Editor's Note

Since I was a child, I have been called a “creative soul.” But I was a creative soul functioning as a product of what society wanted me to be. Socialized into the able-bodied machine that contributed to a further internalized ableism. This internalized ableism would not stop me from being creative, but I would now be creative in secret. I would stifle this creativity in any other space, besides my own bedroom. As I developed throughout high school and college, I began to become aware of my internalized ableism, and to be perfectly honest, it is extremely difficult to unlearn. It is a widely active journey that I will never stop embarking on. What motivates me to be the person that continues to unlearn these socialized beliefs? The sparks that I am discovering and rediscovering for the first time. I have become much more passionate about disability advocacy, and constantly embrace disabled joy. And, oh, could I go on and on about how beautiful building a community is. This community I have embraced has made me feel uplifted and valued in countless ways, and it contributed to the joy in creative writing that I have found again, but in a newly public and unapologetic manner. My joy in creative writing was sparked again by finding a space. A space where I could be not only creative or queer or disabled, but authentically and fully all three. I have none other to thank than Daniel Pieczkolon, my mentor who I have known for about two years now. Daniel runs a lit mag on my college campus, and has fostered this space that literally made me declare a Creative Writing major. He also is the one who introduced me to the public literary magazine scene.  I truly don’t think I would be where I am now, if it weren’t for him. 

Anyway, after embracing my full personhood and my full inner-lit mag nerd, I began looking for spaces to be the public creative voice I wanted to be. I would submit to various lit mags who would say my intersectional work with a disability focus “wasn’t the right fit, but was great.” Or that lit mags “didn’t know where to place” this disability-centered work. After receiving more and more of these similar rejection letters, I had a revelation. There are very few lit mags that provide an exclusive space for disabled creatives to be uplifted. So, in response, after much passion and dedication, I fostered this space to be exactly that and more. Not only a space where disabled creatives could be valued in an intersectional manner, but a space where they could dismantle the pressures of the able-bodied machine that we are too often cornered into. When fostering this space, I had the late Judith Heumann in mind. May she rest in power and peace, and may this serve as an extension of all the blueprints she has set. 

And people responded to this emotion-driven call. Today, I present to you an issue with eleven creative pieces all written by disabled authors. I am so proud to say this. This is a historic moment, and I want to thank all the wonderful contributors who have helped me foster this vision in a more beautifully diverse way than I ever could have conceptualized. Thank you. Thank you to everyone who has reignited this spark in me, for believing in me. You know exactly who you are. 

Look at what this beautiful spark became. 

It feels really surreal writing this right now, but I present to you the first issue of The Machine. Happy reading!

Ryland McGinniss, Editor-in Chief of The Machine