How short can a story be? This question is the literary counterpart to the oft-cited idiom ‘how long is a piece of string’. Most people will invariably shrug their shoulders and say ‘it depends’. However, writers aren’t ‘most people’. They see this question as a challenge. 

The power of flash fiction lies in its brevity. Writing a complete story with a few hundred words or less can be as difficult as writing the next War and Peace. 

Contemporary writers have pushed flash fiction to its limits, stripping back stories to their bare bones. The most famous example of this is a story often (and perhaps erroneously) attributed to Ernest Hemingway, containing only six words: ‘For sale, baby shoes, never worn.’ It acts as more of a suggestion of a story, hinting at a myriad of backstories, from a lost pregnancy to a failed relationship and refusing to answer any of the questions it raises. 

Another example is Widow’s First Year by Joyce Carol Oates: ‘I kept myself alive.’ In class, we consider the impact of titles and students create a new version of the title to shift the perspective. One student memorably switched the narrator from a widow to a pot plant whose owner always forgets to water it. 

Flash fiction is particularly effective for students with writers’ block. There is something paradoxically liberating about having constraints on writing. I am always impressed and inspired by my students’ creativity. One of my favourite stories from a student featured a goldfish narrator who forgot the story he was meant to tell.

If flash fiction has taught me anything, I did not even need the previous three hundred words or so to convince you of its importance. In short, my tale for you contains just one word: ‘Write!’ Eat your heart out, Hemingway.