by Randall Brown
Jennifer Pieroni is co-founder of The Parlor, a new nonprofit writing studio on the North Shore of Massachusetts. She serves as Editor in Chief of the literary journal Quick Fiction. Recent work has appeared online in elimae and Word Riot. Work is forthcoming in Hobart, Another Chicago Magazine, and Bateau. An essay will appear in Rose Metal Press's Field Guide on Flash Fiction. She lives in Salem, MA with her husband Adam and her cat El Toro.
What's it like to work so closely with your husband? Advantages and disadvantages?
It works for us. Seems to work for lots of others, too. Over the years we've met a number of couples doing the same thing. Someday I'd like to see someone pull together a study of some sort on couples who publish literary magazines together. I'm just hoping it lengthens our life in some way. But I'm not sure. Because as I think about the list of couples publishing magazines, I'm making a simultaneous mental list of couples who used to publish a literary magazine together but are now, sadly, broken up.
I've been privy to a lot of discussions recently about flash fiction, especially what it is and what it is not. I'd love to hear what you think about flash, it's is-ness and isn't-ness.
I try not to overthink this question. As a writer, I find that I'm more comfortable with a flexible definition. For Rose Metal Press's upcoming Flash Fiction Field Guide, I say: "I define flash fiction as a highly condensed, yet fully realized narrative. Regardless of whether a particular piece of flash fiction is encapsulating a moment or spanning many years, it simply must be brief."
What are some of the challenges writers face creating that "highly condensed, yet fully realized narrative" of flash fiction? What are some ways you've found that work? What are some of the things to avoid in creating such a narrative?
The greatest challenge is deciding what to leave out, because you have to leave out a lot. Most writers have a vivid imagination. It's not hard for them to pull into focus all of the details and intricacies of a story. And I think it's important that all of that be there, in the writer's mind, because without it the story might not feel complete. But they're not all going to go into the finished flash. The process is about choosing to include only the most critical elements, the ones that push forward the meaning and emotional impact of a story.
Share all you can about the wonderful Quick Fiction covers. From where do they come? How does each issue discover its incredible cover?
Thanks! We're very picky about our covers. And neither of us knows what we're really doing. We just scour the Internet for weeks on end until we find an image that seems to work. And it has to be square. Adam sees the world through square glasses when he's on the hunt.
How did you decide on the squareness of Quick Fiction's design? Does this square space in any way affect the stories inside that space?The format definitely affects the stories we choose. We can't go beyond 500 words without getting really tight. If a story has a lot of dialogue or short paragraphs, it also might not fit. We actually decided on the format before we started to accept submissions. What the journal looks and feels like is important to us because we really want it to be picked up and read. So the covers are full color, we keep each issue relatively brief at no more than 55 pages, and we pay careful attention to the layout of each story. I shouldn't say we, because Adam is the genius behind this aspect of our work.
During my MFA, I got the great opportunity to write flash fiction with Pamela Painter as my advisor. The first thing she said to me was, "Subscribe to Quick Fiction." Describe, if you would, Pam's influence on your own work, as editor, publisher, and writer.
I took Pam's flash fiction class in 2000 as an undergraduate at Emerson College. All of these years later, she still plays a vital role in my writing and publishing life. At that stage, no instructor had been more honest with me about my writing than Pam. At first, her suggestions to cut this and move that stunned me, but eventually I came to really value her suggestions that I push my work further and do it better. After I graduated, and when we started Quick Fiction, I corresponded with Pam regularly, not only to publish her work but to seek her advice on the future of the project. Over the years, I've been proud to publish Pam's work and the work of many of her students. It's funny. I rarely read cover letters. I skip right to the story. And it's uncanny. I can always tell when a writer has studied with Pam. There are certain ticks and imprints she leaves on our writing.
What are some of these Pam Painter tricks and imprints, if you don't mind sharing?
Well, one is tags in the first sentence to quickly introduce relationships between characters; for example, Susie, my brother's new girlfriend, lit the birthday candles. That's another, setting the scene right away. It's a birthday. Of course, she always asks her students to do specific exercises. A list story. An ABC story. I recognize those as hers too.
What role do you see you and Quick Fiction playing in helping to shape and define flash fiction? And what have you noticed happening in the flash world as flash evolves?
From the beginning, we've never set out to prove anything. We decided to publish flash because we liked the form, thought it was fun. We imposed the 500 word limit, not because we wanted to put forth any sort of opinion on the boundaries of the form, but because we thought stories that length would look better in our 6"x6" magazine, that no story should move beyond the two-page spread, that we could contain whole big worlds in the teeny lengths of paper.
That idea of "containing whole big worlds in the teeny lengths of paper" sounds hard. What are some ways you've found, as writer and editor, to contain whole worlds within so few words?
Just like any other kind of writing, it's about choosing the right words, but with flash it's particularly important to be concise. You kind of have to ask yourself if each word, phrase, sentence, image, and action pushes forward the narrative and emotional impact of the story.
What's the best thing about running Quick Fiction? What's the worst?
My feelings about the journal are too complicated for me to really sort out what's best and what's worst. It's such a big part of our life, and it's our money pit, but nothing gives us more pride, better connects us with the literary community, or keeps my fickle attention. It is the best and the worst and everything in between.
What makes a flash fiction piece count? Can it ever count as much as story ten times its word count?--a novel a 100 times its size?
Oh, size matters. Only from my perspective, the littler it is, the greater the challenge and the more masterful the writer needs to be to do it well. Thus, flash can actually count even more....
How important are titles to a piece of flash fiction?
Titles are part of the story, so they should be linked to the story in some way. It's okay if a title extends meaning, but titles that unlock meaning usually feel cheap to me. Titles are also important for sales, sales of the journal sometimes, but really sales of the story. Most literary magazines don't get read cover to cover. Unless a reader recognizes a writer's name, the only thing they have to go on is the title. A good title ensures that a reader is going to turn to a page and actually read.
As a flash fiction writer, what are you trying to do with your flash pieces? What challenges do you set for yourself?
I struggle with balancing my love for pretty words with the need to actually communicate something that a reader will hold on to. I go through phases with how I approach writing flash. Now I'm on a spurt using a standard method, which I can share. I usually start with a few words or phrases I picked up eavesdropping. Watch out for me that way. And I like for the process to start really organically. I'll add and move words around until they form phrases. The phrases are where I usually start to see the threads of a narrative, realize the emotional content, and identify the characters. From there, I do chart them out. First this happened, then that happened, then another thing. And the rest is just a formality of filling in the blanks between the actions I've just plotted out. My least favorite part is revision, especially when it involves cuts, which it almost always does. I usually don't toss the things I've cut, though. If I really like a sentence or a phrase, I log it in a file to use later.
Have your feelings and thoughts about revision evolved along with your writing? If so, how?
Sure. I don't think I really began to know the value of criticism until I was in my twenties. Prior to that, I think I felt that people with negative reactions to my work just didn't "get" me. As I got older, I realized that, yeah, they don't "get" me, so I need to work harder at this if I really want my writing to be enjoyed.
How has editing and publishing affected your own writing?
It's made me neurotic. I'm mostly over that now, though. It's an honor to read and publish such fine work in Quick Fiction. But that's only 1% of the time. The rest of the time I'm unfortunately declining stories that, for a variety of reasons, aren't selected for inclusion in the journal. So, I've developed a whole slew of prejudices and pet peeves to make the job easier and more manageable. But I've got very little stick-to-itiveness so these are constantly changing. And all of this makes writing very difficult. Everything seems awful in some way. But, lately I've been pushing through all of that negativity and writing lots.
"Everything seems awful in some way." So many writers talk about this feeling in their own writing. Have you found anything that works to get past it? When doesn't it feel awful? Is it okay to look at one's one writing and like it? Maybe even love it?
There has to be something enjoyable about writing or else you'll stop doing it. A lot of writers have trouble handling the rejection. It gets them down. I can relate to that too. The best thing you can do is find your cheerleaders, the ones who believe in your talent and who urge you to improve, and stick with those people for as long as you can. And, with regard to rejection, it's important to know that the vast majority of editorial decisions have more to do with an editor's sensibility or aesthetic than with a writer's technical skill.
What kind of things does your "critical eye" always notice in flash pieces?
Beginnings and endings. They're pretty important elements to focus on if you're sending your work out for consideration to be published. Like most editors, I scan submissions, all 1,250 of them for Issue Thirteen. And what I'm looking for is a first sentence that hooks me, for a smooth point of entry into the story. What I'm looking for in an ending is to be wowed. There are a lot of ways to wow, but usually it's done with a bright, perfectly executed image.
I love that phrasing of endings: "bright perfectly executed image." Can you talk the tiniest bit more about that?
Not all flash ends this way, but I see many that do. It's when an image has the power to stop the story suddenly, maybe to close the story down and finalize the meaning, or maybe to open the story up for an additional meaning or possible interpretation. Either way, the image is so utterly relevant and so moving that it manages to end the flash.
What do you like about your own writing?
Though I write fiction, I use the process to examine aspects of my own experiences. Usually the troubling ones. The reflection that writing requires and ownership of the content is really valuable for me. A therapist once told me I have “control issues."
What kind of risks do you take with your writing of flash fiction?
I pass a lot of judgment, write as truthfully as I can.
What kind of risks do you like to see as an editor of flash?
Risk isn't something I think consciously about as an editor. There are certain types of stories that some writers think are risky. Stories that take place in bars, are about prostitution, contain graphic violence or sex. For the most part, these kinds of risks don't interest me. I've also outgrown most of the riskiness related to magical realism. Not that I don't still enjoy it when it's done well, but I'm just not as interested in that kind of work as I used to be. But these are all things I don't like. I suppose the kinds of risks that compel me to read on have more to do with language and structure than with content.
How do you make time to write?
I feign migraines and nausea.
Which contemporary flash writers have influenced you the most? In what way?
I get a lot of inspiration from reading. Diane Williams, Lydia Davis, Aimee Bender, Julia Slavin. Those are names everyone probably has on their list. There are lots of writers we've published in Quick Fiction, though, whose work I'm really enthusiastic about Mark Yakich, Dan Kaplan, Andrew Michael Roberts, and Aimee Pokwatka are just a few. And then there's the powerful force that is Kim Chinquee, whose work we've had the honor of publishing, and who generously brought me into her fold and helps me regularly with my writing through the Hot Pants group on Zoetrope Virtual Studio.
What are some ways that writers and readers can support literature within their communities?
There are so many things writers can do to ensure that this community thrives! Subscribe to literary magazines. Or buy a single issue. Or buy a subscription or single issue for a friend or family member, as a gift. If you can't afford to do either of these things, just send the editors a note telling them you appreciate them. We will work for your appreciation. Go to your local, independent bookstore and introduce yourself! If you tell the bookseller what authors or types of books you like, they will magically appear. So, do it. Ask them to create a whole section for literary journals, zines, and chapbooks. This list can go on. Just start things. It's easier to start things than you might realize. So start a writers group. A reading series. A literary magazine. A festival.
