Tagged: Drabble

Greetings, children of the dark. The summer has returned here in London town, and I’m really trying not going to take it for granted. And yet, even though I was born and bred in one of Australia’s hottest and driest cities, I struggle in the heat. Especially over here, in a city and a country that is built to keep the heat in. It’s so clammy and sweaty and gross out there. Maybe I’ll just ignore it and curl up with a book in front of the fan (yep, no air con here!) instead…

Before I do, though, it’s my twisted pleasure to bring you this week’s edition of TWF. And it’s a good ‘un, if I do say so myself. Once this is off my desk and into the hands of the boss man, I’ll start going through all the submissions that came in for our latest short story submission window. If you haven’t yet heard from us, hold tight! It’s a manual process, but I’ll get back to everyone who submitted with an acknowledgement over the next few days before the TWF team settles down to review your work. As always, we’re oversubscribed: we can only accept around 12 stories each window, as we only publish one per week, and we’re now getting almost 100 submissions each time we open. On the one hand, if you get that golden acceptance, well done you! What a prize! But on the other, if you miss out then it’s not personal; it’s always a tough call. We always try to give a bit of feedback as to why you didn’t make the cut for us. These things are somewhat subjective, and just because you didn’t find a home with TWF doesn’t mean the right home isn’t out there waiting for you. Don’t give up, and keep at it. Like writing, submitting is a muscle you need to keep working at.

Want some low-risk submission practice? We’re always looking for drabbles! Send ‘em in!

Now onto the good stuff.

This week’s menu of dark speculative fiction has as its centrepiece an uncanny memory from Sammi Leigh Melville. That’s followed by the short, sharp speculations of:

• Andrew Keyworth’s hungry beast,
• DJ Tyrer’s jungle adventures, and
• Weird Wilkins’ stand-off.

Over to you, Stuart.

Greetings, children of the dark. It’s all deadlines in TWF Towers this week, with our short story submissions window closing at the end of today (wherever you are in the world), and our summer special closing to subs tomorrow, 15 July. Get ‘em in quick, or miss out! If you’ve subbed over these windows, you’ll get your acknowledgement in the next few days. Everything is manual here; we don’t have any of those handy auto-response systems so your first hurdle, after getting the courage to hit submit, is to wear your most patient trousers.

The summer special will be Shalini’s last issue with us, and I am sad. But, as hinted a few weeks back, we’ve got a slew of new faces moving into TWF Towers and I can’t wait to introduce you to them. Just waiting on the boss being available to chat to people in a different time zone / not being on holiday. (I mean, how dare he, right?!)

My battery is very much drained today, so I’m going to send you straight into it.

This week’s menu of dark speculative fiction kicks things off with Alice Yustas, and a heartbreaking tale that goes to a place you’re not expecting. Note the content warning here for domestic abuse. That’s followed by the short, sharp speculations of:

• Alice Lawson’s eco lament,
• Ryan van Ells’s buggy grossness (seriously; it’s not for anyone with insect phobias), and
• Jack Fennell’s test subjects.

Over to you, Stuart.

Greetings, children of the dark of July. (July!?!) For those of you on the other side of the pond, I hope you’re enjoying your holiday weekend. If you’re on my side, well, I’m writing this the day before the election so all I can do is keep my fingers crossed and hope for the best!

It’s been great to see some short stories start coming our way again, so a quick reminder: we’re open to short story submissions to the general section of TWF for just one more week. Yep, we’ll close again on 14 July, so get in quick if you want us to consider your work for publication. But remember, these 2-week windows are not the only way to see your name in TWF—we also have our themed submission calls (currently considering the summer special, so hurry up if you have a dark summer-set piece for Shalini’s final round in the seat!), as well as our unholy trinities (three related drabbles as a set) and serialised stories (up to 15,000 words, able to be put into chapters for drip-fed publication). And, of course, we have an insatiable need for drabbles for these weekly pages. We publish three of those every darn week, so you can imagine how hungry that drabble beast gets! That’s plenty of opportunities. And, if I’m being honest, you’ll have a better chance of getting onto our pages with a drabble than anything else; our short story submissions are tightly-contested, and we get waaaaaay more submitted than we’re able to publish. Get cracking on those 100-word beauties!

For now, though, let’s tuck into this week’s menu of dark speculative fiction and kick things off with a creature feature courtesy of Kevin M Folliard. That’s followed by the short, sharp speculations of:

• W.H. Vigo’s critter problem,
• Debbie Paterson’s dark musing, and
• Liam Kerry’s family business.

Over to you, Stuart.

Greetings, children of the dark. Two bits of (I hope!) good news for you all for this final day of June. 

First of all, the team has now made its way through allllll the spring short story submissions, and you should’ve heard back by now. If you haven’t, check your spam before you chase us! Thanks to everyone who submitted to the spring window; we had about 6 times as many submissions as we had spaces to fill, so please don’t be disheartened if you didn’t get good news from us. We had to make some difficult decisions. 

Related to that good news (and the flipside for us, kinda!): the summer submissions window opens tomorrow, 1 July. You’ve got two weeks to get your darkly speculative short stories to us for consideration. Please, please make sure you check our submissions guidelines first; we can tell when you don’t, and it doesn’t put us in a good mood. Also note that, as has been the case for at least the last 18 months, we are veering very much towards the speculative side of fiction. That means real-world horror like torture p*rn, serial killers, crime, etc etc, will need to find a different home (and there are plenty out there for this stuff). Instead, send us your supernatural and paranormal tales, your grimdark, your space horror, your dark fantasy/folklore/fairytales, your eco-horror—basically, anything that falls under “speculative”, or stories set in something other than the real world as we know it in our day-to-day. 

Finally, thanks to everyone who responded to our call a few weeks ago for more hands on deck to help steer the good ship Horror Tree. The boss has been chatting to lots of great people, and I myself am excited to say we’re expanding the TWF Towers team—even getting a new admin helper, which will hopefully mean you don’t have to wait so long for responses from us. It’s going to be a game-changer. I’ll introduce you to them all once we’ve had a chance to do a proper kick-off amongst ourselves, but as a little teaser: Horror Tree representation on this side of the pond is about to get a major boost!

For now, though, let’s tuck into this week’s menu of dark speculative fiction. Our centrepiece, from Simon Kewin, contemplates whether that image in the mirror can truly be trusted. That’s followed by the short, sharp speculations of:

• Weird Wilkins’ universal contemplation,
• Jacek Wilkos’ fairytale flip, and
• Jameson Grey’s quiet warning.

Over to you, Stuart.

Greetings, children of the dark. I’m preparing this week’s edition rather early (much to the delight of the boss, I’m sure) because I’m about to do what no horror writer should ever do: head into the woods, alone, to stay at an off-grid cabin for a few nights. I know, I know. But hear me out: disconnection is exactly what I need right now. I’m so darn burned out I can barely think. So I’m taking myself off to commune with nature and do all manner of hippy/witchy things like talk to the trees and journal in a meadow. I will also, of course, be carrying a massive stack of books with me so I can make the most of the hammock they provide. Keep your fingers crossed for good weather, because these things are never guaranteed in England! And while you’re there, keep them crossed that I come back with a mountain of notes and cryptic clues to help me get back into my own writing, yeah? Then I can stop saying “if only…” and actually start doing.

And when I get back, this week’s column will be sparkly and ready for you to read online. Our menu of dark speculative fiction this week is ushered in by a trip through the apocalypse with Joshua Ginsberg. That’s followed by the short, sharp speculations of:

• Cristina Mirzoi’s universal ruin,
• RM Lubin’s creature rampage, and
• DJ Tyrer’s basement dwellers.

Over to you, Stuart.

Greetings, children of the dark. We’ve hit the week of the Solstice, which means here in the UK the days are about as long as they’ll ever be. I’m celebrating by doing that very horror thing of heading to a cabin in the woods for a mini-creative recovery/retreat type of thing. I’d love to know what you’re up to: do you celebrate these moments in time? 

For that reason, and because I’m writing this the day before my next Writing the Occult event and so my brain is a bit too wired, I’ll keep it short this week. Just one note: remember that our short story submissions are only open in four windows now. We just couldn’t keep up with the submissions, and because we can only publish one story a week it was the sensible thing to do—noone wants to wait literal years to see their story on a website, right? Anything submitted to us outside of those windows will unfortunately be returned to you unread. 

That said, we have a window coming up… Make sure to check out our submissions guidelines for details of what and when we’re open. We can tell if you haven’t looked at them. And remember, we’re ALWAYS open for drabbles! Insatiably so. Feed the drabbles beast!

For this week’s darkly speculative offerings, our menu kicks off with despatches from a failing neighbourhood, direct from the mind of Benjamin Larned. That’s followed by the short, sharp speculations of:

• Keith B. Walters’s failed sacrifice,
• Gabrielle Bleu’s Ice Age revival, and
• F.M. Scott’s mad science.

Over to you, Stuart.

Greetings, children of the dark. I’ve got to say, you have blown me away in the last week! We had such a great response to the call-outs for helpers both with TWF and with Horror Tree as a whole and I am feeling the community love right now. But please know this isn’t a once in a lifetime kinda thing; we’re always looking for more helpers, particularly in terms of people to do interviews, write articles and reviews, and generally make Horror Tree the brilliant resource that everyone knows and loves. If you’ve got ideas or want to get involved, email us at [email protected] and let’s chat. Stuart’s especially keen to grow the YouTube channel, so if you’re harbouring secret desires to be a YouTuber/famous content creator, now’s your chance!

For this week’s darkly speculative offerings, our menu’s centrepiece is a creepy thing found in a dark cave created by regular TWF contributor Catherine Berry. That’s followed by the short, sharp speculations of:

• Corinne Pollard’s hunger issues,
• Sarah-Beth Watkins’s folkloric dabbling, and
• Andy Meek’s misplaced curiosity.

Finally, a final plug for my next event which takes place virtually on Saturday. Writing the Occult: Connection to Land has a bumper lineup, no less than 10 sessions featuring some of the best speculative fiction writers around, and it’s all yours both live and recorded for just £40+booking fee (that’s around US$50). If you’ve ever wondered how to make the landscape a driving force in your narrative, if you’re pondering that ecohorror or climate thriller, if you’re wanting to get spiritual about the environment, this is for you—readers, writers, interested parties, all are welcome. Details, etc, over at writingtheoccult.carrd.co, or grab your ticket here! 

Over to you, Stuart.