group and were hiking into Berg Lake for the night. The group continued to trickle past in twos and threes; some stopped to talk and catch glimpses of the fresh pizzas coming out of the frying pan and being devoured by my brothers and I; others just kept walking, their heads down against the rain. They’d be cooking their ichiban noodles for supper once they got to Berg Lake.
Then one of the group leaders came along and recognized Dad. Dad introduced his family to his old acquaintance and they caught up on the news. They were hiking further than we were, so chances were that we wouldn’t meet them again. Then Dad’s friend headed on, the last of the youth group straggled past, and we finished our pizzas, packed up our “kitchen,” and hit the trail once again. With hot food in our stomachs, the rain no longer seemed such a problem—Dad had showed his usual skill in motivating his young hikers.
A couple days later we were back at Kinney Lake campground, packing up after breakfast for our short, seven-kilometre hike to the trailhead. The same youth group began hiking through camp, in the same bunches of two and three, and Dad’s friend stopped in our cook shelter to say hi again.
“You know,” he mentioned to Dad just before he went after his group, “by making fresh pizzas on the trail like that, when those kids only had ichiban noodles to eat, you almost got lynched.”
Monday, October 19, 2009
Flu Season Returns
When we were expecting Sunshine, friends asked us if we planned to vaccinate her. I hadn’t even thought that far ahead, but since I’d had all of my vaccinations, I assumed so would Sunshine. Until I heard what our friends had to say about vaccinations and their choice in regards to vaccinating their son. Their comments left me with a lot of questions that began a lot of research.
Since then, I’ve met tons of other parents who are also questioning vaccinations and choosing not to vaccinate their children. I’ve read Dr. Robert Sears’ The Vaccine Book (one of the best resources on the topic) as well as articles both for and against vaccines.
There are hundreds or even thousands of anecdotal cases of people suffering severe or extreme side effects from vaccines. However, because most doctors refuse to acknowledge these cases and pharmaceutical companies refuse to do more research, no link has been proven—or not proven.
Sure, we can say it’s anecdotal. Sure, we can say it’s one case in a million and the flu shot helped the other people who took it. Sure, we can say it’s media hyping things up to get a good story.
But what if you were the person who can’t do anything that you used to do because you got a routine flu shot? What if you are the parent watching your child suffer because they got a routine vaccination? What do you say to these people—“So sorry about your luck, but everybody else is safe because of the vaccination?”
I think more questions need to be asked. I think more research needs to be done. I think some of these cases need to be acknowledged and studied.
It’s flu season again and the flu shot is getting a big push, especially with the swine flu threat this year. Doctors and governments are pushing people to get vaccinated. Other groups are warning against the dangers of vaccines. And we are left in the middle, trying to decide what is best for ourselves and our families.
Since then, I’ve met tons of other parents who are also questioning vaccinations and choosing not to vaccinate their children. I’ve read Dr. Robert Sears’ The Vaccine Book (one of the best resources on the topic) as well as articles both for and against vaccines.
There are hundreds or even thousands of anecdotal cases of people suffering severe or extreme side effects from vaccines. However, because most doctors refuse to acknowledge these cases and pharmaceutical companies refuse to do more research, no link has been proven—or not proven.
Sure, we can say it’s anecdotal. Sure, we can say it’s one case in a million and the flu shot helped the other people who took it. Sure, we can say it’s media hyping things up to get a good story.
But what if you were the person who can’t do anything that you used to do because you got a routine flu shot? What if you are the parent watching your child suffer because they got a routine vaccination? What do you say to these people—“So sorry about your luck, but everybody else is safe because of the vaccination?”
I think more questions need to be asked. I think more research needs to be done. I think some of these cases need to be acknowledged and studied.
It’s flu season again and the flu shot is getting a big push, especially with the swine flu threat this year. Doctors and governments are pushing people to get vaccinated. Other groups are warning against the dangers of vaccines. And we are left in the middle, trying to decide what is best for ourselves and our families.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Reading Raises Questions
A few months ago, my husband and I were hanging out at his sister’s place one evening. As we chatted in their basement, I eyed their bookshelf, and soon the talk turned to books. My sister-in-law has a huge collection of Christian fiction; while we discussed our favourite authors and favourite books, I began grabbing a few to borrow and read. Then I had to whittle my stack down to an amount of books I could read in the next few months.
One of those books was All The Way Home by Ann Tatlock—an author I was unfamiliar with. As I started into the novel during one of my breaks at work, though, I found myself really enjoying the author’s work. She made two eras in the States come alive: the internment of the Japanese in the States in World War II and the racism directed at black Americans in Mississippi in the Korean War era. These were tied together through the main characters’ experiences with the prejudice directed at the Japanese, which helped them to understand and sympathize with the struggles of the blacks.
As I read, two questions kept repeating themselves in my head. The first was, Did Canada inter her Japanese citizens during World War II? I suspected the answer was yes, and I was right. Histor!ca says, “Canadian military authorities and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police felt that there was little chance of a Japanese invasion and that Japanese Canadians were not a threat to national security. Yet racist and xenophobic public sentiment felt that Japanese-born Canadians showed too much sympathy for Japan and that there was a chance that some of them might form a fifth column.”
However, racism against the Japanese didn’t start with the war, according to The Canadian Encyclopedia. Even before then, government policies in BC, where most of the Japanese immigrants had settled, were anti-Japanese. Even those born in Canada and those who had fought for Canada in World War I were denied the rights of citizens. With that attitude, it was probably easy to suspect the Japanese of “helping the enemy” and to further take away their rights by locking them in camps. Some of these camps were located in the Rockies, near present-day popular tourist spots.
My second question was about the racism in the States portrayed in the second half of All The Way Home. Maybe it shouldn’t have surprised me that even in the 1960s and 70s, blacks weren’t allowed to vote and were treated as Tatlock shows. I wondered if that has changed today. Then as I thought about that, I remember a comment I heard during the last American presidential race. One person said he didn’t want either a black or a woman in office, so he wouldn’t be voting for Hillary Clinton or Barack Obama.
Does it ever end? Will there ever come a time, with our increasing globalization, when we cease to fear or hate those who are different from us?
One of those books was All The Way Home by Ann Tatlock—an author I was unfamiliar with. As I started into the novel during one of my breaks at work, though, I found myself really enjoying the author’s work. She made two eras in the States come alive: the internment of the Japanese in the States in World War II and the racism directed at black Americans in Mississippi in the Korean War era. These were tied together through the main characters’ experiences with the prejudice directed at the Japanese, which helped them to understand and sympathize with the struggles of the blacks.
As I read, two questions kept repeating themselves in my head. The first was, Did Canada inter her Japanese citizens during World War II? I suspected the answer was yes, and I was right. Histor!ca says, “Canadian military authorities and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police felt that there was little chance of a Japanese invasion and that Japanese Canadians were not a threat to national security. Yet racist and xenophobic public sentiment felt that Japanese-born Canadians showed too much sympathy for Japan and that there was a chance that some of them might form a fifth column.”
However, racism against the Japanese didn’t start with the war, according to The Canadian Encyclopedia. Even before then, government policies in BC, where most of the Japanese immigrants had settled, were anti-Japanese. Even those born in Canada and those who had fought for Canada in World War I were denied the rights of citizens. With that attitude, it was probably easy to suspect the Japanese of “helping the enemy” and to further take away their rights by locking them in camps. Some of these camps were located in the Rockies, near present-day popular tourist spots.
My second question was about the racism in the States portrayed in the second half of All The Way Home. Maybe it shouldn’t have surprised me that even in the 1960s and 70s, blacks weren’t allowed to vote and were treated as Tatlock shows. I wondered if that has changed today. Then as I thought about that, I remember a comment I heard during the last American presidential race. One person said he didn’t want either a black or a woman in office, so he wouldn’t be voting for Hillary Clinton or Barack Obama.
Does it ever end? Will there ever come a time, with our increasing globalization, when we cease to fear or hate those who are different from us?
Monday, October 12, 2009
Thankful Hearts
My fridge is stuffed with turkey and other Thanksgiving leftovers. Our table is still a kilter in the living/dining room, the way it sat when two other tables extended it to accommodate ten people for dinner. A beautiful arrangement of orange flowers in a pumpkin sits on the spare table. Thanksgiving has come and gone for another year, and it was a beautiful Thanksgiving.
Because we are central to my family, my husband and I decided to host Thanksgiving this year. Often, my uncle and grandpa are mid-harvest during Thanksgiving and it gets overlooked. This year, they had only one crop left in the field, with snow delaying any action on it. They came for dinner, along with my aunt and uncle from the city, my brothers, and my mom.
It was fun to pull out the turkey platter and roasting pan that we’d gotten for the wedding and haven’t had a chance to use yet. We did our shopping on Thursday, choosing a big turkey, a nice pumpkin, and all the fixings to go with them. On Saturday, we were madly cleaning, baking pumpkin pies and bread for the stuffing, and counting dishes, chairs, and spaces at the table to make sure we could fit everyone. (Grandma and Grandpa brought their folding chairs and card table to help.)
On Sunday, Mr. Turkey went into the oven without much trouble. My mom came over to help us get ready for dinner, but we spent most of the time sitting around chatting while we waited for the right time to start cooking. I went searching for the box that held my serving dishes—I hadn’t bothered to unpack them here because we never used them in the year that we were up north. Along with that box, I found the box that held Sunshine’s winter clothes—something else we’ll need soon.
My husband said we needed a centrepiece for the table, and apparently my aunt had the same thought, for she showed up with the beautiful bouquet. We laughed and talked and stuffed ourselves with food. After dinner, my mom, aunt, grandma and I danced around each other in my tiny kitchen, trying to put the food away and get the dishes washed while the men talked politics in the living room. It was fun to have everyone over, to host some of my family whom I haven’t hosted before, and to see just how easy it was to make a big Thanksgiving dinner.
Happy turkey day, everyone. May your Thanksgiving be as filled with fun and laughter and family as ours was.
Because we are central to my family, my husband and I decided to host Thanksgiving this year. Often, my uncle and grandpa are mid-harvest during Thanksgiving and it gets overlooked. This year, they had only one crop left in the field, with snow delaying any action on it. They came for dinner, along with my aunt and uncle from the city, my brothers, and my mom.
It was fun to pull out the turkey platter and roasting pan that we’d gotten for the wedding and haven’t had a chance to use yet. We did our shopping on Thursday, choosing a big turkey, a nice pumpkin, and all the fixings to go with them. On Saturday, we were madly cleaning, baking pumpkin pies and bread for the stuffing, and counting dishes, chairs, and spaces at the table to make sure we could fit everyone. (Grandma and Grandpa brought their folding chairs and card table to help.)
On Sunday, Mr. Turkey went into the oven without much trouble. My mom came over to help us get ready for dinner, but we spent most of the time sitting around chatting while we waited for the right time to start cooking. I went searching for the box that held my serving dishes—I hadn’t bothered to unpack them here because we never used them in the year that we were up north. Along with that box, I found the box that held Sunshine’s winter clothes—something else we’ll need soon.
My husband said we needed a centrepiece for the table, and apparently my aunt had the same thought, for she showed up with the beautiful bouquet. We laughed and talked and stuffed ourselves with food. After dinner, my mom, aunt, grandma and I danced around each other in my tiny kitchen, trying to put the food away and get the dishes washed while the men talked politics in the living room. It was fun to have everyone over, to host some of my family whom I haven’t hosted before, and to see just how easy it was to make a big Thanksgiving dinner.
Happy turkey day, everyone. May your Thanksgiving be as filled with fun and laughter and family as ours was.
Friday, October 9, 2009
A Starbucks Story
In 1995, my dad had a business trip to Seattle, Washington, and took my mom along for a holiday. When mom told a friend of hers where they were headed, that friend burst out with one word: "Starbucks!" Mom was puzzled. "What's Starbucks?" Her friend was grinning. "The best coffee ever. Find a Starbucks. Have a coffee."
Mom returned from Seattle with the same glowing report of Starbucks as her friend had. It was a few more years, however, before a Starbucks finally opened in Canada and I was able to find out what the fuss was about. Starbucks quickly became a favourite stop for Mom and I whenever we were in the city. During one of the summers I worked downtown, Starbucks was a convenient halfway place to meet a friend of mine who was also working downtown.
In 2005, I turned a "someday dream" into a "now" and went to Australia for the summer. Barely a week there, I wandered down the main street in Sydney, feeling lonely and depressed. I knew nobody there and I wondered why on earth I'd gone. Then I spotted the Starbucks sign, peeking out from amid all the other strange signs in the street. In a minute I was inside, in a safe, familiar place, sipping my favourite frappucino and staring at the Sydney Sky Tower. By the time I'd finished my frappucino, I'd also cheered myself up and I was ready to go explore this new city some more.
When I applied for this position at Starbucks, I mentioned having coffee with Mom and seeking refuge at Starbucks in Australia. In the interview, they asked me why Starbucks. Again, I went back to the fact that this was a homey place for me--that "third place" (after home and work) that Starbucks strives to be for its customers. One of my friends told me that she didn't think of me as a "coffee shop girl," yet for me, Starbucks has always been a place that I've thought would be fun to work. A place that I like.
Mom returned from Seattle with the same glowing report of Starbucks as her friend had. It was a few more years, however, before a Starbucks finally opened in Canada and I was able to find out what the fuss was about. Starbucks quickly became a favourite stop for Mom and I whenever we were in the city. During one of the summers I worked downtown, Starbucks was a convenient halfway place to meet a friend of mine who was also working downtown.
In 2005, I turned a "someday dream" into a "now" and went to Australia for the summer. Barely a week there, I wandered down the main street in Sydney, feeling lonely and depressed. I knew nobody there and I wondered why on earth I'd gone. Then I spotted the Starbucks sign, peeking out from amid all the other strange signs in the street. In a minute I was inside, in a safe, familiar place, sipping my favourite frappucino and staring at the Sydney Sky Tower. By the time I'd finished my frappucino, I'd also cheered myself up and I was ready to go explore this new city some more.
When I applied for this position at Starbucks, I mentioned having coffee with Mom and seeking refuge at Starbucks in Australia. In the interview, they asked me why Starbucks. Again, I went back to the fact that this was a homey place for me--that "third place" (after home and work) that Starbucks strives to be for its customers. One of my friends told me that she didn't think of me as a "coffee shop girl," yet for me, Starbucks has always been a place that I've thought would be fun to work. A place that I like.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
1 Corinthians 13 for Writers
Check out C.J. Darlington's post over at Scribble Chicks, about knowing when God has called you to write.
And Bonnie Grove has finally posted her showing vs. telling workshop from the Fall Conference on her blog.
And Bonnie Grove has finally posted her showing vs. telling workshop from the Fall Conference on her blog.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Coffee Break
I'm feeling rather cool right now, sitting in a Starbucks on my break typing on a laptop. I figured out the wireless internet here (with a bit of help from my hubby--I don't often use our laptop). I've checked my email and thought I'd better update my blog too. Working full-time has a way of keeping a person busy and, while I'm trying to keep up my blog schedule, some days that doesn't happen. Like yesterday. :)
Fall is here for sure; the trees are waving orange branches in the wind, trying to hang onto their leaves for a little bit longer. The few inches of snow that we got on Saturday have disappeared, but there's threat of more tonight. I don't mind. I like snow. I just have to find where we packed all the winter stuff away when we moved...
We celebrated Thanksgiving on Saturday with my in-laws and are planning a big dinner at our place for my side of the family this Sunday. I'll have to dig out my roasting pan for the first time--one of those wedding presents that hasn't been used yet. Should be fun, if we can find enough chairs for everyone.
A bright green Jeep out the window just caught my eye and made me think that my husband was coming back for me. He dropped me off at work today, went running errands, and then came back to surprise me for my coffee break. But this Jeep isn't him--it has a black bug screen and white writing on the windshield. It's only the third Jeep we've seen that's the same colour as ours, however.
Okay, break's over. Back to making caramel macciatos.
Fall is here for sure; the trees are waving orange branches in the wind, trying to hang onto their leaves for a little bit longer. The few inches of snow that we got on Saturday have disappeared, but there's threat of more tonight. I don't mind. I like snow. I just have to find where we packed all the winter stuff away when we moved...
We celebrated Thanksgiving on Saturday with my in-laws and are planning a big dinner at our place for my side of the family this Sunday. I'll have to dig out my roasting pan for the first time--one of those wedding presents that hasn't been used yet. Should be fun, if we can find enough chairs for everyone.
A bright green Jeep out the window just caught my eye and made me think that my husband was coming back for me. He dropped me off at work today, went running errands, and then came back to surprise me for my coffee break. But this Jeep isn't him--it has a black bug screen and white writing on the windshield. It's only the third Jeep we've seen that's the same colour as ours, however.
Okay, break's over. Back to making caramel macciatos.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Mom Writer's Literary Magazine Becomes Mamazina
I can't remember how long ago now it was that I discovered Mom Writer's Literary Magazine, but I was delighted that there was a magazine targeted at two of my passions: writing and mothering. I enjoyed reading the magazine and website and contributed a book review to one issue, as well as blogging on the MWLM blog (though I've stepped down now because of work). This year, MWLM underwent difficulties, like many other magazines, and recently announced that they are merging with another mother-focused company to keep publishing the magazine. Here's the press release.
Mom-Owned Magazine & Media Firm Unite
In a display of cooperation and consolidation, two of the nation’s leading mom-branded media organizations have joined forces. Mamapalooza, Inc. a mother-owned and operated multimedia firm, and Mom Writers Literary magazine (MWLM), a showcase for women writers, have forged a new partnership to develop Mamazina Magazine.
The result of this merger is a new publication that combines the best of both efforts and not only showcases women writers and the travails of parenthood, but also creates a strong platform for mom-branded art, culture and business.
Mamapalooza is well known for producing hundreds of Family Festivals, Baby and Green Expos, and Mom’s Night Out Events. Since 2002 Mamapalooza has been the leader in tailor-made mom events that focus on art, business and activism. Mamapalooza founder Joy Rose, an award-winning singer, writer and motivational speaker, uses her unique brand of successful mother events to celebrate, support and connect mothers across the country.
In 2005 Paula Schmitt founded Mom Writer’s Literary Magazine to honor and celebrate the challenges, joys and triumphs mothers face, by making their stories visible through print. MWLM highlights established authors, and new, breakthrough female writers by providing a creative forum through which they can communicate with moms everywhere.
“Our two organizations share so many of the same values, and we both want to empower moms and provide them not only with an outlet for their amazing creativity, but also a way to network, bond and share ideas with one other,” said Mamapalooza founder Joy Rose.
“With MWLM’s stable of excellent mom writers, and Mamapalooza’s calendar of mom-branded events, we knew that we could reach more moms with a message of encouragement and a forum of practical advice, all while providing resources on a much grander scale if we formed this special partnership,” said Paula Schmitt, founder of Mom Writer’s Literary Magazine.
The result of this joint venture will be a bi-annual magazine called Mamazina – Women’s Voices Unite. Formatted similar to MWLM, Mamazina will be a broader based publication with new sections to cover the modern marketplace and a mom-made catalogue of products. Joy Rose and Paula Schmitt will serve as Mamazina co-founders and act as Publisher and Director respectively. MWLM’s original staff will transition to the new publication, and new positions will be added as additional market areas come on board. One area of near term focus for the Mamazina team will be to reach the Hispanic market with new material and translated content.
As MWLM transitions to Mamazina, subscribers who have pre-purchased the fall issue of MWLM will receive the most recent copy of Mamapalooza Mamazine and an accompanying CD in place of the regularly scheduled MWLM. Select pieces also will be electronically published on the Mamazina Web site by early November.
The inaugural issue of Mamazina – Women’s Voices Unite will debut in Spring 2010. It will include literary, creative and art content, along with a catalog section. The new publication also will feature new editors, merchandising experts, artists and writers.
Co-Founders Rose and Schmitt stand committed to their new mission statement: “To honor and celebrate the challenges, joys and triumphs mothers face by making their stories visible through print. Written by moms for moms across the globe, Mamazina – Women’s Voices Unite will share stories, celebrate triumphs and comfort the weary moms trying so hard to get it right.”
Mom-Owned Magazine & Media Firm Unite
In a display of cooperation and consolidation, two of the nation’s leading mom-branded media organizations have joined forces. Mamapalooza, Inc. a mother-owned and operated multimedia firm, and Mom Writers Literary magazine (MWLM), a showcase for women writers, have forged a new partnership to develop Mamazina Magazine.
The result of this merger is a new publication that combines the best of both efforts and not only showcases women writers and the travails of parenthood, but also creates a strong platform for mom-branded art, culture and business.
Mamapalooza is well known for producing hundreds of Family Festivals, Baby and Green Expos, and Mom’s Night Out Events. Since 2002 Mamapalooza has been the leader in tailor-made mom events that focus on art, business and activism. Mamapalooza founder Joy Rose, an award-winning singer, writer and motivational speaker, uses her unique brand of successful mother events to celebrate, support and connect mothers across the country.
In 2005 Paula Schmitt founded Mom Writer’s Literary Magazine to honor and celebrate the challenges, joys and triumphs mothers face, by making their stories visible through print. MWLM highlights established authors, and new, breakthrough female writers by providing a creative forum through which they can communicate with moms everywhere.
“Our two organizations share so many of the same values, and we both want to empower moms and provide them not only with an outlet for their amazing creativity, but also a way to network, bond and share ideas with one other,” said Mamapalooza founder Joy Rose.
“With MWLM’s stable of excellent mom writers, and Mamapalooza’s calendar of mom-branded events, we knew that we could reach more moms with a message of encouragement and a forum of practical advice, all while providing resources on a much grander scale if we formed this special partnership,” said Paula Schmitt, founder of Mom Writer’s Literary Magazine.
The result of this joint venture will be a bi-annual magazine called Mamazina – Women’s Voices Unite. Formatted similar to MWLM, Mamazina will be a broader based publication with new sections to cover the modern marketplace and a mom-made catalogue of products. Joy Rose and Paula Schmitt will serve as Mamazina co-founders and act as Publisher and Director respectively. MWLM’s original staff will transition to the new publication, and new positions will be added as additional market areas come on board. One area of near term focus for the Mamazina team will be to reach the Hispanic market with new material and translated content.
As MWLM transitions to Mamazina, subscribers who have pre-purchased the fall issue of MWLM will receive the most recent copy of Mamapalooza Mamazine and an accompanying CD in place of the regularly scheduled MWLM. Select pieces also will be electronically published on the Mamazina Web site by early November.
The inaugural issue of Mamazina – Women’s Voices Unite will debut in Spring 2010. It will include literary, creative and art content, along with a catalog section. The new publication also will feature new editors, merchandising experts, artists and writers.
Co-Founders Rose and Schmitt stand committed to their new mission statement: “To honor and celebrate the challenges, joys and triumphs mothers face by making their stories visible through print. Written by moms for moms across the globe, Mamazina – Women’s Voices Unite will share stories, celebrate triumphs and comfort the weary moms trying so hard to get it right.”
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