Saturday, 20 June 2015

An editor's tips on publishing flash fiction

Andrew Winch, senior editor for Splickety Publishing Group, gives useful tips or secrets, as he calls them, here on The Review Review.

Friday, 1 May 2015

Sudden Prose Reprints: "Outside the Frame" by Erika Meitner

Outside the Frame

is a brand new $115 million dollar high school with the same name as the abandoned one outside the frame are two men biking at midnight down John R street with red lights blinking off their cycles like morse code it’s not too dangerous outside the frame are the lines around Michigan Avenue for Slows Bar B Q outside the frame are the larger contexts for these shots the what’s next  and  what’s next to the slots   of abandoned tagged houses  and houses that went so long ago that only field is left not even foundations those have grown over with prairie grass did you see the pheasants outside the frame is a functioning farm  an urban garden where one horse neighs in the heat nuzzles the dirt outside the frame stands a blue sign with two yellow suns and Hope Takes Root outside the frame is the Obama gas station at the intersection of Plymouth and Wyoming with rebranded awnings & signs & pumps and outside the frame the owner says I have my dream and my dream came true outside the frame is the possibility to do whatever the hell you want no one cares what we do here outside the frame is the blues jam at the corner of Frederick and St. Aubin so bring your lawn chairs to the abandoned lot where they pass the hat for the mowing porta-potties electric generator to run the amps because outside the frame sometimes there’s just nobody around to say you can’t 

Erika Meitner
Copia (BOA Editions, 2014)


Friday, 13 March 2015

Sudden Prose Reprints: "Terra Nullius" by Erika Meitner

After three months of no posts in the Sudden Prose Reprints series, I'm glad to share this prose poem by Erika Meitner, who will be reading at Burdall's Yard in Bath as part of the Bath Spa University Stand Up Poetry Series. The event will be on Thursday, 30 April at 8 p.m., and Erika will be reading with poet Fiona Benson.

Terra Nullius

When we were done, all the buses had stopped running. When we were done, the moon was painted large and low-slung on the horizon.  We sat like that a long time, listening to each other exhale blue plumes of smoke which tucked themselves through checkered screens.  It was near-morning and we were in our underwear.  It was near-dark and we were in our underwear, my legs draped across his lap.  Gentle curvature of smoke—our bodies were looted, were broke.  Outside, invisible wires held up water towers and busted street lamps.  The sides of semis turned the highway to gold threads.  We had hallelujah billboards.  We had industrial rust.  He put his finger to my lips and I became the wreckage so we could find our way back.  We sat like that a long time.

Erika Meitner
Copia (BOA Editions, 2014)

Friday, 12 December 2014

Sudden Prose Reprints: "The Carousel" by Deborah G. Sloan

The Carousel

‘That is not her child,’ my mother says and nods towards a woman walking up the beach holding a young girl’s hand.  I watch the pair walk towards the carousel.  The attendant bends to take coins from the child then lifts her onto her horse.  The woman hitches her skirt and neatly slides on behind the child.  As the carousel starts to turn, the woman leans forward and whispers something to the child. Laughing, they both grasp imaginary reins and, as they gallop towards the pier, I turn to my mother and begin the question I have never dared ask.

Deborah G. Sloan

"The Carousel" first appeared in Mslexia

An expat Scot living and working in Brighton, Deborah is a counsellor and creative writing facilitator, running creative writing workshops for children and adults in a range of settings including Nymans Gardens, schools and an addiction rehabilitation centre.  Recently she was awarded second place for a war poem in the SaveAs Writers ‘Bigger Picture’ international poetry competition and won Mslexia’s October 2014 Flash Fiction prize.  You can lern more about Deborah at or on Facebook at Createplaywrite.


Friday, 8 August 2014

Sudden Prose Reprints: "The Expert" by Arielle Greenberg

The Expert

    I eat salt when I am thirsty.  Until my nose runs salt and then I cry.  Until my lips go numb and then I drink a grain of something which dehydrates straight from the heart, the lung, an array of bluish organs.
    I know thirst very well because I once belonged to that organization.  It was a long time ago — I was in college and it was part-time, mostly mornings.  Thirst loved me and recently, in fact, sent me a $250 check out of nowhere.  Just for completing the census.  Just for existing in a time of great pain.  It's difficult to accept such a generous gift, but thirst is an affluent and guilty employer.
    Thirst looks like a pool, an indoor swimming pool you install in the bathroom, a pool with a strong current.  A lap-swimmer's pool for city dwellers.  Thirst comes in the back of The New York Times Magazine.
    In a crowd of women poets, eating, as often not eating, I am lonely.  I eat from the bottom of the mines up, as if I can devour my way out, as if my throat is an open shaft, as if the white does not burn, as if the language has that fine sting, and I am working, a salaried Girl Friday to the salt.

"The Expert" appears in Arielle Greenberg's first collection, Given (Wave Books, 2002). You can learn more about Greenberg and her work here on her website.

Friday, 1 August 2014

Sudden Prose Reprints: "Soft Touch" by Arielle Greenberg

Soft Touch

He once got hit by a playground and it was all over for him with pockets.  He couldn’t eat breakfast for all the empty spaces.  Holes distracted him.  It was “as a child.”  But he wandered like a blank, sputtered, lost it. 
The mind is a soft substance, a kind of pudding.  Two million people have it, and it’s caused by things we think are fun.  By entertainment.  Everyone has been touched by it in some way.  Soft touch. 
When we married and I sat with him in a park or office, he would want to call me at home.  “I want to call Cathy.”  And I would say, “But I am Cathy.  I’m here.  I’m your wife.”  And he’d say, swingset, “I know you are, but I want to call the other Cathy.”  And so later at home there’d be a recording of his voice on the machine: “I just wondered what you were doing right now.”  A machine.  A recording.
Was the other Cathy living in our house like a sock, like a closet, a shadow, a snake?  Was I another Cathy?  She became a palatable oatmeal on my tongue, on his.  Me.  The other Cathy.  The other wife.  The one he’d call when I was right by him. 
“Is the other Cathy like me?” I asked him.  “Oh, no,” he said.  “You’re a lot easier to talk to.”  And I felt a little bad for Cathy then.   The other me.  But I had been the one feeding him out of my enormous pockets.  My big white blouse.  The other Cathy was just the hole in his morning meal, a fruit you open.
People get impacted by a game or a junglegym or some other form of violence and when they wander away I see them.  I guess they could be more angry, suddenly very sweet, or afraid of bridges.  In love with a thing they never knew before.  A slight shift in soup chemistry is all it takes.  And with the damage, two million alternate brothers and lovers turn, straight-mouthed, towards the dishes in the kitchen sink, waiting for the call.  

"Soft Touch" originally appeared in Arielle Greenberg's first collection, Given (Wave Books, 2002), which you can learn more about on her website here

Friday, 25 July 2014

Sudden Prose Reprints: "Of the World's Largest Multilevel Parking Garage" by Cathy Park Hong

Here is the last selection from "Adventures in Shangdu," the eleventh of 17 pieces.

Of the World's Largest Multilevel Parking Garage

When Officials ignored their strike, the crane operators decided to be more aggressive. They worked all night. The next morning, train carriages, buses, limousines, bicycles, boats, and even helicopters swung lazily in the wind, magnetized by cranes. Negotiate, they cried, and we will free all your vehicles. Finally, Officials promised to bargain but when meeting day approached, the army rushed into the bargaining room and all the operators conveniently disappeared. Until Shangdu finds a new generation of qualified crane operators, no one knows how to work the cranes and release the vehicles. The magnetized vehicles sway in the breeze, rust in the rain. One driver was drunkenly passed out when they lifted his taxi up into the night. He has lost his voice, calling out to the shuddering city.

You can learn more about Hong and her work from her website, and you can buy Engine Empire from Foyle's by following this link.