The National Flash Fiction Day youth competition is open! Details are on the NFFD website. Flash Frontier Editor Neema Singh talked this month with the 2025 NFFD youth judge Shilo Kino about her books, her language journey and her view on the competition.
Neema Singh: Kia ora Shilo, and welcome. Let’s begin with what you are currently working on.
Shilo Kino: I’m writing my new book now – you kind of get immersed into it and into the new characters and things. The idea of going back to an old book that I wrote is interesting because you have to go back to that time and place when you wrote it.
“Your reo is not lost”: on the experience of language
NS: Both your books integrate te reo quite naturally and I feel this is something important to you. Particularly in All That We Know, there are many discussions around the history of te reo in Aotearoa and how that impacts people today. Māreikura says, “I’m just here to get my language” – expressing the idea of getting something back – yet Whaea Terina responds to this with, “Your reo is not lost. It’s not something that you get or you come to collect, like a Pak’n’Save click and collect”. I love this! You’re exploring these ideas about what language is and our attitude to it. As well as a lot of issues around exclusion and inclusion, feelings of shame and language as strength. Can you tell us more about your thoughts in general on language and your thoughts on the use of te reo in your books?
SK: My experience of language started when I went to Hong Kong as a missionary and I learned Mandarin. That was my experience of learning a second language for the first time. When I learned Mandarin, it opened up a whole new world to me. It was just incredible the way that the language connected me to the people. It was really hard, but it was a really beautiful experience. And I remember when I was over there in Hong Kong, they would always ask me, “Hey, can you speak your language to me?” And I couldn’t speak te reo Māori at that time. So I would speak English to them and they would say, “No, no, no, your language”. And that was the first time I was struck by the realisation that I don’t know my own language, but I can speak someone else’s language, Mandarin.
Then when I went home I was really determined to learn te reo Māori. And when I did learn Māori, it was a different experience to learning Mandarin because there’s something about learning your own ancestral language and how it connects you back to your ancestors which can be very powerful. But also, the trauma – that intergenerational language trauma that has come from our history of language, of te reo Māori being beaten from my grandparents – so that came with it too. I couldn’t understand why it was so hard for me to learn te reo Māori, but I was able to grasp Mandarin which is one of the hardest languages in the world. All That We Know is about Māreikura and her journey into te reo Māori which is based on my own personal experiences and what it was like for me to retain my own language. It’s about how it’s the most beautiful experience and simultaneously the hardest as well, the most challenging.
With learning any language and especially with learning te reo Māori, you’re not just learning the language, you’re learning every single layer that comes with it. The layers of history and the whakapapa and the ways of being that come with language and the connection back to the whenua. All That We Know addresses a lot of issues with Māori, but what I would say is that there is a lot of promise of things that comes with the learning of te reo Māori as the native language of Aotearoa that is not just for Maori but the promise for all. Your world will open up in ways that you can never imagine and I think that’s for everyone.
NS: It’s interesting you say that because Māreikura’s character is quite upset seeing the Pākehā around her taking up space in learning te reo Māori.
SK: Yeah, so I think there’s a lot of grief that comes with that. For me, and I’m not saying for every single Māori, but for many on that reclamation journey, that grief can turn to anger and that anger can be protected, especially when it feels like it might be non-Māori or Pākehā who are getting the language much faster. All of those things can be quite difficult to navigate.
Mātauranga Māori: immersive experience
NS: And I think you have captured that difficulty so well in the book. So when you use te reo Māori in your writing is it something you are thinking about consciously or does it happen naturally?
SK: When I wrote The Pōrangi Boy I couldn’t really speak te reo Māori but the words in there were natural because I realised that growing up I did hear te reo Māori – the words that are quite general like kai or tangiweto which is crybaby, which my brothers used to call me. Pōrangi as well – so there were a lot of words that I would hear, but for some of it I would have to look up a word and then put it in The Pōrangi Boy and it was almost forced in that way because I wanted it to be in there. But with All That We Know, because I was in the midst of full immersion it came naturally and kind of flowed out.
NS: I also really like your local references – Niko eating Twisties in The Pōrangi Boy, Māreikura drinking Pals in All That We Know. Your writing feels very grounded in the local. Can you tell us a bit about your thinking behind this?
SK: I think it was a natural process because it’s just what I know. Like there’s Twisties and salt and vinegar chips, those are the things that were part of my childhood. And Pals – I don’t drink but everyone around me drinks Pals and I see them everywhere.
NS: I love how you embed mātauranga Māori into your books, just as you do te reo. I was learning about tikanga and concepts of tapu and noa at the time I was reading The Pōrangi Boy and came to the part where Niko washes his hands after visiting the cemetery and I felt so excited to understand that! I am sure many of your Māori readers must feel so seen to be reading little details like this. We are immersed in this world and culture without explanation, and I really love that there is no explanation. I feel that sometimes Māori and people of other cultures are put into this explaining role, and it can get quite exhausting. Was this a conscious choice to weave in tikanga and cultural practices or did it occur naturally as you wrote?
SK: It’s interesting you say that because I used to think that I didn’t grow up in te ao Māori, I used to think that I grew up in te ao Pākehā. But those little things like washing your hands after you go into the cemetery, taking your shoes off before going inside – I realised it’s the tikanga that I grew up with. Those are the things that weren’t really explained to me – it was an inherent knowing. Then writing those things came naturally because it’s how I grew up. Even washing hands after going to the cemetery – I just thought that everyone knew that, but I realised that not everyone does. I thought that was a universal thing, but it’s not, which is interesting to me.
Decolonisation and creativity
NS: Decolonisation keeps coming up in All That We Know – especially from Māreikura, but also from other characters and things happening in the book. I love how Māreikura tells everyone how she doesn’t drink because “I’m decolonising my whakakpapa” – it’s funny but also carries truth. Māreikura is so focused on doing the right thing and quite self-righteous at times and we can see her inflexibility – but she also makes some very good points. I’m interested to know your thoughts on decolonisation in terms of day-to-day life and what this looks like for you?
SK: Māreikura is human. She is very complex and comes across as you say in your question here, quite self-righteous and also hypocritical, because she preaches about decolonising her whakapapa while she’s got a drink in her hand, drinking! Which is purposely done. I think when you become so black and white and you’re thinking with no nuance, that can lead to self-destruction, which is what happens to Māreikura. She is very set in her own ways and ideas and is determined not to listen to anyone. But that’s the journey she goes on.
There’s this argument about whether to use the term decolonisation or indigenising, but I will use decolonising because that’s what I got from Linda Tuhiwai Smith and her book Decolonizing Methodologies, which is an incredible book about how to decolonise. Decolonisation can look different for everyone because even speaking for Māori is an act of resistance and a way of decolonising. But there’s also a lot of talk about tino rangatiratanga and how we get that into our own lives and have self-determination for ourselves and for our family. I think that’s what decolonisation is, but I think it looks different for everyone.
On writing complex, current characters
NS: I’m interested in the way you have developed characters. What was it like creating Māreikura’s character?
SK: Māreikura’s character is very fiery and I love her. I really love Māreikura and I loved writing her and it wasn’t until I finished writing the book that I found out that she was really unlikable. I went on Goodreads and had a look and so many people say how unlikable she is. I didn’t realise at the time because I thought that she was just imperfect – she’s in her twenties and she’s trying to find herself and her way home, and she’s stumbling as she’s doing so and burning everyone around her and making mistakes.
When it came to creating her character, some of her experiences are based on some of my own experiences and some of her character is based on what I was seeing online on social media with social media activists and the way they were coming across. Also, I think especially young people in that space of social media and activism are often propelled as voices for entire generations or voices for an entire history of our country you know. They’re asked to speak on really deep and complex issues and when they do they’re put on a pedestal. And that can be dangerous territory when we put our young people out there and expect them to carry such a load. That’s what I was trying to portray with Māreikura as well, that as a young high school student she was propelled by going viral and continued to be put on this pedestal throughout the book.
NS: Well, I really like her character!
SK: Thank you for that!
On writing process
NS: Can you give us a glimpse into your writing process? Is there anything that you have been focusing on with your craft that you could share with us?
SK: The writing process has been different each time for each book. The Pōrangi Boy was born from Toni Morrison’s quote, “If there’s a book that you want to read but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.” The Pōrangi Boy was for little me growing up. I thought to myself, “What would I have loved to read? I would love to have read a book like this – I’m gonna write it.”
Then All That We Know is a book that I would have wanted to read when I was in my twenties. And the writing process for that was that it just came out because I was going through one of the hardest times of my life and writing was the way that I was able to process and heal. I had never experienced that before with writing, but it was such a healing process.
But now I’m pretty peaceful so it’s a different process in my life. This writing process now has been different and I’m following a few things. I’m following the Maramataka, which is the Māori moon calendar cycle and there are different phases of the moon. For example, there’s the full moon which is Rakaunui, which we’re heading into now. That’s very high energy and it’s a good time to write. Then there are other phases where it’s low energy. I’m trying to follow those ways so I know the good times when I can write and get things done and then some days where I know it won’t be productive so I’ll go and do something else, which has been really good. That’s one process that is different to what I’ve done before. Another process too that’s been different this time is that I have the characters and I don’t have a plot. I’m letting the characters lead me into the story which is so different. It’s kind of like the characters are writing the story and I’m just letting it go wherever.
On writing (with an eye on NFFD): simple and fresh
NS: We are so excited to have you as our youth judge for National Flash Fiction Day competition 2025! For those young flash fiction writers out there, could you share with us some things you might be looking for in a sharp and successful 300 word piece?
SK: Sometimes the best writing is about nothing at all. People often think that in stories you have to have a big plot, like all these big things happen. When actually some of my favourite books or writing is when it’s just about a day in their family or maybe something they’re doing with their friends like walking to the dairy or a snapshot of everyday life. This can be really beautiful. What I am looking for is something that is simple but fresh and intimate as well. Have you read Greta and Valdin? I love that book, and this is just an example, the first chapter is about Valdin going to the post office to pick up a package. It’s very mundane but by the end of the chapter you feel devastated for him. There’s beauty in the mundane.
NS: Fantastic advice, thank you! Is there anything else you would like to share?
SK: Good luck and kia kaha to all the kids and students who are writing. I’m really excited to read all the pieces.
Shilo Kino (Ngāpuhi, Ngāti Maniapoto, Ngāti Te Ata) is an award-winning author and former journalist. Her debut novel, The Pōrangi Boy, won the 2021 Young Adult Fiction Award, and her 2024 adult fiction novel, All That We Know, debuted at number one on the NZ Booksellers fiction chart and was longlisted for the 2025 Ockham New Zealand Book Awards. Shilo is a former journalist who has written for Newsroom, NZ Herald, The Spinoff, The Guardian, North & South. She currently lives in Tāmaki Makaurau.