Most events are installed on their deadline date, unless there is a long submission window or unless it's a rolling submission.
P=Poetry, N=Nonfiction, F=Fiction
You’re in. Stay out of. If it isn’t too much. Get in good. Trouble is the prompt for Issue 9. Send us your work, troubling or not, but please, no cruelty to animals…and, come to think of it, no wolves.
As we approach these cooler months, we invite you to send us work that reflects on states of dormancy, whether they be chosen, given, natural, unnatural, or imposed
Laal (लाल) translates to the colour Red. Let this colour bleed into every form, every voice, every memory. Let it remain untamed.
Write to us what laal invokes for you.
For this issue we’re looking at Indigenous Peoples and Friends, both the history and current relations.
Rats and raccoons go together like... well, something. We all like trash. Also, funerals. Probably? We don't know what it means either. We want to read your spin on the theme. Do with it what you will. Open genre.
For this issue, we seek accounts of meaningful encounters—with people, places, or animals—that have altered your perspective or understanding of the world, as well as re-imaginings of what it means to encounter and be encountered by others.
Visit a museum––can you hear the muses singing?
For our upcoming issue, we want stories, poems, and hybrids that unearth the horror of embodiment. Think haunted anatomy, sentient scars, inherited monstrosity. Is your skin a map or a mask? Show us where it hurts, and how it changes you.
Take your reader on a journey in this month's competition for short fiction that in some way involves travel
We want to hear from poets who publish in non-traditional ways, who hold unusual beliefs, who write what isn't popular, or feel that they don't fit in.
This issue invites contributors to consider the emotional, political, and physical dimensions of home in flux. We’re especially interested in work that addresses displacement and alienation in their many forms.
This issue will explore the vagaries of nationalism, citizenship lost and found, what it means to have more than one national identity or passport, and to have none. So, who, what, where is your tribe?
For October, we invite you to explore Rite in all its forms: sacred or secular, celebratory or unsettling, personal or collective. What happens when a rite is denied, disrupted, or transformed? Explore the power that rituals hold over us when the candles burn low and we think no one is watching.
Everyone deserves a second chance, but that chance is not always freely given. How does redemption affect the human experience– or does it not?
We are interested in work that reflects on the systems we unearth around us. Living as we are, we are interwoven and defined by the systems we support, fight against, and ponder about.
Poems should be on the theme of WEATHER (or WHETHER) – we’ll leave it to you how you interpret the theme.
Show us what it means to love something unironically and to risk sincerity in a world that rewards cynicism. How do we “kill the part that cringes” so the part that loves can finally breathe?
In the spirit of promoting global peace and contemplative artistic expression, Zen Peacemaker’s showcases three haiku a month on this page.
Surprise us with work that stretches the meaning of kinship—personal or collective, intimate or cosmic—while staying true to the urgency of our times.
In a time of fake news and counterfeits, scammers and artificial intelligence, tell us how you’re sifting through the layers of conceit. Send us your most suspicious stories, fallacious arguments, and prose that teeters between fact and fiction.