When I was a young writer, trying to find my way, writing a 300 page novel over a period of several years, a novel that would probably get rejected, wasn’t very appealing. The same for a short story. Although a short story might take only a few days or weeks to write that was still a lot of time to put into something that would probably get rejected, too. I guess writing flash fiction was a way for me to lessen the pain of rejection: I didn’t have as much time invested in flash fiction like I would have had in a story or novel.
But then something strange happened: I began to understand the potential of the very short story. I began to see the artistic beauty of the concise, concrete capture of a few moments in time; and the total self-sustaining life of a well-written piece of flash fiction filled me with transcendent wonder.
Flash fiction has become my obsession.