Dear Reader:
The writer is governed by a unique and difficult challenge; that of transforming a blank page into meaning through the medium of language. It is a formidable task because words are open to interpretation, and have tangible and intangible qualities of weight; color; articulation; diction; feel; sense; and arrangement. The larger unit of the sentence contains its own plethora of considerations. How does it work? Does it contain a certain rhythm? Does it characterize, define a place or setting, or characterize a place or setting? How does it work in conjunction with a paragraph? With the overall piece? Willingness to experiment and work with language is the measure by which one begins to understand what it means to write and to be a writer. This issue of flashquake exemplifies the extraordinary complexity and depth of writing.
Hemingway worked with a very limited vocabulary, but his precision and exactness made him a model for many writers of the twentieth century and into the present. He appears as a "simpleton" in the way he uses language. However, he is far more subtle and deep. To investigate a story such as "Hills Like White Elephants" is to begin to understand Hemingway’s art and his purpose in writing. You may ask: "What does Hemingway have to do with short-short fiction?" The answer is that he is an example of a writer who understands how to communicate his vision to others.
There are many good writers — novelists; short story writers; essayists; playwrights; and, particularly, poets — that one should read in order to study, learn from, and ultimately enjoy! The best fiction and nonfiction sings with the rhythm of poetry in it; the best poetry contains elements of good fiction. The great poets in history — from antiquity to the present — demonstrate how language can move readers. To write poetry as a prelude to working on short short fiction or nonfiction is, to my mind, a magnificent exercise which forces the writer to be precise in choosing language. To play with form in writing — fiction, poetry, playwriting, essays, nonfiction, and their derivatives — is to develop an appreciation for, and sense of, the parameters and possibilities inherent in language. In the exploration of writing, one becomes deeper and more visionary through lucid and logical thinking. It is a practice in which near perfection can be attained through the writer's unique vision and interpretation of humanity.
This issue contains the best of the material with which my colleagues and I were entrusted. It has been my genuine privilege to have been a guest editor, and I hope you find as much enjoyment in perusing its contents as I have had a part in their selection.
Sincerely,
Mark Keller
Guest Editor
Summer 2005