Bath Flash Fiction Award
The Bath Flash Fiction Award is more than just an award for tiny stories. They also run a competition for novellas-in-flash, with publication with Ad Hoc Fiction as the prize, and an annual Festival. There are often online Festival workshop days too, scattered throughout the year. These days would be an excellent way to find out more, if you don't know much about flash fiction.
I went to the very first Flash Fiction Festival, run by Jude Higgins and her team, held in Bath in 2017, because I knew very little about the craft of flash, and wanted to know more. Subsequent Festivals have been held in Bristol, and are residential for those who wish to stay on site. I can honestly say that I have learnt so much about the craft of writing from attending these Festivals, and reading and listening to excellent writers. The Festivals have a wonderfully supportive and fun atmosphere too - there is always a lot of laughter.
Without the Festival, I would probably never have written my prize-winning novella-in-flash Aerth, which is being published by Weatherglass Books in January. It is available to pre-order from the publisher and also from all major bookstores. The Weatherglass Novella Prize was judged by Ali Smith, and here (again!) is what she said about my book:
Earthed: lots of food from small spaces
I came across this article the other day, which I wrote about 10 years ago. Here's a lightly edited version, brought up to date.
In 36 years of marriage, we’ve lived in eight different places. That means eight gardens, two allotments, one orchard and one greenhouse. I’ve gardened in tiny backyards, and large half-acre plots; in deep damp shadow, and on the dry windswept top of the second highest hill in Suffolk (101 metres, if you’re wondering); in clay, and on silt; in suburbia, in the countryside, and in the city. In all those places I’ve grown food, or at least attempted to, and I encourage others to do so too.
This article is not simply about my passion, nor will I say much about sustainability, organic food, supply chains, waste, industrialisation, health, malnutrition, obesity, exploitation, factory farming, pollution, or even bees. You probably know about these things, and they’ve been discussed eloquently elsewhere. But these issues spring from one root: we in the West (i.e. the developed, privileged, wealthy, post-industrial, just-in-time supply-chained world) take food for granted. If we didn’t, if we understood food to be the miraculous gift it truly is, we would take more care, we would in fact caretake more effectively than we do.
Taking food for granted means that in the UK we have become complacent about importing around 40% of our food, and wasting 30%. As individuals we may find this horrifying, but as a society we barely consider it. Taking food for granted means that supermarkets provide umpteen varieties of cheese, biscuits, frozen puddings, oriental sauces… It means the appalling quality of institutional food… It means out-of-season produce – strawberries and cherry tomatoes at Christmas – and turning a blind eye to food miles and wastage alike... It means no understanding of how long vegetables take to mature (3-4 weeks for radishes; 9-12 months for broccoli)… It means no government emergency stocks – supermarkets are supposed to fulfil that role. I sometimes wonder what would happen if our supply chains broke down because of communications failure or fuel shortages or war.
Were they alive today my grandparents would be about 125 years old. Born and brought up in London, they were Londoners all their lives. They always grew food in their small back garden, as well as flowers, and my frail grandmother was still bottling apples in her old age; it would never have occurred to them to take food for granted. I think they were fairly typical of their generation.
Many people have an oddly negative attitude to food gardening: semi-apologetic shrugs of the shoulders, an implication that there are perhaps more important things to do. Many of us are time-poor, but there are other factors too. There is the cult of the expert, the idea that there is only one way to do things – this may lead to fear of failure. Many people are so disconnected from Nature that they are scared of or disgusted by creepy-crawlies, mud, rain, and cold. Many believe that growing food is terribly complicated – all that crop rotation, all those timetables – or that you need a big space. Some think that veg beds are ugly and best kept out of sight. And the overflowing shelves of supermarkets lead us to be complacent. And yet I sense a movement of the Spirit, a renewed appreciation for the wonders of Nature, a curiosity about where our food comes from, judging by the gardening and cookery programmes, books, and magazines. Because we all need to eat! Isn’t growing food the most important job on the planet? Try thinking of another job that’s actually more important – ask your children and grandchildren.
My family’s latest home is in central Bristol. Our town garden is about 40ft x 40ft. When we arrived in 2011 it was mostly concrete and overwhelmed by massive conifers, therefore extremely dry, dark, and sterile, with no insect life.
We ripped out the conifers, dug up the concrete, and in June 2013 built two eighteen-inch high raised beds, 9ft x 4ft, filling them with topsoil and bagged compost, at a total cost of about £180 (this includes labour). Inspired by an article in Permaculture Magazine, I liberally scattered all sorts of vegetable seeds into the beds, all at once, and also planted courgettes, tomatoes and beans. As in the wild, plants mature at different times (lettuces quicker than beetroot, for example), and are harvested when ready. In late summer the beds are dominated by the larger crops; beneath are small winter plants just waiting for the right time. Wildlife has come back to our garden: bees, hoverflies, butterflies, moths, ladybirds, lacewings, even frogs. And it’s very pretty.
I kept a tally of my harvests: by September 2013 we’d paid off the initial outlay; by December we’d eaten about £500 of veg.
Raised beds have many advantages: no digging; everything visible and accessible (both weeds and crops); soil doesn’t get compacted by being stood on; plants develop good root systems; no waterlogging; ease of watering. Close planting (or random sowing, in my case) means that weeds don’t have a chance. Everything is edible. Tools are minimal. I have a rake, a hand trowel, and a watering can. My most useful items are gloves, bean poles, string, and small secateurs (scissors would do just as well). I spend only about 10 minutes a day on my vegetables, and it’s amazing to eat fantastic produce grown just five yards from my back door.
I’m sure you’re keen to know what we’ve eaten! In varying quantities: lettuce, mustard, nasturtiums, sorrel, parsley, coriander leaf and seed, carrots, radicchio, chicory, rocket, radishes, spring onions, chives, chard, spinach, cress, watercress, marigolds, broad beans, runner beans, French beans, sugarsnap peas, tomatoes, cucumber, pumpkin, courgettes, peppers, chilli (in pot), cabbage, kale, beetroot, carrots, mouli. You can cook and eat the leaves and shoots of all beans, courgettes, pumpkins, peas, and also beetroot and carrot leaves. In late winter, to maintain soil fertility, I spread compost/manure on the soil surface – no digging.
There are inevitably losses or failures, due to weather or pests, and sometimes gluts, for the freezer or to give away, but this underlines how dependent we really are on Nature. It encourages us to be thankful, and to empathise with subsistence farmers who are absolutely dependent on their harvests. We become attuned to weather and seasons, and as we immerse ourselves in the Creative process we rediscover that we are part of Creation, not set apart.
This is low-cost gardening, with big returns, not just financial! This type of gardening busts the myths of time, money, expertise, dirt, tidiness, prettiness, and many others. It’s not difficult to grow food; seeds just love to do what they do best - germinate, grow, and produce more seed. Children love to be involved. There are community food-growing projects around the world involving the displaced and dispossessed – the homeless, refugees, former prisoners, troubled teenagers – which have a real impact on places and people. Growing food together brings people together. It’s also been shown conclusively that small plots are more efficient than large farms in terms of volume and variety of crops grown, and the wildlife supported.
We don't all have access to a garden, of course, but for those of us who do, I encourage us all to take some of the strain off the system, to grow a little bit ourselves, and to stand in solidarity with those who have no choice but to produce their own food.
Books I have enjoyed in the past year
- Red Smoking Mirror by Nick Hunt (Swift Press, 2023). A stunning alternate history of the discovery of Mexico, beautifully written, haunting and humane. I loved it.
- Reservoir 13, by Jon McGregor (4th Estate, 2017). An intense exploration of what happens to a village when a girl on holiday goes missing. Kind and humane.
- Girl, Woman, Other by Bernadine Evaristo (Penguin, 2020). Wow. Perhaps it could be called a novel-in-story. Twelve stories, twelve women's voices, all linked. Stunning both in craft and in story-telling. Funny, kind, humane.
- The Debt to Pleasure by John Lanchester (Picador, 1996). A brilliant satire about a food critic. Huge fun.
- History of the Rain by Niall Williams (Bloomsbury, 2014). Gentle, loving and humane, and so beautifully written. Set in Ireland, about a family fallen on hard times.
- The Seasonal Quartet by Ali Williams (Penguin, 2016-2020). After sending in my entry to the Weatherglass Novella Prize, I decided maybe I should read these! I devoured them. So humane, kind, and funny. The "Brexit" novels - although they are so much more.
- As a God Might Be by Neil Griffiths (Dodo Ink, 2017). Neil is my publisher and editor, and I took this absorbing book away with me on holiday. It's a metaphysical novel, asking big questions about life, faith and God, and I very much enjoyed it. Beautifully written, and again, kind and humane.
- Dark, Salt, Clear by Lamorna Ash (Bloomsbury, 2020). The only non-fiction book here, this explores the fishing industry around Newlyn, Cornwall, an area I know well, with humanity and insight. Beautifully written.
- The Wife by Meg Wolitzer (Vintage, 2015). Wonderfully dry and funny.
- The Ghost Variations by Damian Lanigan (Weatherglass Books, 2022 - although curiously my copy is undated). Publisher at Weatherglass. Writing about music is incredibly difficult, yet he pulls it off. A quiet novel about music, grief, and living with yourself.
- Amma by Saraid de Silva (Weatherglass Books, 2024). A beautiful novel about migration and finding your place in the world.
- Astraea by Kate Kruimink (Weatherglass Books, 2024). The other winner of the Inaugural Weatherglass Novella Award. Another beautiful book - read it!
I think what all these books have in common is humanity, or humane-ness. Perhaps this is one of the jobs of a novelist, or maybe it's what I require. But without humanity, kindness and compassion, what is there?
Foyles...
We had an audience of well over a hundred, who completely filled the Foyles event space. Our discussion on stage was wide-ranging and fascinating - I loved hearing perspectives from Neil, Ali and Kate - followed by some great questions from the audience.
Both winning titles are available to order or pre-order from Weatherglass Books or from Amazon, and once published, from bookstores.
In conversation with Ali Smith at Foyles
If you are in London on 11th September it would be great to see you!
Ali Smith is the author of the acclaimed Seasonal quartet, among many other notable works, and is working on another exciting project.
My publishers at Weatherglass will be there too, of course. They have been wonderful to work with, as we bring Aerth to its final stages before publication - more on this in another post soon.
Press release
Here is what she says (part of the press release).
“What planet are we on? Can we leave? Does it mean we can never go home again if we do? What does a phrase like worlds apart really mean? Deep-forged, witty and resonant, this dimensionally stunning novella deals with dystopia and hope in a way that reveals them as profoundly related. A work of real energy and narrative grip, brilliantly earthy and airy at once, it blasts open a reader’s past/future consciousness and taps into literary antecedents as disparate as Hardy and Atwood. Funny, terrifying, humane, this is a thrilling journey in a story the size of a planet – no, the size of several, all of them altogether strange and uncannily familiar.”Aerth will be published by Weatherglass Books in January 2025. It can be pre-ordered here.
Coaching and Mentoring
I highly recommend Michael for any creative who may be feeling a little "stuck", for whatever reason. He also works with organisations in the creative industries.
Virginia Prize for Fiction
I have received the exciting news that I have won The Virginia Prize for Fiction with my novel A Wilder Shore, jointly with the author Gillian Corderoy. Congratulations to both of us!
In the late 1990s, Roly’s student son Jonnie dies accidentally on a Greenpeace ship. Over the next two decades, Roly journeys through the landscapes of personal loss, which those around her understand, and climate grief, which they don’t, leading some to believe she is mentally ill. She is accompanied by Jonnie’s ghostly presence – and Jonnie instructs her to continue his work. A Wilder Shore is also a love story, of a husband and wife who are driven apart by Roly’s growing obsession with climate change, yet love each other deeply. The novel has interweaving and slowly converging timelines, leading up to the present.I am looking forward to the next steps...
Social Media
So - my "likes" are now private; I have had to enter my birthdate, which I kept private but X wants to make that public (for what reason I can't fathom); and of course many of the people I follow have migrated elsewhere. I haven't mentioned - probably don't need to - the very strange place that the former Twitter has become in the last couple of years.
I can use Bluesky for writing-related posts, and elsewhere for environment and science - with perhaps the occasional crossover posts. I need to do a bit of research as there are many new platforms. I am also signed up to Substack, where I follow mostly other writers and publishers.
I will miss some of the people I still follow on X, but hope to find them elsewhere.
Virginia Prize for Fiction
I finished both these books, A Wilder Shore and First, Do No Harm, about 5 years ago. Both have been listed in past competitions, but have not won, or, needless to say, been published, so I am holding my breath this time around.
Shortlisting success
I am thrilled to have had my novella-in-flash First, Do No Harm shortlisted in the Weatherglass Inaugural Novella Award, with final judging for the winner from Ali Smith. There were 150-plus novellas submitted, and 5 reached the shortlist.
This is the third time this little book has been shortlisted. It's also had "near-misses" with three publishers - rejected with personal notes - over the past few years. So each time it's come back to me I have taken a good hard look at it, tried to work out what's not working or what could be done better, what's essential to the story and what isn't, and have reworked some of it.
I used to hate editing and only loved the process of creating the story in its very early stages. These days I now really enjoy editing, and have realised that it's every bit as much "writing" as the initial creating.
I've had writing friends congratulate me on the shortlisting - thank you all! - and some have also congratulated me on my persistence. And that's probably the key - the willingness to keep taking something back to its bones and its intention, and trying to make sure that all rings true.
So I'm crossing fingers for the next stage of judging, and beginning to think of the next project...
Press release in The Bookseller, 4 March 2024.
Flash fiction story republished
This little story is under 300 words, and first had an outing in 2022's Flash Flood on the National Flash Fiction Day, when stories are published every 5-10 minutes. It's a real celebration of the very short form, and it's a joy to read such inventive work. The Co-Directors are Ingrid Jendrzejewski and Diane Simmons, both talented writers.
As I was a presenter at the Festival last year, Jude Higgins, another very talented writer and the Director of the Festival, invited me to submit a story for the anthology, so I sent this one. I'm very fond of it as I find it funny and poignant, and it took quite a bit of work to make it, well, work. I wrote the first few drafts several years ago, but dusted it off in 2022 and did a big rewrite. Such small stories often take a lot of effort, something I didn't appreciate when I first began writing them. These days I am less impatient, and let things grow in their own time, rather than trying to force them.
I am more naturally a long-form writer, but I have learned an enormous amount about writing from learning about flash. I really recommend giving it a go.
So I hope you enjoy "me and the foxes battle it out along the railway line"!
Photo credit: flashfictionfestival.com
Review - George Monbiot article
He writes of the difficulties of producing enough food to feed 8 billion people (and the global population is rising rapidly), and the well-fed's enjoyment of "peasant food" and low-yield agriculture - somehow more authentic (my words) than higher-yield. He doesn't, to be clear, advocate the industrialisation of agriculture, but there is much that has been learnt over the past century about maximising production without damaging the land.
This is part of an important debate about how to feed people on a planet where resources are increasingly stretched, and I recommend it.
The tomatoes are my own! Look out for a post next spring about maximising yield in an organic raised bed system. I have discovered a technique which yielded 45kg from 7 plants in 2022 (the hottest and driest UK summer ever), and 38kg this year (2023 - a cool and wet summer). Not bad - and the tomatoes clearly were very happy!
Flash Fiction Festival 2023
Another fabulous weekend with experts on writing (very) short fiction. Flash Fiction is anything up to 1,000 words, although I've noticed that the upper limit seems to be getting lower. 500 words seems to be common for submissions, or 300. Much shorter stories are called micro-fictions and can be 100 words or less.
I don't claim to be an expert in flash - my comfort zone (and preferred reading) is novel-length, although I have written two novellas-in-flash (but see what I'm doing there? A much longer story in very short chapters!). I went to the very first Flash Fiction Festival a few years ago because I really didn't know what flash fiction was and was keen to find out. Not only is it various incredibly inventive types of short-short fiction, I have to add that learning about it has taught me an enormous amount about writing in general - flash is an exacting discipline that forces a writer to think very carefully about every choice.
I also had the privilege of leading a workshop (with extremely engaged authors - first thing on Saturday morning!) on Climate Writing. My topic this year was on different ways of approaching the climate crisis in fiction, where hope, generosity and ingenuity are deployed in unexpected ways. We had a lively discussion and they went away with new ideas to explore. So my workshop was more on content than craft - there are some wonderful teachers of craft at the Festival.
Next year there will be another in-person event, but keep an eye on the FFF website for zoom days scattered throughout the year. The Festivals are also enormous fun, with gentle competitions, readings, a book stall, freebies, new friends, good food and even karaoke...
"Word Cricket" - stories written at speed from random prompts thrown out every minute or so. Photo credit: @FlashFicFest 2023
Crowds... and fear... and hope
I travelled on the train, and arrived at St John's Waterloo, a church on the south side of the Thames (Parliament is on the north side) just after 10am, where hundreds of people had already arrived.
This was the beginning of a Christian day of action and pilgrimage. We had an inspiring panel discussion with Christian peers from the Climate Committee in the House of Lords, and representatives from a Christian NGO, and from Christian Climate Action. The discussion was interrupted by a well-known climate denier, but we drowned him out by singing Amazing Grace, and he was escorted from the building.
One conclusion from the discussion was - don't think your actions, emails, and letters go unnoticed. Contact your MP and others.
Then followed a service in the church, led by people from all walks of life - children, people from tropical countries, the international charity Tearfund, the Salvation Army, and the former Archbishop of York, John Sentamu.
We walked in pilgrimage - at least 1,400 of us, with several bishops and dozens of Christian clergy - to Parliament Square, via the Shell building, where Archbishop John tried to hand-deliver a letter from all the Christian organisations at the service, which simply asked for a meeting.
Shell called the police.
What fear, it strikes me now.
I must confess, I am no fan of crowds, but I knew many people there that day, and it was a peaceful witness to the difficulties the world is facing, and which, unless we act together, we may not overcome. Walking and working in solidarity with others, listening - really listening - to the stories coming from other countries - acting intentionally and deliberately out of love and compassion - praying, reading and writing - these are ways in which we and the world may be changed.
Today Shell has announced record profits.
Bath Flash Fiction Anthologies launch
The launch party was held in Bath, appropriately enough, with readings from both books (19 authors took part), as well as wine, nibbles and cake. It was a really fun evening, and it was great to hear some amazing pieces of writing. I read my funny flash "Inspirational Talks Number 36 - Degrees of Separation (It's not what you know, it's who you know)." And people laughed, to my immense relief.
I'm now very much looking forward to one of the writing highlights of my year - the Flash Fiction Festival 2023, in Bristol.
Photo by Kathryn Aldridge-Morris @kazbarwrites - winner of the Quiet Man Dave 2022 contest, and commended in the Bath Flash Fiction Award 2022.
Great podcast on publishing
Matthew Smith on Half Hour Mentor
It's about half an hour - maybe that's obvious?!
Best Small Fictions nomination
You can read it here: me and the foxes battle it out along the railway line.
I'm beginning to think about the Climate Writing workshop I'll be running at the Flash Fiction Festival in July in Bristol. Two topics spring to mind, both interesting and unusual.
I'm very much looking forward to the Festival, meeting wonderful writers, hearing new work, and being inspired by workshops and presenters. It's an absolute highlight of my year - and this year I won't be trying to get back from Cornwall in time for the start...
It's a fabulous weekend and I thoroughly recommend it!
Dry January
I've been going through a dry patch in writing. Before Christmas I had all sorts of plans about January -- a new year, getting back into the new novel, maybe being a little more organised, perhaps even a new routine.
But life has had other plans, and perhaps my unconscious has had other plans too. We had two separate bouts of Covid in our household, beginning on 29 December for 10 days or so, then a 2 week gap, beginning again on about 23 January until yesterday. Thankfully I escaped this time, although I don't take my escape for granted as I have had this unpleasant illness twice already, despite all my jabs and keeping as safe as I can, with masking on public transport and in crowded places. I have also had to write a good deal for other purposes, which takes energy and time.
My unconscious -- that's another matter. It laughs at my plans. It becomes shy and unavailable when I think I might want to write. It becomes critical, telling me that really I should be doing other things, that I can't write anyway, and who am I to think that anyone would want to read my writing? -- things I half feel may be half true. It's discouraging!
I rely on my unconscious mind to come up with ideas and people and plots. I don't know if it's the same for other writers. When I write, an amazing magic begins to shape my work, and it's mostly not planned. Sometimes it doesn't work too well, but other times it has a profound effect. I have an idea of where I want my book or story to go, a kind of loose framework, and then I just write and see what happens.
But -- it's been January, and dark, and cold and wet, and quite frankly I have just wanted to hide away. I've also been pretty busy with other things, and that shy and temperamental unconscious mind needs a bit of space, a bit of latitude, a bit of feeding with art and music and books and poetry, a bit of sunshine, a lessening of stress.
So -- February is here, at last! The days are drawing out, the shortest day nearly six weeks behind us, the longest day a mere 20 weeks ahead! And the days will be long and light many weeks before then.
I'm learning not to fret about the daily words on a page, but to allow a bit of space for creativity of all kinds, wherever it comes from. Today I cleared out the under sink cupboard. Creative? Maybe. It certainly feels helpful. There's something about physical clutter that clutters the mind too.
A world teeming with life
Cameron creates a world teeming with life, as ours was not so very long ago. It got me thinking about the millions-strong buffalo herds in North America, hunted almost to extinction by settlers from Europe, and the Newfoundland cod fisheries, which have never recovered since they were depleted by the early twentieth century. It was said at the time that a man could almost walk on the sea, such was the multitude of cod. Then there is the passenger pigeon, now extinct, when in the nineteenth century the sky would be dark from horizon to horizon as they migrated.
These are all examples of anthropogenic extinction, extinction caused by human activity.
And there are countless more. Since 1970 the world has lost about 70% of its wild animals. The UK is right at the bottom of international league tables in terms of our biodiversity - the variety and numbers of wildlife.
What an indictment of our status as the most influential species on the planet. Some will say it's because of the vast growth in human population over the last century. I was born when the global population was roughly 3.1 billion. On November 15 2022 it reached 8 billion. But population is only part of the story. As the old saying has it: "The world has enough for everyone's need, not for everyone's greed". That is certainly true of food, and clothing, and household goods, energy, and more. The problem is distribution, politics, and - yes - greed. We have a rapacious instinct, like locusts, but unlike locusts, we have a choice.
This is complex stuff, and worthy of more than a quick blog post. Many books have been written and many more will doubtless be.
The thing about influence - and the the thing about our status as sentient beings who can think about the past, the future, as well as the present - is that we can choose how to wield it.
Meanwhile, I have a kind of deep nostalgia for a world richly teeming with life. I'm sure I'm not alone. In 2023 I'll be looking for more opportunities to enhance the natural world.