Use Your Distractions for Wild Clarity (Michael Intro) (02/13/2021)

A recap of the week's writing at Atticus Review. Introduction by Michael Meyerhofer.

View this email in your browser

Where I live, bars and restaurants are starting to open again. What’s interesting about this is that I don’t really know anyone here—regardless of their political leanings—who actually thinks it’s a good idea. Coronavirus cases are still soaring and the vaccine rollout remains about as effective as sails on a glacier. Still, if the number of crowded tables and occupied stools is any indication, as a society we’ve simply reached the point where we need what we need, regardless of the consequences.This week, as I drove through this slow-waking town and grappled with my own sense of isolation, I found myself flashing back to a particularly rough day a couple decades ago. My father and I had just returned from the hospital. My mother did not. There were calls to make, doorbells to answer, grief to staunch like an open wound. And yet all I wanted to do was sit on the couch and read The Catcher in the Rye. I was already surrounded by mourners and well-wishers, sure, but I didn’t want to join them in choreographed prayer or answer banal, panic-fueled questions about my schoolwork and dating prospects. I wasn’t fleeing grief; actually, I was running toward it. The only difference was that it was the fictitious grief of a lonely, probably abused protagonist worried sick about ducks and his little sister.Put another way, sometimes distractions aren’t distractions; they're field dressings over some kind of raw hurt (or perhaps a dull persistent ache), and much like a Zen koan, provide a kind of wild clarity that we can recognize but can never quite explain. This is not to say that a stiff drink is equivalent to meditation and a good therapist. Rather, it’s a reminder that regardless of our level of cabin fever (or, if you prefer, quiet desperation) there remains in some of us the instinct to write, to read, to go looking for comfort and answers on the page. Maybe that’s not so different from the need for community, for chatter and bar napkins and oversized plates of chicken tenders. It’s just that our conversations—for all their potential risks—happen at a distance, as part of a larger chorus that can and will survive anything.Thanks for reading. We're glad you're here. Michael MeyerhoferPoetry Editor

ATTICUS REVIEW IS SEEKING A CNF READERAre you interested in being a volunteer CNF reader for Atticus Review?TELL US ABOUT YOURSELF 

The Atticus Review Reading List, which includes books by our over 1400 contributors is updated each week as contributors add to it.If you’re an Atticus Review contributor and would like to add your book,send us an email to find out how.FIND A BOOK

THIS WEEK AT ATTICUS

FICTIONMY FATHER, THE SCOUTMASTERby Gary Fincke"My father, the Scoutmaster, has a friend who is a coal miner, someone, he says, who will teach all of us Scouts to straighten up and fly right with an hour underground."READ ON

POETRYSMALL WINDOWby Satoshi Iwai"The people living in the north like large windows, because they need much sunshine in winter. The people living in the south also like large windows, because they need much wind in summer."READ ON

CREATIVE NONFICTIONEARLY ROMANCEby Sarah Haak"No one had ever loved me the way Rafael loved me. We were like two lost orphans clinging to one another for warmth."READ ON

MIXED MEDIAICE ON THE WATER An animated film by Charles Olsen Words and music by Mykl O'DempseyREAD 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

Patreon Subscriber

today. All subscription levels include free submissions.