Michelle Elvy grew up on the shores of the Chesapeake, in Maryland, and now lives in Ōtepoti Dunedin, on the South Island of Aotearoa New Zealand. Her books include the everrumble (2019) and the other side of better (2021), and her extensive anthology editing work includes, most recently, the dual-language anthology in English and te reo Māori Poto! Iti te kupu, nui te kōrero| Short! The big book of small stories (Massey University Press); the multi-lingual collection of stories and essays Te Moana o Reo | Ocean of Languages (2025); A Kind of Shelter: Whakaruru-taha (2023), A Cluster of Lights: 52 Writers Then and Now (2023) and Breach of All Size: Small stories on Ulysses, love, and Venice (2022). Founder of National Flash Fiction Day NZ and Flash Frontier: An Adventure in Short Fiction, Michelle also teaches online at 52|250 A Year of Writing. Find out more at michelleelvy.com.

 

Thank you for chatting today, Michelle. I am going to focus on one particular topic in this discussion—the genre of flash fiction. Tell me about how you initially became interested in this form and why it is so compelling to you.

I first came to it as a way to focus my own writing. I had been writing some longer form essays and travel pieces, also creative nonfictions, and I wanted to turn more towards fiction. I was living aboard my sailboat then, and it was a life in motion, with small children and small spaces. I wanted to set myself a goal of writing every week, one story – but I knew it had to be something I could shape and sharpen, and feel satisfied about. I didn’t want to write a draft of something longer; it had to be one complete story each week. So I decided to write 250 words each week for a year. My childhood friend John Chapin (a Baltimore friend!) joined me, and we set up 52|250 A Year of Flash. I had read short short stories before, but that was the first time I had so directly, and so deeply engaged with them. The short form is equally compelling for me for the precision and focus that is required, and for the open-ended experimental space that the short form invites.

 

How do you define flash fiction?

The most economical way, in creative writing, to build a whole world.

 

When you write flash fiction what is your personal approach to the form? For instance perhaps in the everrumble. 

I usually start with an idea – something will come to me and I’ll see where the concept takes me. I never start with knowing what’s going to happen. Primacy of plot is not in my nature. I like uncertainty – and I think understanding and even embracing uncertainty is a critical survival tool. In creativity, the uncertainty feeds something larger; energy and curiosity pull and story along. With the everrumble, I had the first idea of seeing the world through the eyes of someone whose key characteristic was that she could listen to the world – I mean really listen. From there the questions came pouring in. Each question brought a new story, a new view. I was so curious to see how Zettie’s worldview might change over time. And I was kind of amazed at how one small girl ended up showing me so much about the world.

 

You are an impressively prolific editor of flash fiction. I understand you have some editorial projects coming out soon. Tell me about these.

Projects seem to develop from collaborations, and I love the way that flows. This year sees two anthologies of small fictions and prose poems that are centred around language. And it’s wonderful for me, to see how so many of my interests are coming together with these projects.  The first, released in February-March, is called Te Moana o Reo | Ocean of Languages, which I edited with Vaughan Rapatahana, and it includes more than 40 languages of Aotearoa New Zealand – works by writers who speak in more than one language, or whose heritage is multicultural. The stories are poetic, exploratory, musical, historical, imaginative. A whole range. And presented with either translations or translingual writing in one piece. And there are also a dozen essays from translators or writers who consider language across boundaries of form and expression. For me personally, it draws on my interests in language, having lived in many different places where English was never the dominant tongue. It’s a beautiful expression of who we are in Aotearoa New Zealand, in bite-sized moments on the page.

The second book launches this week. It’s called Poto! Short! (the longer subtitle is: Iti te kupu, nui te kōrero| The big book of small stories). It is a dual-language collection of 100 flash fictions and prose poems in English and te reo Māori, the Indigenous language of Aotearoa New Zealand. I edited this book with poet Kiri Piahana-Wong, who has worked for many years with her own small press as a champion of Māori writers. It is a gorgeous collection showing off the elasticity of the small form, and a first-ever book of its kind. From the start, this was a project with an eye on language learning. People come to languages in different ways; both reading (on the page) or listening (in person) are elements to language practice and understanding.  The idea came to me a while back – thinking of the books we had when we learned French, or German, or Spanish in school, remember? The short form is perfect for this. Kiri and I selected stories that would introduce unexpected turns, demonstrate the agility of the form and ignite curiosity in readers of all ages.

Again, this book feels very well timed, and I’m proud of the heavy lifting the small story is doing in Aotearoa New Zealand, where I make my home.

More about both books:

Te Moana o Reo: https://thecubapress.nz/shop/te-moana-o-reo-ocean-of-languages

Poto: https://www.masseypress.ac.nz/books/all/short-poto

 

Tell me about your involvement with Best Small Fictions. 

I came into the project in 2015, when it began. It was really exciting to be involved early on, as an assistant editor; I think Tara Masih had a wonderful vision for the first-ever compilation of the short form writing. My role from the start was to have a view to the wider world – what was being written outside the US. Since my life has been engaged elsewhere, it was really interesting to look for small fictions elsewhere, too. There are many journals around the world publishing flash (and even if we are restricted by looking for English publications for inclusions, it’s still astonishing to see how many there are), and it has been extraordinary to see the interest and creativity grow over this decade.

One of the things I’ve done for many years is organise the international Festival of Flash, an online celebration around National Flash Fiction Day (also this month: June 22), and I always include a reading from BSF – sometimes combining BSF and Best Microfictions, which is another wonderful anthology added to our literary world (with stories up to 400 words). Being involved with BSF for 10 years has given be ten years of reading and actively engaging with the form.

This year, BSF’s 10th anniversary edition demonstrates the diverse range of writers and voices, from many different places. Robert Shapard addresses this in his introduction to the 2025 volume, and it’s exciting to see how this project has set a standard for the form.

 

What are you working on next in terms of your own writing? Also, are you working on any long form fiction or poetry?

This year, I’ve been writing a lot of poetry and creative nonfiction, and I think these forms connect closely with flash. The small-scale focus, while trying to say something with a much bigger frame or conceptual range, is a challenge I really enjoy. I’ve got a novella-in-flash that I may soon finish. Writing in a fragmented manner while keeping your eye on something bigger is a space I like working in.

Most specifically this year, I wrote a series of ‘dispatch poems’ for a NZ poetry editor here in Aotearoa, which were poetic views on what was happening in the US, as I was there visiting my mother in Feb-April. It was a shock to the system in many ways, but I found writing brough solace – and also opened up creative space for engaging some difficult questions. I wrote the first one when the astronauts returned to earth after their nine-month time in space, and the series grew from there.

I do have a novel on the go, too. But it’s a longer-term project.

 

Talk a bit about your writing process. Do you have a particular series of habits?

I write when I can, when it comes. I’m spontaneous about my creative flow – if it feels right, I do it. I am not nearly so disciplined as to write every morning, but I am often energetic late at night, so I suppose that is more of my writing habit. I think I feel free to explore after I’ve finished my day’s work – editing, reading, manuscript assessing, teaching. But sometimes, if an idea presses and won’t leave me, I have to put things aside and roam in the wilds of my mind.

 

Where do you think flash fiction will go from here? What is in our literary future? 

Flash captures the imagination – this is why it has real staying power. Just look at the proliferation of literary journals and writers. Look at Bath Flash Fiction Award and the annual conference held in Bristol. Look at Best Small Fictions. And do come to the Festival of Flash – June 12-13 in the US time zones – where you’ll find a whole array of writers exploring topics around creative expression. https://nationalflash.org/2025-festival-of-flash/

Beyond that, I think there is a connection between the small form and the breaking down of boundaries in other types of writing. It’s interesting that we try to label writing genres, but really I think some of the best writing does a good deal of boundary-hopping. I think you can see flash techniques in some of our best novels. Experimental work is encouraged in flash, and I think that opens our minds to new ways of thinking about storytelling.

Further, I see writers of all kinds coming to flash as a way to help sharpen their craft. Which brings me back to the first question – I started out with flash as a way to hone my own skills (and I thought it would be fun!). And now, I teach a course that is in fact modelled after that 250-words-a-week project from 2010 (and borrowing the name: 52|250: A Year of Writing – https://52250course.com/), and the people who join are novelists, poets, journalists, memoirists and essayists, some new and some very experienced, all looking to bring more focus to the way they write. So this aspect of flash as a craft tool is enormously important, I think.