As a student of English, anthropology and digital art at UConn, a writer, a millennial, and a human being, I have always been intrigued by the emergence of digital culture, and how we write about our culture, and how it in turn influences our writing. Last semester, I took a…
Tag: writing
5 Tips for Being a Good Editor
A good writer is nothing without a good editor. However, a good editor is not always easy to come by. Just as there is an art to writing, there is an art to editing. Here are five tips for being a good editor. Proofreading is not editing. Proofreading (or copyediting)…
Can Grammar Be Fun?
All is (almost) quiet on the LRR front after a barrage of colorful pens took to the rough draft of the journal in class last night. As students and as aspiring writers, we are used to the concept of editing and proofreading. We know the basic rules, we have learned…
The Foundation of Writing: Community
My unrelenting desire to label the millennial generation brings us to a split-level apartment on a Main Street block in Northeastern Connecticut. About a dozen people haphazardly form a circle in the living room. In the center of the room, a goldfish in a glass bowl is suspended from a…
Poets and Editors
Recently, I joined some of the other editors for a radio show to promote the release of our latest issue. We floated as an idea for the show the theme “Poets and Editors,” and while we instead spent a lot of time talking about the poems in our latest issue…
The Writer and Rejection
Hey, LRR readers/writers! Those of you that submitted to the Long River Review this year may be wondering what’s going on with submissions. Well, the deadline has come and gone, so the panels are working on making their selections. To those of you that will end up getting…
Call for Nonfiction Submissions/How You Know You’re a Nonfiction Writer
Call for Nonfiction Submissions/How You Know You’re a Nonfiction Writer 1. You know you’re a nonfiction writer if there are moments you cannot shake. Granted, we all have them. Mine include the night down by the ferry, when I sat beneath the one blinking stoplight at 11 p.m., feet propped…
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