I wrote my first piece of flash nonfiction a few years ago, when a parenting fellowship asked me for a 554-word writing sample. 554 words, I thought!? How could I write something compelling, something complete, in so short a space? At the time, I had published longer essays and was working on a book. I had an MFA in Creative Nonfiction and had read Brevity, of course. But I’d never tried to write flash myself.

As I wrote the sample for my fellowship application, however, I was amazed at what I could do in so few words. I loved the ingenuity the forced compression brought.

I didn’t win the fellowship, but I did publish my 554-word piece and continued to write flash. As a woman with kids and a full-time job, the form felt manageable to me—celebratory, even. It was a kind of writing I could finish while teaching four writing classes a semester and parenting young kids and trying to survive a global pandemic.

I once heard Zoë Bossiere, managing editor of Brevity, describe flash as “the people’s genre.” And that’s what I love most about it: It’s doable. It’s manageable. It’s still art. If you are struggling to find the time to read or write, or are balancing too much, or just love the form’s compression, this magazine is for you.