Brady Vinlove / The Mossy Log
When I was eight years old, I was a con artist. One summer, while on vacation in the cottage country of Ontario, I was on a mission to secure as much cash as I possibly could — mainly to spend at bookstores. To make this dream a reality, I devised a plan to sell my loved ones a subscription to my very own publication: Megan’s Mag. I mapped out a 12-page spread filled with copy-and-pasted recipes from Martha Stewart magazines, art I had made that summer and a few short stories.
Needless to say, I bit off more than I could chew. My handwritten drafts were no good; I was not tech-savvy, and beyond that, I simply lacked the motivation needed to pull the publication off in just one week. The magazine was never made, but I pocketed a crisp 60 Canadian dollars.
I like to think that eight-year-old Megan still lives somewhere in me: the one who believed, against all evidence of her own follow-through, that people would want to read something she made. I hope that even though she was wrong about the con, the rest was true.
Working with The Mossy Log has become one of the greatest joys in my life. Through The Log, I have found meaning and connection in a way that my pre-teen self longed for. There is something particular about being a part of this publication — the late nights spent editing, the process of laying out pages in Adobe InDesign, the collaborations that spiral from “does this headline work?” into genuine friendship. It gives you the strange privilege of getting to care, publicly and unapologetically, about the things that matter to you. I did not expect a scrappy little publication to become one of the load-bearing beams of my life, but I cannot begin to describe how glad I am that it is.
What I have come to understand is that a publication is never really about what is printed on the page. Rather, it is about the people who show up for it, again and again, for reasons that have very little to do with bylines, metrics or a shiny new paragraph for their resume. It is about the community that spreads onto the margins and bleeds off the page. It spills into the comment threads, the pitch meetings and the shared Google Docs at 1 a.m.
The Mossy Log has given me a place to channel my curiosity, my opinions and my half-baked ideas. I have the immense pleasure of watching them become something sturdier when other people care enough to build them alongside me.
That is the part I want to write about to you today, because it is also an invitation. We are always looking for more people to join our team, whether that is a writer, an editor, an illustrator, someone skilled in spreadsheets or people who have never written a headline in their life but have something to say. You do not need a polished portfolio. You do not need to have already figured out your voice — I certainly had not figured mine out at eight years old, sitting on a dock with a stack of unfinished drafts and a pocketful of stolen cash.
What you need is curiosity, a willingness to show up and perhaps enough stubbornness to believe that what you make matters. Even if, like Megan’s Mag, it takes you a while (or over a decade) to actually get it off the ground.
If any sliver of this resonates with you, I would love to hear from you. Reach out, pitch us something you would love to read about, ask questions and tell us what you think is missing. The Mossy Log is better with more hands on board and there is always room for one more person at the table.
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