Bio
Lauri A. Conner received her M.F.A from The University of Washington and currently teaches English at Seattle Central Community College and works as a writer in residence with Seattle Arts & Lecture. Her work is informed by the act of collaboration with her family. "As the baby of the family they talkÉI listen. It has always been about that." Her writing has appeared in The Seattle Review, CALYX, and Catalyst.

Photo by Birgit Mitchell

My answers came in 1997 when I read at The Richard Hugo House with Kimball MacKay-Brook for the final presentation section of a Seattle Artist Award given by Seattle Arts Commission. We decided to read together because we both needed a performance date and the accumulative audience was sure to be far more intriguing than any audience we each would gather separately. To throw extra annoyance to the crowd we did a sort of round robin reading where he would read two, I'd read two, small banter and then more reading. In other words, we held the audience hostage; my supporters couldn't leave, his supporters couldn't leaveÉand it was good. If you asked me how it worked I couldn't say. I could tell you that I spoke of family, food and memory and so did he. I could tell you that we were two musicians bustin' our chops, or two people deciding to trust in the others abilities. Whatever we did, it worked and we still remained in control of our own countries.

But what does collaboration do? How are we, the artists affected? I've tried to answer this in my mind and I come up with two conclusions. First, collaboration makes us think about our work- the placement of it, the sound of it, the movement of it. Second, it makes us work on the placement of it, the sound of it, the movement of it, AND the importance of it. ITÉ.our work. That one thing we can never completely hold. Collaboration is knowing what your own work is in relation to what other artists work is not. It is the knowing of ones limits; sometimes surpassing them because we have watched someone else become blocked in. It's the knowing and actively participating in the working and (re)working of our own stuff because no one else can do it the way we need it to be done. But in order to do any of that, we have to listen.

The artists whose voices come through in this Diverse Views issue represent the freshest voices emerging from a variety of traditions that have crossed over and met each other. I chose these particular writers because their work confirms both the fears and the necessity of overcoming those fears. They are people I collaborate with on a daily basis. Drego Little often conducts while I'm listening to Sapphire sit in with John Coltrane. Gaylin Gardette reminds me on a constant basis to listen to the ideas that can sustain my own. A coxswain telling me to slow down, listen, wait. Tracie Hall constantly tells me stories that force me to listen.

Gaylin Gardette uses her personal essay Rowing to Shore to explore and expose the underlying fear of collaborationÉtrust. Through her accounts we become aware of our own inconsistencies. Becoming a "Team player" is a process. Writing is a process. Collaborating, or allowing oneself to collaborate is a processÉone big collaboration with oneself. As an end result kind of person, we listen to Gaylin's movement towards enjoying the journey. Working in progress.

Tracie Hall writes characters in The Project that mirror those most everyone has encountered. She uses fiction to discuss the difficulties one has in choosing what artistic avenue to follow, and in doing so, explores where those choices lead us. And for all due purposes The Project leads us to collaboration, the creating of a language and the sharing of it.

It's always been about the listening. That's how you work with the enemy, how you keep your country even if it's an 8 1/2 by 11 sheet of paper. These writers speak to us of collaboration in terms we are capable of negotiating with. And if we listen real close, we'll hear what they are telling us.