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So here it is, the September 2013 Issue, my penultimate as editor.

Which is interesting, because if there’s a theme to this month’s issue it is decidedly not “next to last,” but rather “firsts.”

First time having sex with General Lee? We’ve got that.

First time stealing a statue of Jesus that actually isn’t Jesus? Yes, yes, we have that too.

First time walking around your new sandcastle? Uh-huh.

First time hitch-hiking? You betcha’.

And first time trying to have your first time at Disneyland…of course, we’ve got that. Who else would?

(Also, because we’re JDP and are statutorily required to print a certain number of stories about the apocalypse, we also have a lovely piece of flash about the world ending, which admittedly bucks the whole “firsts” theme.)

And there you have it. Issue 46 is simultaneously a collection of firsts and my penultimate. Enjoy.

Treat her right, kid. You only get one and sometimes not for that long.

When I was five, my mom bought me the coolest Six Million Dollar Man costume for Halloween. Also, I’m going to miss her every day for the rest of my life. There’s a whole lot more to be said about my mom and her life than that, but, right now, that’s all I can manage.

When you lose someone you love deeply – especially after a prolonged illness – there’s honestly a sense of relief. It’s over. They’re out of pain. Then there are a zillion details immediately thrown at you, many of which border on the absurd. (You need a hard copy of the death certificate to cancel the Sears Card she hasn’t used since 1996? Seriously?)

When all that’s over, after two or three weeks, that’s when things hit you: the loss, the true sadness, and, above all else, the permanence. I’m never going to talk to my mom again.

Taking care of my mom these last few years was the best thing I ever did. And editing JDP was always a useful way to get through some of the tougher aspects of it. Angry at God, the Universe, or whomever for what Mom’s going through? Make yourself feel better by writing an f-bomb laden Godzilla post. Or just feel good because there are people out there who send you great stories, stories that a lot of other indie lit mags just simply don’t get.

My Mom’s at rest now and it’s time for me to move on. When I took this gig, I compared editing JDP to being Doctor Who. You don’t replace your predecessor so much as you put your own spin on the pillar of bizarreness that this place represents. In short, whether you wear a bow-tie or a scarf, the basic mission of the magazine stays the same.

Our new editor will start with the November Issue and, unlike the BBC, JDP has no qualms about regenerating across gender lines. (I mean, no offense to the excellent Peter Capaldi, but how f’n cool would Helen Mirren have been as the Doctor?) We’ll make an official announcement toward the end of the month, but if you enjoyed the Poetry Issue, you have a pretty good idea who it’s going to be. Trust us, you’ll be in good hands.

And I’ll still be around for the next month or so through our October Issue. I’m afraid, though, I must apologize to the writers who have stories in the September Issue. It won’t be out this Wednesday as planned. We should have a firm date soon, but it will probably be pushed back a week or two.

The last thing I want to say is this. Usually, when someone writes a post like this, people want to express condolences on this site, or on Facebook, or wherever. That’s really not necessary. I tend to believe JDP readers are inherently cool and I know your thoughts are with me. My mom was old and succumbed to a combination of cardiac conditions. They got to her earlier than most of her contemporaries, but there wasn’t anything extraordinary about the cause of her death. What is extraordinary is getting something like Cystic Fibrosis when you’re three and staring at the possibility of a double lung transplant when you’re in your thirties.

So, if you want to honor my Mom or express your sympathies to me, please consider a donation to Eirik Gumeny’s COTA fund. The universe needs places like JDP and people like him.

Thanks for letting me ramble here, lo these past two years. Take care of yourselves.

What They’re Reading on The Rising Star

There are those who believe that life here began out there, far across the universe, with tribes of humans who may have been the forefathers of the Egyptians or the Toltecs or the Mayans. Some believe that there may yet be brothers of man who even now fight to survive somewhere beyond the heavens…and also that they write poetry…and send it to people in New Jersey to publish.

Fleeing from the Cylon tyranny, the last Battlestar, Galactica, leads a rag-tag fugitive fleet of scifaiku, sonnets, Cthulhuku, pantoums, and other cool metrical verse on a lonely quest: a shining planet known as Earth…the one where Starbuck gets sorta naked in the third Riddick movie and is not a future member of the A-Team.

So (re)read the JDP Poetry Issue. We’re pretty sure it’s why there are pyramids constructed in both hemispheres and not many issues of a literary magazine can say that.