Meet Sudden Denouement Collective Member Iulia Halatz


The editors of Sudden Denouement Literary Collective know that our strength is our writers. We hope that you enjoy getting to know them through our new Writer Interview Series.

What name do you write under?
Iulia Halatz

In what part of the world do you live? Tell us about it.
I live in Bucharest, Romania, a small beautiful country in South-East Europe, washed by the Black Sea, watered by the Danube, cleansed by the Danube Delta, guarded by the Carpathian Mountains, envisaged in many stories and legends. I have written more about the magic of my country here.

About my Romanian soul I can say only these:
I am Romanian
I tremble with the moon
Building shapes of light
Into rippling pools
After the rain of summer…

Please tell us about yourself.
I am a teacher with 22 years’ experience and I manage my own school of languages.
I am a passionate cyclist. I never say: “I am happy”, but I say: “I am cycley.” (Of course, inspired by J. M. Barrie).
My power sentence (one of them) is: “Stories are our meat and our magic.” Nevertheless, because our culture doesn’t think storytelling is (still) sacred, I have to keep it rolling, keep writing and telling until I’ve got it half licked.
I like to picture myself as a silver-tongued storyteller holding on to Nature and imagination. I inhabit the stories I write…
Whenever people do not “speak” to me, I resort to the powerful communicative skills of the world, I visit a tree and the lake and I start writing a story to have new armour and new citadel…I’ve got it twofold licked.

If you have a blog or website, please provide the name and the link.

When did you begin your blog/website, and what motivated you start it?

Some time ago I was put in a prison. The bars and locks were invisible to the eye, but essential. Then I started forging a way to freedom, a secret underground passage. Paved with words painted in blood. The bars and locks flung open and the dungeon became my imago mundi.

What inspires/motivates you to keep blogging on your site?
For me writing is a form of freedom…
It is like digging for gold. I keep on digging and excavating until the steel of words
transmutes into gold of wonder….
I keep on writing but not publishing on my blog (for a while). I was sort of harassed through my blog so I decided to keep silent for a while. But I write new pieces for SD and new bricks for finishing building my imago mundi.

When did you join the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective?

Towards the end of last year.

Why/how did you join Sudden Denouement?
I am a follower of SD and I got to know that you were looking for collaborators.
So… I put all my joy in a letter and a poem. The rest is history.

What does “Divergent Literature” mean to you?
Divergently FreeWriters
Divergent literature is for me a brush of green-warm air above the sea, aliver than life itself. Is represents a hubristic place of wonder.
I have written more here

SD Founder Jasper Kerkau frequently talks about Sudden Denouement writers using the ‘secret language’. What is it?
It is (for me) speaking and writing in many alphabets, there is an alphabet for Love, an alphabet for Freedom, one for the lust for Life…

What are your literary influences?
My ordinary order in any given pub is: “Coffee and Somerset for me.” Somerset as in Somerset Maugham.
Magnificent and humble storyteller: “Will, love, and imagination are magic powers that everyone possesses; and whoever knows how to develop them to their fullest extent is a magician. Magic has but one dogma, namely, that the seen is the measure of the unseen.”
He could peer in the depth of the human soul. He measures it in tales not fathoms.
Mr. Michael Ondaatje has no longer divided time in Minutes, but in Loves. “The heart is an organ of fire.” Our minds, body, limbs, souls are organs of fire.
Jack London: “Who are you, Martin Eden? He demanded of himself in the looking-glass, that night when he got back to his room. He gazed at himself long and curiously. Who are you? What are you? Where do you belong?”
I would name his “mythology” The Moon and the Sixpence, he trudged for the both.

Has any of your work been published in print? (books, literary magazines, etc.) How did that happen?
No, it hasn’t. But I am working on. I do wish that to happen.

Do you have writing goals? What are they?
To have the clarity of a poem by Michael Ondaatje.
To write the truest sentences/stanzas that I know.
To develop my blue alphabet of the Silent Spring, as “language is luckless and limitless”.
I am of the opinion that the good people have created mythologies. I would like to create one of my own.

Which pieces of your own writing are your favorites? Please share a few links.
Persephone’s Dusk
The Merman’s Rhyme
Steal The Sun

What else would like to share about your writing, Sudden Denouement, or yourself?
As my word is freedom, for me Sudden Denouement is the purest form of freedom on the rarest of quests. I feel my imagination roaming the fields and painting walls in search of wild horses. The words I have found on SD open for me more and more eyes every day. I am a newborn Argus.

Crow Black and Cardinal Red Kindra M. Austin & Matthew Eayre

Of explosive mourning is born the night
rising low in my rib cage
Obsidian heart cooling in its crate,
cold enough to freeze the devils in
Usurp the king’s wings, crow black and cruel,
This is my coronation day

Raucous laughter celebrates the coming dawn
falling gently upon my brow
Scarlet song issuing from opened chest,
warm enough to thaw glaciers under oceans
Wrest away throne of bone, cardinal red and salacious,
This is my exaltation

I’ve got worms in my veins,
fertilizing melancholy
Holy blood boils
bone and sinew
See what love has left me

Rows of nightshade
line my grave as I burrow
guarding from paradise
my hands dig for solitude

All gone suddenly,
swallowed by big nothing,
they’re buried within the
layers of my skin—
the women I’d adored
like red soaked wool itching my soul,

My attention brings pain, my adoration
sorrowful suffering
the pieces of my life
wrapped in coddling clothes and
funeral shrouds, held in hands
too strong to let go

© Kindra M. Austin/Matthew Eayre

(image by diagonite on

Kindra M. Austin is an indie author (her books can be found here, a founding member of Indie Blu(e), and a writer/managing editor at Sudden Denouement, Blood Into Ink, and Whisper and the Roar. A Sagittarius Valkyrie from the state of Michigan, she likes craft beer, and classic big block muscle cars. You can find her filing through the souls of the slain at poems and paragraphs.

Matthew D Eayre is recently planted in Houston, Texas and hoping to grow roots. A lifelong lover of words and language, he writes every chance he gets when not delivering smiles or spending time with his loving wife and family. Matthew has only one rule in life and in writing; it has to be real. He writes from personal experience about life, love and loss. He bridges the light spectrum from darkness to light, hoping that somewhere out there he reaches those who need to be reached. You can find more of his brilliant work on his site,  Uneven Streets Studiosand his Facebook page Poetry of Monsters


S.K. Nicholas/A Journal For Damned Lovers

S. K. Nicholas


She closes her eyes, and for a second, she’s a butterfly dancing on the nose of a hungry dog. She’s a kid leaping into her father’s arms greedy for his embrace, and when he gives it to her, she squeals and kisses his neck as he lifts her high onto his shoulders so she’s a giant looking down on a world that will never be enough. Touching the clouds, she clutches them with both hands and tries her best to chew them like candy floss. She’s a bird on a wire. A sunbeam destined to shine too bright. Taking in a mouthful of air as the tingling in her toes fades the same as her visions, she reaches for her cigarettes and lights one without opening her eyes. The smoke makes her cough but when she sucks it down it makes her feel like one of those clouds. Thinking of…

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Get Up

Sarah Doughty/Heartstring Eulogies

Heartstring Eulogies

“It is okay to break.
Just don’t stay that way.”

Sometimes breaking can be beautiful. Powerful. Like a wildfire blazing across the horizon. There’s destruction, but there’s colors. There’s smoke. And ruin. It’s not your fault for being this way. It’s not your fault for burning to the ground, or shattering like a mirror. It’s not your fault for grieving what you’ve lost. It’s okay to break. As long as you can put yourself back together and stand back up. You are needed. You are loved. And nothing will hold you down. Don’t let life break you permanently.

So please, get back up and keep fighting.

© Sarah Doughty

It’s okay to break.
Just don’t give up.

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I Breathe Still

Kindra M. Austin/Poems & Paragraphs


For a minute or more, I was dead as you,

as you were technically dead

before the end was absolute—

before your brain conceded.

For a minute or more, my world was edged in blossoming dark,

engrossing, on the cusp of consent.

Blackbirds congregated, chattered ‘round my head, and

they called dibs on my vital organs—

heart, liver, kidneys, and lungs.

One expressed explicit interest in

my spleen—

keen student of human anatomy,

morbid corvid.

Then a cardinal came with your breath on its wings,

and I breathed.

I just breathed.

I breathe still…

© Kindra M. Austin

image: Houston Audubon

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Even the darkness

Allie Nelson/Dances with Tricksters

Dances with Tricksters

Even the darkness has arms, girl.

You curl up in the lap of death for solace,

Seeking shelter in decay, but for a moment’s rest.

There is no truth but worms under rot, that great goddess of the frozen wastes.

Death only takes the face of a lover, and Hell is but a whispered promise.

You will burn for him, break open like a wine casket, brains bleeding.

Can’t you see you are just food for the black hole at the center of our galaxy?

Can’t you see you were laid out as a feast for the gods to summon rains?

Maybe you crave oblivion because that is the closest you will ever come to freedom.

You are brave, girl, to beg the case of the world before the great arbiter Death.

I gave up a long time ago.

I do not own my life anymore, and maybe I secretly…

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a magazine of many e-things

David Lohrey

The Other Is Oneself

Is there anyone home? We are here
to end all human suffering. We have come
for the tyrant. In the end, he will be stabbed
in the rectum with a bayonet. There should be
no profit in profiteering. In the future,
nothing will be owned except for human beings.

Take the Kabuki underground
to the end of the line.
Paranoia is its own species of adrenaline.
The party is deductible.
Sing a song, make it simple.
We all obey kings in matters that are reprehensible.

All roads lead to St. Louis. There
we must take our lessons; there
we will learn to meow. There will be war
if someone’s taken my copy of “Set for Life.”
I haven’t had a chance to glance through it. Mexican
gangsters rape their prisoners with daggers.

If you will allow me to…

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