The Weekly Atticus (07/22/2017)

A recap of the week at Atticus Review, along with some extras.

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Dear ,Today's Weekly Atticus comes to you from Fiction Editor Michelle Ross.About nine months ago, I floated in a sensory deprivation, or "isolation tank," for the first time. Before that, my knowledge of sensory deprivation tanks was mostly limited to what I’d seen on television. Stranger Things and Altered States are probably the two most familiar screen depictions of sensory deprivation tanks. In other words, I knew that the water in these tanks was highly saline and that weird shit happens to people when they’re inside—oh, and that they’re usually trapped inside, at the mercy of creepy scientists to let them out. I was fairly confident that I wouldn’t usher a monster into the world or devolve into a monster myself, but what then?What happened was extraordinary. Until I was in there floating, it hadn’t occurred to me just how rarely we’re truly without distraction. Writers are used to spending a lot of time alone with their thoughts, but even sitting at my desk at home, my family out of the house, I experience countless distractions. There’s the internet, of course, but also the rattling of the dryer, counters that need to be decluttered, cars passing by on the street, dogs barking. And there are also the ways I distract myself, like getting up every five minutes for more coffee or “doing research.” Settled inside the tank, no sound or light or anywhere to go, I soon had the vivid sensation that I was floating in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by vast emptiness. It freaked me out a little bit, but only momentarily. Then I relaxed into this vast emptiness, and I spent the rest of the time in the tank writing a story in my head. I had gone into the tank with a seed of a story, and by the time I came out an hour later, I was writing more effortlessly than I had in a long time. I wrote the first draft of that story that afternoon in a café. Normally I’m too distracted by noise to write in a café. Not that afternoon, though. I had effectively tuned out the world outside of my head.Not owning a sensory deprivation tank (*sigh*) I can’t float every time I write, but what I learned, or relearned rather, from floating is the value of more actively seeking out ways to eliminate distractions so that I can write in my head before I sit down to physically write. This is kind of a no-brainer, I guess, but when life gets hectic, finding that kind of time and space can be challenging. Years ago, I used to routinely write in my head while I ran. But somewhere along the way, I started listening to music instead. I tried it again this past weekend, though—I ran without music. When I was done, I had the first draft of a new flash fiction. One of my most productive writing spaces now is driving. I turn off the radio, and soon I find myself jotting down notes at every red light (and if I’m going to be completely honest, sometimes while my foot is still on the gas pedal). Cooking or cleaning the house works for some people. Walking. Sitting alone in a garden. What works for you?Happy writing (and drive safely!) We have some good stuff below. We're glad you're here.Michelle Ross, Fiction Editor

THIS WEEK AT ATTICUS

FERAL TOWN by Adam Gustavson

COLETTE

BOOK REVIEW: THE GREATEST ACHIEVEMENT IS TO LEAVEA Review of The Tower of the Antilles, by Achy Obejas. Review by Ashley Miller. "Each story rolls open as a wave and then recedes, ending as abruptly as a wave crashing against the shore, just as another story-wave rushes forward and unfolds. In many instances, like the ex-Cubans of the stories reaching for possibilities, for promise of more, we turn the page, but the next story begins before our mind is ready to let go. In a way, this forces the reader to submerge, to swallow the whole of The Tower of the Antilles in a single gulp, to face the sadness of being adrift and holding our breath as the current takes us under, hoping to break surface and breathe again."READ MORE

FICTION: TINY DOTSBy Jolene McIlwain"She’s forgotten to feed the dog. She’s been in the garden since they returned from the doctor’s office, where she hunkered down beside her son and held his sweaty hand while the tech drew his blood. She’d called as soon as she saw the tiny broken capillaries on the tops of her son’s feet."READ MORE

POETRY: DEAR SOULBy John Minczeski"For every problem, somethingSimple, like X. Dear soul,I’ve spotted youIn the warehouse areaBehind the university,Fingering the keysIn your pocket."READ MORE

NONFICTION: THE DOORWAYBy Mallory Jones"I worry I think about this too much, but I’m not sure who I will walk with one day, and how they might change me. I am afraid to change, but I’m worried this is the only way to grow. How did my parents figure this out? I want to know how my father found a way to make a life, when it is so unclear to me how to begin. I wonder if my father also feels like he is watching the world carefully without always seeing an entry point, like merging onto the freeway, something my father taught me how to do, something I had trouble with long after earning my driver’s license."READ MORE

ATTICUS AUTHOR NEWS – JULY, 2017Here's the latest from Atticus Review author alumni including Clio Velentza, Valery V. Petrovskiy, and Vic Sizemore.READ MORE