Microfiction is the grey zone between poetry and prose, in my books. It all depends on how you read your words. Do you memorize the lines and slam them from a stage? Then it’s poetry. If you write with your own blood and slip the page under the door of your ex-wife? Then it’s flash fiction, or micro if you’ve restrained yourself (or run out of blood).
Microfiction is ambivalent, is cross-genre, is both/and. It’s like the fuzzy cuddly bumblebee that could, of course, sting you and kill you if you are allergic. Bumblebees usually don’t, but they could; they are built better than honey bees, and don’t die after they sting. So humans have the option of killing the poor insect first, squishing it to mushed proteins on a sidewalk. Or you can do what my local librarian has done, and tattoo the little critter on your arm.
All this is to say, we’re open for entries for our Bumblebee Microfiction Contest until February 1, 2016. If you want to brush up on the jewels of the genre, look no further; our final judge Bob Thurber is an acknowledged master of the craft, and you can see his delicate gems in Pulp Literature Issue 6, online at 50 Word Stories, and through his Amazon books.
This contest is free. In addition to a full year print subscription of Pulp Literature, the winner will receive a personally signed copy of Nickel Fictions by Bob Thurber. It that doesn’t sound like honey for the soul, not sure what will.