By Sonia Montalvo

In our last issue, writer Nadirah Muhammad published a beautiful piece about the hardships Black women writers face and her love for the art form. Her words have stayed with me, stirring up a mix of emotions for me that I thought I had reckoned with. There’s a portion of her article that specifically makes me ponder my journey with writing and editing. In it, she states: 

 “I’ve always loved the feeling of discovering the perfect word to describe a moment in time. The art of finding that word perfectly suited to capturing all the emotions and weight of a moment is something I deeply value. Like any lover of words, I choose mine carefully and have learned to articulate every syllable to ensure they reflect the power they deserve.” 

In my own reflection after sitting with her piece,I’ve come to realize that my relationship with writing and editing  has not always been defined by love or passion alone. Here are my thoughts as raw and true as I can muster the courage to share with you

I have made the very difficult decision to step down as Editor In Chief of Vinegar Hill Magazine. A lot of tears are being shed even as I write the statement and make it plain. This piece is my last with the platform under this role.  This is the fulfillment of my younger dreams personified, so leaving something I prayed for so deeply, doesn’t even feel real. As I transition out of this role, I am conflicted. I grew up thinking that writing and editing were magical jobs to have. I knew in my heart that I would wake up, head into work, enjoy the clicking of computer keyboards, and relish in the taste of long all-nighters to tell the stories that were important to me.

I was secure in the dream I had for myself as a future Journalist and Editor. So secure, in fact, in 2016 I began applying to Journalism programs that I felt aligned with what I wanted. I had previous writing and editing experience  with other news sources, so I thought for sure that I was an ideal candidate. Funny enough, I never heard back from any of them. That was until 2017, I got my acceptance email from Morgan State University’s Journalism program almost a year after I sent in my application. By this time, I had imagined new dreams for my writing and career. I had just self-published my first book the year before, and truly, I was burned out from trying to make writing work. I thought I loved it, but I didn’t feel like it loved me back.

Seeing the acceptance letter again for the sake of this article, almost felt like a punch to the gut with feelings that I thought I buried deep. Something I once wanted, I didn’t feel like it belonged to me anymore. Looking back over it, I don’t think I ever wanted it as badly as I tried to make myself believe. In many ways, my journey with Vinegar Hill became the space where that old dream got a second wind—but in a way that felt authentic to me. I didn’t need an institution to say yes. I had finally gotten what I once waited for. Transparently, That’s what makes leaving this role so hard.

The reimagining of my life didn’t allow writing to take front and center as it once did. I had moved on to taking youth development more seriously and moved across the country to teach. For the sake of this article, I went back to look at my application essay. It’s heartbreaking to admit that I can realize even in the essay, I was laying the foundation for the feelings I have about writing and editing today. In it, I stated: 

“Journalism is my passion simply because it gives the space to make the narratives that go unnoticed, front and center. These truths live under fabricated and calculated lies. Good journalism is, if nothing else, there to slap its readers in the face with the truth. In any aspect of writing, being a truth seeker is my Mission.” I was not excited about Journalism or writing; for me,  it was simply about the urgency of the narratives.”

For some time, I’ve felt guilty about these feelings. I pondered on if they’ve made me an ideal candidate to take the helm as Editor of such a sacred publication like Vinegar Hill Magazine. I now know it has been my questioning, my care, and my willingness to listen that have helped me carry the role with honesty. Not always perfectly, but definitely with intention.

Over the last year and a half what I have enjoyed most in this role was hearing the experiences of others. There is great necessity in building community through experience. Something about connecting with others through their lived and written experiences, somehow deepens the understanding —of ourselves, of each other, and of the world. It’s why we as humans love hearing about our favorite celebs, or even why salacious hearsay appeals to some. Connectedness helps us to understand little by little. I’ve sat in the living rooms of community legends, in conference rooms with political candidates, in book stores with musical talents and the common thread for me or rather what kept me tied to the work, was my desire to understand and my self-imposed obligation to seek and tell their truths,  We lose a great amount of history when we allow the stories of those around us to go unwritten. It was never about the love of writing, it was about the responsibility that comes with it.

This time with the publication has taught me three things that I’d wish to share with you before I step down from my position

1. There’s more behind the byline

Every time you see an article pop up on our site, or in a print issue, please understand our writers are doing their very best at taking record of the past and present,  and condensing it into 1,200 words or less. It’s one of the most heartbreaking parts of this work, and most Journalists will tell you the same. We are tasked with picking apart something so layered and alive into something brief and readable for the short attention span of society. We carry the heavy and real weight of commemorating people’s truths, and knowing that no word count will ever truly convey the magic in what they shared in totality. Behind each piece are countless hours and sometimes days of listening, transcribing, fact-checking, editing, and doubting if we’ve given it all we can. Any Journalist or media professional will tell you that we often ask ourselves whether we’ve done justice to the people who trusted us with what they’ve shared, and whether we’ve captured the fullness of what they gave us. The cuts we make are painful, and once released to you, you have the luxury of never worrying about that. I urge you, after you read any article, to do more research on what’s being shared. Treat them the same way you would something you’re passionate about. Continue to learn all you can about what is being shared with you. Continue to help us keep it alive.

2. Listening is a radical act

I’ve learned that listening is a form of genuine care. It’s how we validate those around us. It is how we value the spaces we inhabit. A universal truth is that we all only want to be heard. I’ve come to understand that listening is not just about gathering quotes; it’s about being present. So much of my work with Vinegar Hill Magazine has reminded me that being an ear to someone’s or something’s truth is its kind of gift, and it’s the type of gift that gives to the listener and the speaker. It’s easy to think that listening only requires the listener to be quiet, but that couldn’t be the farthest from the truth. Listening is an obligation to be open and patient with what is being shared. One may not always agree with what they are listening to, but there’s always something to be taken from what you’ve heard. It could be a new perspective or even just the reminder that someone’s truth exists alongside your own. Listening, when done with intention, is an act of protest. It says, Though I don’t have all the answers, I’m committed to learning.  In a world full of chaos, choosing to listen to those around us is one of the most important things we can do for one another.

3.It’s Okay to Revise your Dreams

While I will no longer serve at the helm of this publication, I will always be a writer. It is mandatory work. This will not be the last you see of me, but I’ve made peace with the fact that it will not be in the same way. Revising your dream doesn’t mean giving it up in its entirety. It means giving space for it to grow in other ways. 

Thank you, Vinegar Hill Executive staff and readership, for allowing me to be a part of you during my time here. Thank you for welcoming me into this community and letting me share in retelling the narratives we hold dear in this area. I am excited to share with you in the future, as writing will always be a part of me. Whether this work is a passion or a necessity, it is real.