"We’re a literary journal for pattern-finders"
Vibe: Send us your best but less intimidating
Response time:
3 months
Payment:
No
Simultaneous submissions:
Yes
Previously published:
No
Submission fee:
Free
Expedited submissions:
No
Available in print:
No
Examples online:
Yes

Important stuff

Make you feel at home: cozy, meme-friendly, a sense of community, all that stuff
Active on social media
Helpful: reposting other opportunities on their Twitter:)

Genres

👌

Fiction

Max words: 2000Short Fiction - up to 2 per submission, max. 1000 words
👌

Nonfiction

Max words: 2000Max pieces: 3
👌

Poetry

Max pieces: 3
👌

Review

Max words: 2000
👌

Art

Max pieces: 2
👌

Audio

Max pieces: 1
👌

Video

Max pieces: 1

Examples

'Vanitas of City in Sixteen Truths' by Zoe Grace Marquedant

(excerpt)
A homeless man with unrelinquishing mange stopping traffic to stare at roadkill, which looked like a fistful of raw hamburger someone dropped on the street. Human feces. A girl I went to high school with who bullied everyone except the kid everyone else bullied. A high-flier wearing muted sweats stumbling up to the emergency button, that blue circle resembling the earth from space, and calmly relayed to the dispatcher that he was ODing again. A man carrying a watermelon like a child in a detachable car seat. A black and white cat with at least twenty-two toes laying in the sun and dust outside the Mobil.
Read the full piece in the magazine

'Forgotten Rituals' by Ange Yang

(excerpt)
The tiles in my apartment corridor are stained with the mid-morning sun, footprints and dust mites dancing across sunbeams. The crack near the lift entrance still hasn’t been repaired. I walk through here every day, counting the exact twenty five steps between my door and the lift that will take me down three floors to the front road. Mondays are usually quiet, my neighbours left for their days. Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays are the same. If I leave my apartment three minutes earlier, I run into the office worker two doors down, with his neatly pressed shirts and his crooked tie. I haven’t seen him smile in a year, and he hasn’t seen mine, but I gather from the way his eyes crinkle in the corner and the way his mask shifts when our gazes meet, that we’re still smiling at each other.
Read the full piece in the magazine

'Bloom' by Rachel Tanner

(excerpt)
Life stands still most days. I call my health insurance company. Stay on hold for 3 hours. Argue with a lady named Meg about my deductible. The pharmacy's phone is answered by a robot now. I know that it's just a recording, but it still sounds like it hates me.
Read the full piece in the magazine

'Upon the Unlikely Radiance within a Zillow Listing' by Rick Hollon

(excerpt)
In Ohio the sun shines for just one day in October when realtors swarm the hills their cameras light-starved supping at last upon gold and boys taste wind in their kites for the first and only time before retiring to raincoats and broken trailer homes
Read the full piece in the magazine

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