Featured image: Sara Hills

The QuietManDave Prize, honouring theatre critic and writer Dave Murray, is now open for entries for its 2024 edition, encouraging submissions in all forms of writing. Writers are invited to submit flash fiction and non-fiction entries until Friday 25th October, 2024.

The prize aims to encourage short-form writing with no limitations on style or form, offering two £1,000 prizes for the flash fiction and flash non-fiction categories, as well as additional runner-up prizes for each category.

aAh! Magazine speaks to Sara Hills, the non-fiction winner from the 2022 QuietManDave prize, about her thoughts on the competition experience, her creative practice, and advice to other writers.

What are you up to at the moment?

The past 12 months have been wildly busy, from judging competitions to co-editing the National Flash Fiction Day anthology and festival work. It’s been such an honor to be entrusted with other people’s words, and I’ve learned so much from these experiences. However, I’m also grateful to be having a bit of a reflective lull at the moment. I have a new chapbook and some individual stories on submission, but mostly I’m just enjoying diving back into the writing process, laying down word after word, and seeing what comes.

What has your journey to writing been like? 

Definitely up and down. 30-odd years ago I thought I wanted to be a journalist who only dabbled in creating writing. But life happened, as it tends to do, and I found myself in the valley of motherhood. I surrendered to it completely for about ten years before I started writing again, mostly as a balm to culture shock and only in secret while my children were sleeping. It wasn’t until I was living in an English-speaking country again that I started sharing my work. I enrolled in a couple of short story classes and joined an online critique group. I had my first story accepted back in 2015, followed by a whole lot of nothing. But I was learning in that time; I’m always learning. In 2019 a good friend suggested I try writing flash fiction, and I’ve not looked back. Writing short is wildly addictive.

Can you tell me about what prompted you to enter the prize, what about this particular literary prize encouraged you to submit? 

I first learned of the QuietManDave prize when some of the writers I greatly admire either won or were shortlisted in the inaugural year. And what fantastic stories! Certainly, the ethos of the award appeals to me as I definitely don’t have what we think of as the “typical” writer’s background: I don’t have an MFA; I’m middle-aged; I grew up quite poor with difficult family circumstances, and those sort of reverberated into every area of my life. But experience and age shouldn’t be a detriment. I love that this award is in honor of someone who started writing later, who became fiercely passionate about it. I can relate to that.

Can you describe your artistic practice a little? Your short piece handled memory and the movement/static nature of time beautifully, does this play into your general work?

The themes that really resonate with me include women’s and family issues, especially child welfare. While I’ve written some humorous pieces, my work tends to skew dark, especially when I’m writing pieces that are close to the bone. But I also have a fond affection for poetic devices, especially alliteration, repetition, and rhythm. I love to dig into the mood of a story, the colours and textures of the setting, the era. While I sometimes play with different forms (lists, braids, etc.), I always start with the story and let it inform the structure and decide what it wants to be.

Was it difficult approaching a prize with both a tiny word limitation but no limitation on style? How did you reconcile these two aspects?

Anything goes is kind of a hallmark for flash writing, and I suppose it can be daunting at times. But one of the benefits of a limited word count is that, as a writer, you can sustain just about anything for 500-words as long as there’s a sense of movement or urgency. As long as you’re providing the reader with a character or stakes they can care about, you can bend structure or dialect or reality. I think the constraint of a limited word count really helps because you have to drill a story down to a moment that matters. That’s always my first intention, sculpting a narrative that I care about, and I try not to worry too much about the rest.

The dreaded question, what is your writing process like? 

I love a good prompt, and I’d say that’s where 90% of my work arises from. But I’m a slow writer and a creature of comfort. I need a quiet, warm place to write until I get into the flow of something, and then I can just tune everything out. I mostly work at my desk or on the sofa, though I have been known to draft an idea on a long, straight stretch of the motorway. I always start by hand in a cheap notebook. Well, nearly always. I feel like writing by hand and in isolation allows me to be honest on the page, more so than I would be if I wrote in a crowded cafe or a group setting or straight onto the computer. It’s those stories that carry a sense of honesty and at least a kernel of my own truth that I’m most proud of.

What advice would you give to those just starting to submit their pieces? 

Throw everything at the page—all your boiled hurts, your dreams, the weird way you see the world—and see what sticks. Aim to surprise yourself. Use prompts, art, grocery lists. Seek support from workshops to substacks to advice from critique groups. There are so many inspiring teachers out there, I can’t begin to name them all, but check out SmokeLong Quarterly’s workshop community, as well as the Flash Fiction Festival, The Flash Cabin; substacks, workshops and other resources from Kathy Fish, Tommy Dean, Jo Gatford, and Matt Kendrick. And if submitted pieces come back to you, edit them again. Keep sending them out. Keep taking chances.

What advice would you give to those engaging in life writing/ autobiographical work?

Above all, be honest. Give your ego the day off, and then really try to drench yourself in humility and the sensory details of memory.

Can you recommend any writers that have inspired your own style? Who are you reading at the minute?

Hands down, Kathy Fish’s writing has been a huge inspiration to me. She’s one of the greats, and her flash fiction stories were among the first I encountered. Plus, she’s the loveliest human. Recent reads and writers that I hold up as exemplary include Jude Higgins, whose incredible new collection ‘Clearly Defined Clouds’ embodies the playful nature of flash; Molly Giles’ flash memoir Life Span feels both humorous and unflinchingly honest; and Sarah Freligh’s flash novella Hereafter is a master class in concision and emotion. I’m currently reading Carrie Etter’s poetry collection, Grief’s Alphabet, Michael Czyzniejewski’s And I Will Love You For the Rest of My Life: Break Up Stories, as well as Oliver Burkeman’s new book Meditations for Mortals—because who among us couldn’t use more time and encouragement to follow our passions?

For more information about the prize and to enter, visit mmu.ac.uk/qmdprize. The competition closes at 5pm (UK time) on Friday 25th October, 2024