The Flash Mob

How twitter is shrinking short fiction.

In 1846, Edgar Allan Poe proposed that short fiction should be readable ‘in one sitting’ before ‘the affairs of the world are able to interfere’. Today’s ‘micro’ or ‘flash’ fiction can be read almost at a glimpse, before the next twitter feed or status updates usurps it’s position on the screen. For those who don’t feel they have the time to invest in a novel, or even a short story, is ‘twit-lit’ the quick-fix solution? For the digital generation is 140 characters about as digestible as we can manage? Will twitter produce works that outlast the day’s feed?

It’s not just twit-lit that is having its moment. ‘Flash fiction’, or fiction in 1,000 words or less is also having its day in the sun, with a number of ‘flash fiction’ blogs and events popping up across country. Indeed, Femi Martin who is 2012’s Dickens Young Writer in Residence has performed ‘flash’ in a number of high profile locations including the Royal Court and the SouthBank Centre. You can listen to examples of her work via her website. Unlike the vignette, haiku or the prose poem, flash fiction complies to almost all the conventions of the traditional short story or novel. However, due to the obvious limitations of form, most elements are implied rather than expressly stated and, with fewer words used, the impact of each one has to be carefully measured for the greatest impact.

However, it’s hardly avant-garde. Flash Fiction has been around for years, albeit under a different name. Just think of Hemingway’s Hills like Elephants, Raymond Carver’s Short Cuts and Conon Doyle’s De Profundis. Yet, none of these prodigious talents pushed the form to the (word) limit in the same way as their 00s counterparts.

Moreover, ‘twit-lit’ marks another innovation in the way in which writers, particularly young writers, are manipulating new possibilities in self-publishing on the net.  Unlike blogs, the twitter-author does not need eager readers to sift through the reams of fiction blogs (type ‘short story blog into google and you get 930,000,000 results), but merely set up some clever twitter-settings and their followers will automatically see their 140 character fictions appear on their feed. And from there, it’s not a great leap from screen to print with Miriam Elia’s ‘The Diary of Edward the Hamster’, the acerbic musings of an existential rodent, being published by Macmillan on August 30th this year.   

 ‘Micro fiction’ even has its own award, the Micro Award, which began in 2007 and is presented annually for the best ‘flash fiction’ work of the previous year. Previous winners include, ‘Divestiture’ by Bruce Holland Rogers, ‘Choosing a Photograph for Mother's Obituary’ by Kevin A. Couture and ‘The Children’s Factory’ by Michael Stewart.

With short fiction shrinking to ever diminutive lengths, what is the future of the form? Th nd?

Photo: Miriam Elia
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An alternative Trainspotting script for John Humphrys’ Radio 4 “Choose Life” tribute

Born chippy.

Your mole often has Radio 4’s Today programme babbling away comfortingly in the background while emerging blinking from the burrow. So imagine its horror this morning, when the BBC decided to sully this listening experience with John Humphrys doing the “Choose Life” monologue from Trainspotting.

“I chose not to choose life: I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got Radio 4?” he concluded, as a nation cringed.

Introduced as someone who has “taken issue with modernity”, Humphrys launched into the film character Renton’s iconic rant against the banality of modern life.

But Humphrys’ role as in-studio curmudgeon is neither endearing nor amusing to this mole. Often tasked with stories about modern technology and digital culture by supposedly mischievous editors, Humphrys sounds increasingly cranky and ill-informed. It doesn’t exactly make for enlightening interviews. So your mole has tampered with the script. Here’s what he should have said:

“Choose life. Choose a job and then never retire, ever. Choose a career defined by growling and scoffing. Choose crashing the pips three mornings out of five. Choose a fucking long contract. Choose interrupting your co-hosts, politicians, religious leaders and children. Choose sitting across the desk from Justin Webb at 7.20 wondering what you’re doing with your life. Choose confusion about why Thought for the Day is still a thing. Choose hogging political interviews. Choose anxiety about whether Jim Naughtie’s departure means there’s dwindling demand for grouchy old men on flagship political radio shows. Choose a staunch commitment to misunderstanding stories about video games and emoji. Choose doing those stories anyway. Choose turning on the radio and wondering why the fuck you aren’t on on a Sunday morning as well. Choose sitting on that black leather chair hosting mind-numbing spirit-crushing game shows (Mastermind). Choose going over time at the end of it all, pishing your last few seconds on needlessly combative questions, nothing more than an obstacle to that day’s editors being credited. Choose your future. Choose life . . .”

I'm a mole, innit.