Thinking About You (David Intro) (06/19/2021)

Thinking About You | The Weekly Atticus

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

Two of my favorite lines of verse come from the singer/songwriter Ani DiFranco. The first, from the song "Shroud" is "I had to leave the house of self-importance / to doodle my first tattoo / realize a tattoo is no more permanent / than I am" — the latter half of this one is tattooed in large script on my right bicep. The other, from the song "Dilate" is: "Every song has a you / a you that the singer sings to / and you're it this time / baby, you're it this time." I've been thinking about this second verse a lot lately because I've been thinking about who the "you" is in the stuff I've been writing. I think it's true what Ani sings in "Dilate," and not just for songs (or poems) but also for stories, essays, and works of visual art: every piece has a you. And what I've discovered in my own writing is that when I find the "you" of a piece, the piece comes a lot easier. If I'm missing the you, then I'm often missing the piece. Sometimes the you is a romantic partner, a family member, a friend. Sometimes the you is alive, and sometimes the you is dead. Sometimes the you is my dog. Sometimes the you is me. (Though if the you in a piece is actually meant as me, as an "I," then, in my opinion, the you should just be written as an "I" and not a "you." I do not like the sort of second person "you" voice that is intended to address a past self. I know it's popular, but it might be the worst thing to have ever happened to English writing. #endrant) Sometimes it's difficult to identify the you in a piece. I've found I can sometimes be in denial about who the you is, or even incapable of acknowledging the existence of a you. There have been times when I have not consciously realized the you until years later. But I believe the you is always there. In every successful piece. Perhaps you've found this as well in your writing. Perhaps not. Perhaps you think I'm just spouting malarkey. Perhaps you think it, but you're simultaneously impressed with my use of the word malarkey so you're willing to overlook it. Perhaps you think malarkey is something you spew, not spout. You may be right. About all of it. Whether or not it is true that there is a you in all successful writing — a you that the writer writes to — it is certainly true in the category of writing we call letter. In a letter, after all, the you is explicit. The you is part and parcel of the text. It's right there in the beginning, usually after the word "Dear."I love the letter as form, perhaps because I depend so much on there being a you. It's comforting to have a named you. Knowing a specific you helps hone the voice, and the tone. I have gobs of letters on my hard drive written to various yous. Some of them were letters that were actually sent to somebody, to a you. Others wanted to be sent to a you, but never were. A letter to a you is so different from other types of writing because it is addressing another person directly. The you isn't inferred. You don't have to wonder about the you. The you is the you. And yet the best letters might still also be interesting to an audience outside of the you, might still contain a you beyond the named you of the letter, like this letter Steinbeck wrote to his son about love, or the two essays conceived as letters in James Baldwin's The Fire Next Time, particularly relevant on this Juneteenth in 2021, even 60 years after the collection was first published. (And while on the topic of Baldwin, did you see this week the previously unaired interview with him? Highly recommend. Article here.)Letters to people are perhaps my favorite things to write, and it's one of the reasons I started The Weekly Atticus. I like the old-fashioned mode of sharing things in a letter. Sharing the pieces we've published for the week. But also just saying hi and sharing some thoughts about whatever is happening. With us, or with the world, or with our writing. I'm glad we're able to share the voices of various editors and readers in this endeavor. And also I'm very glad there is a you. A you who is a reader but also a writer. A you who hopefully likes to think about a thing like a you. A you who hopefully sees this as more than malarkey, but even if you find it malarkey-adjacent, at least find it to be interesting malarkey. A letter is nothing without a you. And you're it this time. Baby, you're it this time.Thanks for reading. We're glad you're here.David OlimpioPublisher & Editor-in-Chief

CREATIVE NONFICTIONBLACK JOY: CROSSING TIME AND SPACEby Michèle AlexandreIn honor of Juneteenth, and of liberation, we wanted to run this piece from last week's letter again. If you haven't read it already, here's another opportunity. "On lucky mornings, we hopped on taps taps—crowded Haitian buses—to bridge the miles. A long commute on foot to school without parents or adults shepherding us is such a different upbringing from my daughter's that I sometimes have to pinch myself."READ ON

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

FICTIONTWO STORIESby Ryan Habermeyer"I never saw her grandson, James Ernst Habermeyer, waiting in Sundance canyon at midnight to trade his soul to play the fiddle. The angel convinced him there is a devilry beyond music and it’s called dentistry."READ ON

POETRYEDOUARD MANET'S OLYMPIA, A BIOGRAPHYby Deni Naffziger"My father, he was incredulousthough I’m not sure why;Mother rarely did what was expected.After all she stayed with him,and no one saw that coming."READ ON

CREATIVE NONFICTIONTHE WINTER OF WHITNEYby Jay Jolles"I know that transitioning saved my life, but I also know that I lost a lot of things—not just my relationship with Lauren—in the process that have made me doubt if it was the correct choice."READ ON

SUPPORT ATTICUS!

We are able to bring you content such as this through the generous support of writers and readers like yourself. Please consider becoming a regular

today. All subscription levels include free submissions.

**For photo credits, follow links to stories.**