New Ideas Will Come (Rachel Intro) (10/30/2021)

New Ideas Will Come | The Weekly Atticus

A recap of the week's writing at Atticus Review. Intro by Rachel Laverdiere.

I draft this email with a view of the changing season. Autumn, my favorite time of year, reminds me that nature never stagnates. A barren tree becomes a green canopy, transforms into copper and gold, then releases what it’s taken two seasons to create. It reminds me of the writing process—an idea germinates, grows and buds, then finally blooms into its final form, then the search for new seeds begins.Even though fall is my favorite season, when the leaves began to change mid-September, dread accompanied. There will be so much hard work to do! And, of course, this means the cold and the snow will replace what was green, then gold. Up here in Canada, there is the fear that once winter comes, it will never end.Yesterday, I raked and bagged the leaves, put away the garden gnomes and the hose. I went to bed satisfied. No more yard work until spring. But today, the wind blusters—seems to gather the neighborhood’s vagrant leaves. Spurs them to dance across my lawn. Rather than frown, I smile at nature’s reminder that the work is never done. I have so little control over nature. I can schedule yard work, but the seasons refuse to change accordingly. It won’t be time to retire the rake until the first snowfall.Like autumn, writing requires patience, perseverance and a surrendering of control. A feeling, much like a stone dropping into the pit of my stomach, takes hold when I’m finishing a first draft—especially if I’ve unleashed the words like leaves in a windstorm. There will be so much hard work to do! There is the drafting of an essay, the need to let it sit between drafts and my critique partner’s feedback. Each time I send it back, I think “Aha! Surely, this time it’s ready!” But her comments prove there are words and images to shed, sentences to prune, more work to do. With each draft, the essence of my essay becomes crisper. There always seems to be more work to do, yet eventually it’s time to release the essay and start fresh. Often letting go is accompanied by a niggling fear: What if my future first drafts refuse to bud?As with the changing of seasons, we need faith that new ideas will come and that they will transform into their final form. Autumn teaches us how to let go of the past and trust that the future will bring more beauty. Prepares us for a season of fallow, allows emptiness in which to contemplate what comes next. Shed stories, shed drafts publish and trust that more ideas will come again once the snow melts. While the changing of seasons and the forecast differ amongst our readers, we offer our bounty of prose and poetry. Thanks for reading. We're glad you're here.Rachel LaverdiereCNF Reader

Our Reading List is updated each week. Go check it out!Are you a contributor to Atticus Review who'd like your book featured in the reading list? Send us an email at [email protected]. 

THIS WEEK AT ATTICUS

FICTIONMY MOTHER, MY FATHER by Alyssa Asquith "I can’t say whether they’ve changed, or I have. It seems things must have been different before, but before was too long ago to remember."READ ON

POETRYENDLESSNESSby Karan Kapoor"Inside the forest are many vineyards and monkeys. Inside the monkeys, a lake of melancholy."READ ON

CREATIVE NONFICTIONGETTING LOST WITH BATS by Kira Smith"No one tells you in school that science is something you can learn on the job. The most important qualifications for being a bat catcher are a tolerance for solitude and the ability to live outdoors for three consecutive months."READ ON

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