Do This When You Think You're Writing Alone (David Intro) (02/20/2021)

A recap of the week's writing at Atticus Review. Introduction by David Olimpio.

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Of late, my primary creative outlet has involved less in the way of writing and more in the way of music-making. I'm part of a group that puts together covers of popular songs for services at First Unitarian Universalist Church of Philadelphia. I started going to the church shortly before the pandemic and became a member of the band after lockdown hit, and after services had moved entirely to Zoom. Interestingly, this means that I've never actually played live with any of my fellow band members. In fact, now almost a year later, I've never even met some of them in person, even though I've established a good relationship with most of them and "see" them on a weekly basis over Zoom. For the last year, we've built all our song covers remotely, sending files to one another using a shared drive, recording our parts separately and then combining and engineering them in audio mixing software. Here's the latest track we did, which is one I took the lead on. It's a re-conceptualized version of Streets of Philadelphia.  I've played in bands before, but not like this. While I miss being in the same room with the people I'm making music with, I have to admit there is something about this method of song-building that appeals to me. Maybe it's because I'm a writer, and writers are kind of known to be "solitary creative types." I admit I resemble that stereotype. I usually feel like I create best alone. Or at least that's how it feels most comfortable to me. For writers, "collaboration" typically refers to the final part of the publication process where we're working with an editor on a final draft, whether that be a book or an individual story or essay. It's a part of the process that can sometimes be a little fraught. ("You want to cut which paragraph?! You just don't get what I'm trying to do!") The remote method of collaboration I've been doing on songs reminds me of the type writer/editors do: a performer toils alone in a room working on a piece of the "song puzzle," singing or playing their instrument into a recording device, then they send the file off to the song leader and the engineer (the "editors" in this equation) who analyze it and see how it works as part of the "whole." Then those editors provide feedback and sometimes request edits or cuts. I've been thinking a lot about "interdependence" lately, which psychologist Jodi Clarke describes as "the balance of self and others within the relationship." She's referring to romantic relationships here, but the idea can relate to any relationship dynamic, or politics, or environmental processes. In the context of the song builds I'm describing, each performer is engaged in their own solitary work, an individual creative expression or vision that largely has to do with "the self." But then that contribution gets mixed together with several others' contributions and eventually must form a larger vision that has to do more withe "the group" or "the relationship." The process often involves compromises. It sometimes involves hurt feelings. In the end, though, if it works the way it should, if there's careful listening and consideration, it will produce a better product than if one of us had done it alone.The process has really highlighted for me how, as writers, even though we tend to think we are alone in our work, we really aren't. We are often dependent and indeed interdependent on others to make good work, whether that be a writing partner or an editor.Even as editor, I tend to feel alone in the job a lot of the time. When I'm publishing a piece on Atticus Review, it's often late at night and I am sitting alone in a dark living room in front of my computer. Mine is the final step in a multi-step process that has likely involved several different people up to that point. There was the initial struggle the solitary writer had with the blank page, then maybe the showing to a friend or colleague, the revisions, then the submissions, rejections, re-submissions, the feedback from editors, the re-writes, the approval by the genre editor and submission into our content management system. All of that before it gets to the point where I'm putting final touches on it, tagging it for SEO, making sure it looks good, and hitting publish. It's kind of cool when I think about the writing we publish in the context of that interdependent ecosystem. Do this when you think you're writing alone: think about the other hands, eyes, and ears your writing will eventually touch. Realize the only thing separating us is time. (And time is only an illusion, anyway. So maybe not even that.) It makes me feel a little less detached and more part of a collaboration. And while most of the time I've never met the people we publish, much less been in the same room with them, we are a part of this end product together, and that can feel pretty amazing, especially during these isolated pandemic times. If you're one of those writers, I'm grateful for you. And to everybody reading this.Thanks for reading. We're glad you're here. David OlimpioPublisher & Editor-in-Chief

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THIS WEEK AT ATTICUS

FICTIONWINTER GRACEby Justin Herrmann"Your hands tremble between the smooth vinyl bench and your nylon skirt and when you finally spoon cold chili into your mouth you realize everyone else is long finished."READ ON

POETRYMERCUROCHROMEby Ann Hudson"I lay down on the nubbly bedspread for onefull minute. The numbers on the alarm clockshone greenly, barely aglow, the same pale shadeas dried toothpaste. I tiptoed to the bathroom mirror"READ ON

CREATIVE NONFICTIONIN EIGHT MOMENTS YOU CHANGED MY UNDERSTANDINGby Caterina Alvarez Part of our Superunknown: Stories About Songs series"To the tambourine dazzle on beats, off beats, syncopate. It rings out beneath a southern sky well. It dangles off an end note, forgotten change in a dancer’s pocket, a lanky hard to catch lover, a Tinkerbell of sorts."READ ON

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