Judge, 32nd Award: John Brantingham


    • John Brantingham is the author of 23 books and chapbooks and a creative writing educator. He directed Mt. San Antonio College’s creative writing program for 20 years and has taught all over the world. He is the recipient of a grant from the New York State’s Council on the Arts 2024.(The picture is of John and his wife, illustrator, Anne Brantingham, who has illustrated his latest book Gone Back to the Wild and several other of John’s books).

      Q & A with John Brantingham, our 32nd Award Judge

      We’re delighted you have time to judge the single flash fiction award. You judged the Bath Novella in Flash Award for us for two years in 2023 and 2024. And we loved your choices and what you said about the Awards.

    • Thank you. It was a huge honor, and I was exposed to so many beautiful novellas-in-flash. I was absolutely overwhelmed by the talent. I don’t think I read a single bad one.
    • You always have a lot of projects on the go. Recently you have been the recipient of the Gone Back to the Wild project in New York State to write 100 word stories about the wilderness in Western New York. Can you tell us a bit more about the project?. How is that going ? I think you have a couple of books being published that have arisen from it.
      It’s good. The first book Gone Back to Wild is out. The second one Slowly through the Grove will be out soon both from Arroyo Seco Press. I’m grateful to the press and the New York State Council on the Arts. I’m writing 100 pieces for each book and each piece is exactly 100 words. The process draws out memories and emotions that I didn’t know I had. Basically I compose all of them as Italian sonnets and then slowly take them out of that form and transform them into prose poems or vignettes depending on the subject matter. That way they have a kind of underlying music, or so I hope.

      I’m writing about the natural world of Western New York. When I say, New York, people think of the city. But I live in a rural community maybe 8 hours from the city. I’m near Pennsylvania in Northern Appalachia. Think maple forests and Amish people and corn farms. There are so few people here that I can wander the woods in joyful isolation and meditate. It’s a forest full of whitetail deer and bears and woodchucks. That’s what the collections are about, the meditation and radical wonder that comes with intentional isolation.

    • Have you any new projects coming up?
      I do. I’m working on a zuihitsu project, which is a Japanese form that’s hybrid prose and poetry. It’s essentially a journal that rambles. I’ve been rereading and studying the Romantic poets and artists in the UK and their influence beyond, and I’m writing about them in relation to Appalachia, trying to see beyond the stereotypes associated with this area. I’m not sure if your British readers are aware of those stereotypes, but this place and these people are often denigrated, but the beauty that universally exists throughout the earth in all people and places exists here as well, and taking the time to see it is an act of spirituality. That’s what I hope to accomplish with these pieces.
    • We’d love to know about your different asynchronous classes on poetry, flash fiction levels one and two, memoir and building a career in the small presses. They sound very exciting and good value. Are the flash fiction ones suitable for anyone who hasn’t written flash before?
      Yes, I have two levels of those classes, a basic class for people who have never written flash and a more advanced class for people wanting to write novellas-in-flash. I have video taped lectures with students and then we follow up with one-on-one personal manuscript reviews. I think people like the manuscript reviews the most. I love working with people, so please contact me if you’re interested!
    • What, for you, makes a winning fiction of 300 words or less

    An extraordinary point-of-view. We all have that, but we often don’t realize how our points-of-view are astounding to other people. The pieces that capture me are the thoughts of people I have never fully contemplated before. So they see a place differently from me or they understand a concept in a new way.

    I love to show people my Appalachia for example and then have them show me theirs. What we get from that is a new vision and now entry into humanity. Its a way to develop my compassion and empathy. It’s what masters like Meg Pokrass, Pamela Painter, and you too Jude give to us.

    • What do you think writers most need to pay attention to before they submit?
      Blocking out all the voices who told them that the way they see the world is the wrong way. Often, I see well-crafted pieces that are essentially like work that came before. When I taught at a college in Long Beach California, unsurprisingly a lot of the students wanted to write like Bukowski because he was around. His voice often dominated their experience, but I didn’t want his experience. He was all right, but I was much more interested in seeing how they saw the world.
    • As you are known for your interest in writing about nature, can you give us a nature based prompt to inspire a story writers might want to enter?
      This is my favorite prompt: Write about the first time you can remember being outside by yourself. Do NOT write about the first time you were actually outside by yourself. Write about the first time that you REMEMBER it. If that was when you were 4 years old, great! If that’s when you were 68 years old, that’s equally good.

    The 32nd Award closes on Sunday February 1st 2026

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    31st Award Round Up, Oct 2025

    Thank you to everyone who entered our 31st Award judged this time by Kathryn Aldridge-Morris from the UK

    We received 1058 stories this time, many of the stories from the UK, the US and Ireland and a substantial number from Australia, Canada and New Zealand and numerous other single entries or more from countries around the world. It is always so exciting to see where the entries come from and to know that flash fiction is thiriving in so many different places.

    We issued our usual last minute club badge on the last day (pictured here) and there were, indeed ,a lot of writers who received the badge to celebrate their last minute entries.
    Thank you to everyone who entered early or mid way through or nearer the end. We appreciate all of your support for our ventures.

    The variety and standard of entries was very high. And our readers (thanks to them again for their dedication to flash fiction and intense reading period) had hard decisions to make to filter down to the final 50 out of so many entries. Sometimes choices were made because there were a lot of very good stories on a similar theme, So we hope these excellent stories that didn’t make our long list will find a home elsewhere.

    Everything has been a little delayed this time due to my being in hospital (better now) which is why the long list, short list and winners were announced in quick succession. Thank you to everyone for your patience in waiting. And I hope the winning announcements coming within a few days of each other was not too much of a roller coaster ride.

    Kathryn Aldridge-Morris worked very hard to keep to her schedule and we very much appreciate her for her close reading and difficult tasks in selecting the short list of twenty and for choosing the five top stories. All amazing stories, showing the great variety possible in writing flash fiction. You can read her report here

    Many congratulations to all our winners:

    This time first prize goes to ‘Two Male Nudes’ by Adam Brannigan from Australia
    The second Prize, ‘Vagina First’, is by Emily Rinkema from the US, who has won second prize previously with (June 2024). Emily Rinkema June 2024 Second Prize
    Third Prize ‘My Husband Watches Henry The Donkey’ is by Debra A Daniel from the US, who has also won third prize previously and also won the Bath Novella in Flash Award earlier this year,

    Highly commended writer: Dawn Tasaka Steffler from the US with ‘The Menopausal Woman and the Tsunami’. Dawn won the Bath Flash Fiction Award in Dawn Tasaka Steffler October 2023 First Prize

    The 50 writers on the longlist have been sent emails asking if they want to be published in our tenth anniversary anthology. We’re looking forward to publish this at the end of this year or early next and it will contain stories from all three awards this year.

    The next award opens on November 1st and closes in early February 2026 and is judged by John Brantingham from the US, who has previously been a judge for the Novella in Flash Award in 2023 and 2024.

    We look forward to reading more of your stories

    Jude
    October 31st 2025

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    Judge’s report


    Thank you to our 31st Award Judge, Kathryn Aldridge-Morris, for her excellent and detailed comments on her reading process and the winning stories

    Judge’s report

    Reading this longlist reaffirmed my belief that flash fiction writers are where it’s at in the literary world. The stories in this round popped with pitch-perfect prose and demonstrated a deep understanding of how form impacts story. There was something stand-out in every flash I read, and it was clear why they’d made it through to the longlist. Congratulations to all the writers, thank you for trusting me with your words, and thank you Jude Higgins for inviting me to judge and immerse myself in these story worlds.

    There were so many stories in the shortlist which moved me, through gorgeous language, brilliant metaphor and imagery, or made me laugh at human behaviour and the state of the world or portrayed characters and relationships that felt authentic and relatable. It would be impossible to select only a couple for a special mention. I journalled for days. I dreamt about the stories. Ultimately, some started to dominate my notes and my dreams, some whose emotional impact refused to fade and which revealed new meanings on multiple readings.

    First place: Two nude night-owls
    Wise and understated, this story is a masterclass in how to depict yearning and suadade; an untranslatable Portuguese word which tries to pin down the feeling of nostalgia for a thing—or person— you’ve never had. ‘I miss you, but I haven’t met you yet’ sang Bjork. The narratorial voice lingered and pulled me back over and over. We open and it’s past midnight, literally and metaphorically in the narrator’s life. The unfolding scene is cinematic and dreamy. The story speaks to the peculiarities of our times. We are together but separate. We’ve never been more connected, never seen so much into each other’s lives, yet we’re living through an epidemic of loneliness. ‘We’ve never discussed a fence or planted a screen of shrubs…’ says the narrator who sees his neighbour swim nude every night. This is about the necessity of letting go, reinforced by the casual repetition of ‘whatever’ throughout the piece. Closeness to death is bringing a reckoning with what truly matters and the narrator’s realisation at the end is quietly devastating.

    Second place: Vagina First<
    The moment I’m conscious a piece is a breathless sentence it can pull me out of the story. In Vagina First the voice is so compelling, the cadence so perfect, the structure doesn’t draw attention to itself until it lands on that perfect beat. Nothing detracts from the tension between a daughter’s palpable excitement at leaving home and her mother’s struggle with letting go. The emotional impact is heightened because the mother’s actions are filtered through the lens of the daughter and with each detail casually relayed we feel in our bones the mother’s fierce, protective love. This writer also understands how to use comedy to help land a gut punch. Not enough that this mother wants to conjure up an image of a bear eating her daughter. She needs to ratchet up the stakes, and the timing of the phrase ‘vagina first’ is exquisite. It makes us laugh because it is unexpected, but also, I think, because it forces a moment of recognition of the crazy things love can make us say and do. This piece not only made me feel, but it made me think – of the man vs bear debate, of how patriarchal fascism comes for women’s rights first. Then, the final, crushingly sad image of the mother opens up a whole new layer of understanding.

    Third place: My Husband Watches Henry the Donkey
    This story is a skilful snapshot of the complex, divisive and absurd times we’re living though. In the future people will need to read stories like this to understand how it was possible we watched reels of donkeys as a form of solace. But we do. A sick body politic is making the couple in this story sick. With deft use of the rule of three, sentences starting with the verbs ‘Losing…Blocking…Avoiding’ reveal how the politics of division is insidiously seeping into their lives. But we see them doing what they can to resist despair, resist authoritarianism. This is a story about hope and where we go to find it. The light-touch humour in the dialogue imbues the relationship with a gentleness, which itself feels like a form of resistance; an antidote to a world where everyone is screaming at each other. Through great storytelling, (note the perfect mix of sentence lengths to create pace), this writer has created characters I love and I’m rooting for them, as much as for what they represent.

    Highly commended: The Menopausal Woman and the Tsunami
    This story is a gloriously sassy subversion of the misery-menopause narrative. I love these women, living their best lives on swan floaties getting wasted on gin martinis. This writer pulls off humour and makes it look easy with perfect comic timing and juxtaposition. I love that The Menopausal Woman is never named, neatly conveying the flattening of middle-aged women’s identities. The husband (who is named) remains off-page on the other end of the phone, and with a succinct reference to them as newlyweds, we see how a relationship changes over time. He’s not a bad husband, she’s just kind of outgrown him as she enters her zero-fucks era. These sisters have already faced down the tsunami that is menopause, so, whatever, get another gin and bring it on!

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    1st Prize, October 2025 Award: Adam Brannigan

    Two Nude Night Owls

    by Adam Brannigan

    Its past midnight, and I’m sitting at my fire pit, burning old letters from old girlfriends. Old photos. Old birthday cards. Trinkets and whatever. It’s time to let go. I’m getting older. Which means I’m dying.

    The fat man next door is swimming nude again. He also stays up late. Night owls. I can see into his yard, he can see into mine. We’ve never discussed a fence or planted a screen of shrubs, trees, whatever. We don’t even talk. He goes for a nude swim almost every night in summer. He waves, I wave back and that’s it. I probably shouldn’t. I used to be worried that he might see it as an invitation and wander over in the nude to have a chat just because I wave. But he never has wandered over, probably never will. Not sure why, but that makes me sad.

    It might be against the law to be nude in your own pool or whatever, but I haven’t bothered to check. I don’t call the police because he doesn’t seem to mind when the smoke of my fire pit blows across the waters of his pool while he’s swimming in the light from blue LED’s. I guess you could say we have an understanding.

    But you know, if he waved me over and invited me to swim with him, I would join him. I’d take off my clothes and jump in. We’d talk. Learn each other’s names. Do laps and somersaults like we were kids, not fat, not bitter, not probably dying or whatever. Just two nude night-owls.

    In that possible future I’d think I’d probably never had a friend like him, ever. I’d be right, you know.

    About the Author

    Adam writes across genres, favouring the surreal, the fragmented the dystopian. He has had his work published online and in international and Australian anthologies and journals and is the recipient of several awards for his short stories, flash fiction and poetry. Adam is of Bardi and Nyul Nyul descent, but has other bloodlines that whisper their agonies and ecstasies to him

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    2nd Prize, October 2025 Award: Emily Rinkema

    Vagina First

    by Emily Rinkema

    Two weeks after my twentieth birthday my mother begs me not to move to Montana by myself because she says I will be eaten by a grizzly bear, vagina first, and I laugh as I pack and ask if this is supposed to be a metaphor, imagining some cowboy going down on me in the parking lot of a dive bar called Bucky’s or Lucky’s or The Watering Hole, and she says no, it’s not a goddamn metaphor, and grabs my Camp TakaWaka tank top from my hands and folds it as if she works at GAP, and tells me that it’s a dangerous world out there, says things happen that we can’t plan for, says, for example, grizzly bears can smell menstrual blood from 20 miles away, and she tells me even bear spray and bells, both of which she ordered for me and has already packed in the bottom of my bag, won’t scare them off once they smell me, tromping through the mountains like a bloody dumpling, and I say, “Enough, Mom! I get it,” and I tell her I don’t even like to hike, that I can take care of myself, that I’m not some little girl anymore, and she says, “I know,” and then more quietly, “But that won’t matter to the grizzly,” and she curls up on my bed, legs and arms tucked in like they tell you to do if your bear spray fails.

    About the Author

    Emily Rinkema lives and writes in northern Vermont, USA. Her writing has recently appeared in Fictive Dream, Okay Donkey, JAKE, and Frazzled Lit, and she won the 2024 Cambridge and Lascaux Prizes for flash fiction. You can read her work at https://emilyrinkema.wixsite.com/my-site or follow her on X, BS, or IG (@emilyrinkema).

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    3rd Prize October 2025 Award: Debra A Daniel

    My Husband Watches Henry the Donkey

    by Debra A Daniel

    When the news is overwhelming, my husband turns to Youtube. “Here comes Henry,” he says. Henry’s owner brings treats and the donkey prances to the fence, braying and showing his toothy glee.

    My husband smiles. “There are too many bad asses in this world,” he says. “We need more like Henry”

    These days we’re losing sleep. Losing friends. Blocking them on Facebook. Avoiding neighbors with unwelcoming posters in their yards. The list of businesses we’re boycotting grows daily. My husband’s blood pressure is problematic. Mine, too. Our hearts as well. It’s tough to be healthy when the world makes us sick. At night we listen to yoga music or British podcasts because their accents soothe like a lullaby. There’ve been days when we moped and brooded and even answered, yes, to doctor’s office questionnaires about depression and sadness.

    Then my husband found Henry, with his ridiculous grin, his jubilation over something as simple as an apple or a carrot or a Twizzler. On particularly disheartening news days, he binges on Henry. It doesn’t matter if he’s seen the video before, he still finds relief in the joyful little guy.

    “Look at him,” my husband says. “He’s glad to be alive.”

    “He’s not worried about the end of the world as we know it,” I say.

    “Don’t say that in front of Henry,” my husband says. He chuckles “We don’t want to upset him.”

    We sit at the kitchen table making signs for the weekend protest. Bright markers. Huge letters, Catchy puns. Pointed barbs. In the background, the iPad plays Youtube. Over and over, we pause from our dire musings to take comfort from Henry’s simple life in a pasture green and pleasant.

    About the Author


    Debra A. Daniel, is the author of three novellas-in-flash, A Family of Great Falls The Roster (Ad Hoc Fiction), and In the Dark Eyes of the Rabbit (Ad Hoc Fiction) which won the Bath Novella in Flash Award in 2025. She is also the author of the novel Woman Commits Suicide in Dishwasher (Muddy Ford Press) and poetry chapbooks, The Downward Turn of August (Finishing Line Press) and As Is (Main Street Rag). She won the Fractured Lit Work/Play Challenge and was third place in Flash Fiction Magazine. She’s been nominated for Pushcart and Best Short Fictions, has been long listed and shortlisted in many competitions, and has won The Los Angeles Review short fiction prize. She was twice named SC Arts Commission Poetry Fellow, won the Guy Owen Poetry Prize, as well as numerous awards from the Poetry Society of SC. Work has appeared in journals and anthologies including: With One Eye on the Cows, Things Left and Found by the Side of the Road, The Los Angeles Review, Fall Lines, Smokelong Quarterly, Kakalak, Emrys Journal, Pequin, Inkwell, Southern Poetry Review, Tar River, Gargoyle.She is retired from a career in teaching, now sings in a band with her husband, and was once on ‘Who Wants to Be a Millionaire.’

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    Highly Commended October 2025 Award: Dawn Tasaka Steffler

    The Menopausal Woman and the Tsunami

    by Dawn Tasaka Steffler

    The Menopausal Woman is finally visiting her sister in Hawaii when an 8.7 earthquake rattles Russia, and now a goddamned tsunami is heading her way. Meanwhile, in California, her husband is freaking out, which, as newlyweds, would’ve been cute. But at her age, all she wants to do is lie on a swan floatie in her sister’s pool, and balance a third gin martini on her squishy tummy. Also, her sister isn’t worried; she has lived through plenty of tsunami warnings before, all of which led to nothing. But her husband, on the other hand! Texting readings from remote ocean buoys and maps of tsunami inundation zones, to which her sister’s house isn’t even close. Texting: Make sure you girls fill up gas, GPS shows highways = parking lot. Texting: Hello? Why is your phone still at the house? 

    And now her sister, who had gone inside to pee, is poolside again, waving a cell phone and rolling her eyes, “It’s Eric— ” The Menopausal Woman steers her swan to the edge of the pool. “Shouldn’t you be headed to higher ground?!” her husband says, panicking. Just then, emergency sirens go off in the mountains; the wave is now four hours out; her sister reenters the pool; over the phone, her husband is sobbing.

    The Menopausal Woman takes in her surroundings: the bay is calm, the sky empty of clouds, and her sister is floating next to her. If today’s the day, this isn’t a bad way to go. But she can’t tell him that. Instead, she reassures him they’re being careful and gently extricates herself. Meanwhile, her sister, who is also menopausal, drains her glass and says, “Shall we have another?” But she doesn’t wait for an answer; her wet footprints trail into the house.

    About the Author

    Dawn Tasaka Steffler is an Asian-American writer from Hawaii who lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. She was a Smokelong Quarterly Emerging Writer Fellow, winner of the 2023 Bath Flash Fiction Award, finalist for the 2025 Lascaux Review Prize in Flash Fiction, and selected for Best Small Fictions 2025, and an Anthology of Rural Stories by Writers of Color, 2025 (EastOver Press). Her stories appear in The Forge, JMWW, Sundog Lit, Fictive Dream, Ghost Parachute, and more. Find her online at dawntasakasteffler.com and on BlueSky, Instagram, and Facebook @dawnsteffler.

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    31st Award Short List

    Huge congratulations to the twenty authors who have made our 31st Award short list

    Author names are yet to be announced, so while it is fine to share you are on the short list, please do not identify yourself with your particular fiction at this stage.

    Winners will be announced tomorrow, Friday 31st October. Any questions, contact us.

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    Oct 2025 Long List

    Congratulations to all the authors who have made our Award long list and huge thanks to all who entered.

    Author names are yet to be announced, so while it is fine to share that you are on the long list, we do ask that you do not identify yourself with your particular fiction at this stage.

    Important
    We receive many many entries, and occasionally some entries have the same title. We are in the process of sending an offer of publication email to all authors on the long list. Please do not assume you are on the long list unless you have received that publication offer. If in doubt, contact us.

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    BFFA lists delayed, but not that delayed

    Did you enter the October Award this year and are you, like the little tin chap pictured, waiting anxiously for our longlist? Our Judge, Kathryn Aldridge-Morris has now been sent the zip file of fifty stories for our 31st Award and normally, at this poin, we would be announcing the longlist titles on this website.

    We are a bit delayed because Jude, who shares the posts has been unwell,so all the announcements will come in a cluster, likely to be in between 27th and 31st October. First longlist, then shortlist a couple of days later, then, by the end of the month, the final results of the top five stories plus judge’s reports. The winning five stories will be posted on the website as usual.

    Our ninth annual Novella in Flash Award also ends on October 31st. And we’ll acknowledge everyone who has submitted for it by the end of the month.
    Thanks

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