I began explor­ing the fig­ure of the Bride almost acci­den­tal­ly, or so it seemed at the time (2008), when I found a cheap wed­ding dress to wear to a colleague’s Hal­loween gath­er­ing.

One of the first things you learn in a poet­ry work­shop is the impor­tance of read­ing your work aloud–not at an open mic night and not in front of others–but by your­self in the pri­va­cy of your dorm, apart­ment, or home. 

Lar­ry Fondation’s flash col­lec­tion Unin­tend­ed Con­se­quences fea­tures grim and intrigu­ing tales that keep read­ers hooked by pro­vid­ing a grip­ping and star­tling, some­times con­fus­ing,
glimpse into the dark­er side of humans.

You, too, can look to Antigone to cre­ate a unique defin­ing action that could only belong to your character(s).

As a read­er, I enjoy being chal­lenged by a piece of writ­ing. Mullen’s piece is cer­tain­ly chal­leng­ing: it chal­lenges the read­er to think and reflect, not only on the lit­er­al and metaphor­i­cal sub­ject mat­ter of the piece — the bride and the wet­lands — but also on craft. Here are some craft ele­ments that stuck out to me as I read the piece.

Per­haps one of the great­est things any aspir­ing writer can do is read wide­ly. But it’s also impor­tant to revis­it old work. 

But here is my ques­tion, when and how should writ­ers apply tac­tics of com­pres­sion to their writ­ing?

I firm­ly believe that in order not to burn out, lose your mind, and run out of steam alto­geth­er, you need to make time for oth­er peo­ple, for exer­cise, read­ing, and relax­ing

lthough it is a col­lec­tion of prose poems, David Shumate’s High Water Mark is an excep­tion­al resource for flash fic­tion and prose poem writ­ers alike. 

…a psy­cho­log­i­cal­ly deep sto­ry through the self-reveal­ing com­men­tary of Veiga’s name­less Lati­na nar­ra­tor…