iii. When I see Mr. Jacobs, HIGH SCHOOL ENGLISH TEACHER, at King Soopers, his face doesn’t shift with recognition. Not as I, PAST STUDENT, stand behind him in the checkout line. Not as his Old Spice deodorant—Bear Glove, like the one in my cart—sails down the conveyer belt. I watch him hurry to bag his things. My gallon of milk rattles against his bag of peaches. Let me get out of your way, he says, slinging a reusable bag over...
The way everybody’s favorite gameshow works is the contestant goes into this white, soundproofed room—really not much of a room at all, more of a glorified closet—the door closes behind them, and they shut their eyes. Then, after some theatrics, the contestant comes out as whatever object the audience wants them to be. The fun of it is the contestant doesn’t know what the audience will choose. Sometimes it’s hilarious. Like when a contestant comes out of the room as...
I keep the hatchet close at hand. On our kitchen table, on my nightstand, in my lap if I’m sitting on the couch watching the weather channel. We’d heard of families in New Orleans who’d fled to their attics to escape the rising water, but then became trapped and drowned. The hatchet is for chopping our way out through the roof. The driveway is underwater. My wife finds me, drenched with rain, trying to redirect the water downhill toward the...
'You're an animal, Mummy!' he shouts, though I am in the doorway, only a few feet from where he stands, ankle-deep in the detritus of his upturned toy box. And I say, 'Well, yes, sweetheart, we’re all animals.' But that’s not what he meant, so he screws up his face and shouts, 'No! You're a wild animal. You’re a bird!' And I want to laugh, but I am already tightening my trapezius muscles, already contracting my pectorals, already lifting out...
My jumpsuit straps are tangled up before our date & I can’t unknot them on the hanger, white feather print, time running short, sweat cresting my chest, feeding fabric through openings, no straightening it out, like a misshapen swan, they call the females a pen, boys a cob, you’ll be here any minute & could I keep my pen name & fly like a cob, new gender, new relationships, hands trembling, crisscross connecting this to that, should I cut each...
SmokeLong Quarterly is dedicated to bringing the best flash narratives to the web.
September 2022
I have so much to tell you. I know I always say that, but I always do. So much is happening at SmokeLong, and there are so many people to thank for making it happen. Our submissions editors read 2800 submissions this quarter. I’m so grateful to each of them for giving so much time… Continue reading New Front (continue reading)
SmokeLong Fitness--The Community Workshop
On September 1, SmokeLong launched a workshop environment/community christened SmokeLong Fitness. This asynchronous community workshop is happening right now on our dedicated workshop site. If you choose to join us, you will work in a small group of around 10-12 participants to give and receive feedback. Each Monday, you will receive a new writing task (one writing task each week) designed by the senior editor team of SmokeLong. The core workshop is asynchronous, so you can take part from anywhere at anytime. We are excited about creating a supportive, consistent and structured environment for flash writers to work on their craft in a community.
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Denne Michele Norris is the editor-in-chief of Electric Literature. A 2021 Out100 Honoree, her writing has been supported by MacDowell, Tin House, VCCA, and the Kimbilio Center for African American Fiction, and appears in McSweeney's, American Short Fiction, and ZORA. She co-hosts the critically acclaimed podcast Food 4 Thot, and is hard at work on her debut novel. Follow her on Twitter and IG @thedennemichele.
Now in the shop
The SmokeLong Quarterly intensives are designed to invigorate and disrupt your writing habits. Start 2023 with a tag-team of three editor-teachers passionate about the constraints and potency of the flash narrative. The SmokeLong workshops take place on a dedicated website. Each weekday you’ll receive a new writing task and work in small groups of 7… Continue reading The January Intensive 2023
Erin Vachon lives in Rhode Island and their work appears in SmokeLong Quarterly, DIAGRAM, Hayden’s Ferry Review, The Pinch, Brevity, CHEAP POP, Cream City Review, and more. They are Hybrid Editor for Longleaf Review and an alum of the Tin House Summer workshop. Erin earned their MA in English Literature and Comparative Literature from the University of Rhode Island, and you can find them on Twitter @erinjvachon.
