Acceptance relies on following our guidelines. We do not accept simultaneous submissions. We do not accept reprints of any previously published story, even if it was only published on your blog or tumblr or if a photograph of it was hosted on flickr.
We are interested in entirely original content, so your stories should be unpublished pieces, meaning that they should never have even met the internet before. We do not accept stories that might have hung out with the internet one night at a party and had a few drinks, yes, even it was just 140 characters on twitter. Even if it was just an excerpt, your story is now dirty and used. We don’t approve of it anymore. We can’t accept it.
Your story should never passed through a printer, should be unstained by ink. You should have given your story a promise ring and told it to be faithful to you, and only you, until you met the right publication and agreed that your story could have first publication rights there.
Your stories could be written on an airlocked computer, one that has never been connected to the internet or a printer but it would be better if your story was written in pencil on a notepad. You can be sure of paper, since it is made of death. Dead trees don’t speak. It would be best if you just thought your story, kept it locked in your brain behind the bone of your skull. It is best if your story is scarred in this meat.
If your story is based on your experience, it should also be unwitnessed experience. You should be alone when stories happen to you. Witnesses talk, and you can’t be sure of their perfect silence. Witnesses may have seen your experience and shared it themselves, or thought of it, or told it as a story at a family gathering rendering it published, and unusable ever again.
You should not talk about your story, or take it out of your legal residence, where others might see it. We hate to tell you this but the world isn’t safe anymore, not for stories, and something could happen. This isn’t a threat it’s just a reality for stories now. The world is cold and poisons are leeching into our water. We are all slowly burning.
If you want an unread story it’s best that you keep it inside with an alarm system. There is no one you can really trust with your story. Animals have disease, friends abandon you and family can’t be trusted, not with stories. Keep your stories a secret. They are so vulnerable, and so small. You more than anyone should know this.
You can submit by crawling under your desk and whispering a story into a crack in the wood of the darkest corner. We will listen. We are waiting for your small story, for your warm breath in that crack. We are waiting to accept your story. We are waiting to accept you. Come. Wear something warm. We are waiting.