"One Short Story a month. Payout of $100 + 50% of subscription revenue"
Open:
Yes
Vibe: Send us your best but less intimidating
Response time:
1 month
Payment:
Yes
Simultaneous submissions:
Yes
Previously published:
Yes
Submission fee:
Free
Expedited submissions:
No
Available in print:
No
Examples online:
Yes

Important stuff

Pays! $100 + 50% of subscription revenue
Accept previously published

Genres

👌

Fiction

Max words: 10000

Examples

'Abrama's Endgame' by David Shultz

(excerpt)
Abrama had been summoned to the Grand Temple by one of the more fascinating outsiders, the paladin Sir Gödel. Between stone pillars, the crowd bustled with the trailing cloaks of shadow elves, the glimmering pauldrons of paladins, the broad shoulders of her orc brethren, and the small skittering bodies of goblins. Abrama always watched carefully. Even now, she recognized the difference between the natives and the outsiders, physically identical, but nonetheless altogether different beings. An elf popped into view, moved erratically, then disappeared—all typical behaviors of the outsiders, and more-or-less exclusive to them—back to whichever world from which they had come. None of the other natives seemed to notice. They never did.
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'Depression Séance' by Bruce Boston

(excerpt)
Autumn of the Great Depression, 1938: I remember the year well because it contained the only truly supernatural experiences of my life. I was in the third grade at the time, eight years old, and my family had just moved from the rectilinear confines of Manhattan to the then relatively wide-open spaces of Queens. My grandmother on my father’s side had died the year before, leaving us her house: an old two-story white frame stuffed full of unwieldy furniture, musty rugs, a fine china service for eight on display in the glassed-in dining room cupboards, and an ill-tuned upright piano that wouldn’t close all the way, so that the chipped edges of its ivory teeth were always grinning out at you.
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'The Garden Club' by Phil Bowie

(excerpt)
Marvin Tolland said, “Stella, those wicked bitches are going to drive this town to ruin.” “Oh, for God’s sake, Marv,” his wife said from across the dining table. “How on earth can thirteen women be held responsible for the ills of an entire town? We’re just a chattery flock of plant lovers. Our projects have beautified the whole county. You want to tell me Kafer Park hasn’t been a blessing?” “Walter Hoover is dead, Stella.”
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'The Mummer’s Parade' by Zev Edwards

(excerpt)
New York, circa 1975. December, in the rain. Early morning coffee and conversation was how they started their Sundays, especially in the rain. It was always raining that year. “How can you be so selfish?” she asked. “What do you mean?” “The people’s struggle.” Despite the drowsiness on her face, her eyes were wide awake. “How can you say it’s more important to focus on yourself when so many people are suffering? Whatever happened to being the change you wanted to see in the world?”
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