The Work Now Is To Pay Attention (Michelle Intro) (04/04/2020)

The Work Now Is To Pay Attention | The Weekly Atticus

April 04, 2020

A recap of the week's writing at Atticus Review. Introduction by Michelle Ross. FINAL WEEKEND to submit to our Poetry Contest!

Maybe more so than at any other time in my life, I’ve been experiencing wild mood swings these last few weeks. I fluctuate daily between strong feelings of anxiety and strong feelings of bliss. The anxiety needs little explanation. I went grocery shopping this morning after not being inside a store in a week and a half, and even though the shelves were much more stocked than they were last time I was there, I had the sense of holding my breath under water. I felt an urge to get in and out as fast as possible. To buy enough to not have to shop again for at least a week, but not so much that I would feel like a hoarder. To be hyper vigilant of the space between my body and other people’s bodies. 

When a guy passed within about a foot or so of me, I tensed. When the same guy stepped close to another woman’s cart instead of waiting for her to move, I felt as though he’d done something much more sinister than just retrieve an item from a grocery shelf. The way she quickly pulled her cart away suggested she shared that feeling.

Back at my car, I wondered as I opened the door: Should I be wiping down the car door handle with a Clorox wipe before I get inside? Does touching the steering wheel negate the hand sanitizer I just rubbed into my hands?

I’m not normally a germ-phobic person, so count this new concern about the germs on my car door handle and steering wheel as one of dozens of ways life has become profoundly disorienting. But when I’m not feeling anxious, I’m often feeling blissful. Every day I find much to be grateful for.

Not only am I still employed, but for the first time ever, I’m working from home full time, something I’ve longed to do for years. Not commuting to and from an office means more time for things I don’t typically have much time for during the week, such as gardening, cooking, and baking.

Staying home means more time with my family, more time for learning new skills like how to bake bread using sourdough starter, and more time tidying up my living spaces. It means new ways to interact with friends, such as Zoom happy hours. Not being able to go to my gym means I’m running outdoors and enjoying the beautiful spring weather in Tucson.

School moving online means getting to hug my son at any time of the day I want. It means eating lunch together on weekdays. It means I’m more aware of what he’s learning. It means admiring how independent and responsible he’s become.

As for writing, well, that’s not been going so well these last few weeks. My habit of getting up early to write has become a habit of getting up early to read the news. Or some days: just sleeping in. Or other days: making something beautiful for breakfast.

But I’m being patient with myself. And though I’m not getting much writing done, I’m paying attention. I’m taking notes. I hope you are, too.

Stay safe out there, and thanks for reading. We're glad you're here.

Michelle Ross

Fiction Editor

ATTICUS NEWS

THIS IS IT! FINAL WEEKEND! Submit to the 2020 Poetry Contest!Judged by poet Roberto Carlos Garcia, publisher of Get Fresh Books.1st prize: $350. 2nd: $150. 3rd: $50.All subs considered for publication. Entry fee: $10. Deadline: April 5th, 2020 Midnight, PDT

THIS WEEK AT ATTICUS

BOOK REVIEWPARSING THROUGH THE PIECES OF IDENTITYAnnaLee Barclay reviews two chapbooks:HARD SOME by Hailey Higdon, Spuyten Duyvil PressTHE DEATH OF SARGON THE GARDENER by Reilly Cox from Seven Kitchens PressGET HARD SOMEGET THE DEATH OF SARGON THE GARDENERREAD THE REVIEWS

FICTIONTHE PIGEON CARRIER by Joy Lanzendorfer "From across the street, Jen stared at the man. His hand was cupped around the bird’s underside as if carrying a baseball, his fingers buried in the green feathers of its chest."READ ON

POETRYTHE NARCISSUS BULBby Patricia Caspers "But once, his boy bodywas my body, and minean archway of bone where he huddled,warmed for a season,by my blood."READ ON

CREATIVE NONFICTIONWHAT WE WANT IS SIMPLEby Sarah Twombly"We... night-walk in the woods when the moon is full. The dark doesn’t scare me anymore, my daughter says afterward, now that I’ve crawled inside it." READ ON

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