The 2026 lit mag rankings are now available from my website! They include an overall ranking, as well as separate rankings for fiction, flash fiction, non-fiction and poetry. If you find these helpful, please show your support by liking & sharing 🙏

So windy over here we can’t tell the sparrows from the maple leaves zooming past the windows. I dreamt of a funnel cloud touching down at the end of our driveway. I dreamt we all made it into the basement.

Morning prompt based on last night's Flannery O'Connor reading: think of a basic activity of living and put the worst person you know in it. Write from their POV for ten minutes.

Saturday night plans

This doorway has seven hundred stories to tell.

The sugar maple branches now like witch fingers, long bones. Spacer heater ticking. From my bed, I can see the road sign saying there's a stop sign coming soon.

The kid wants a LEGO set, @smokelong.bsky.social. A big one, he said.

My check arrived today from a class action lawsuit in which one of my former employers was rounding down our timesheets AND I saw a downy woodpecker 💫

Skies of black birds. The overnight rain feels like a foreign country. I haven’t seen mud in so long.

I have joined the Illinois Native Plant Society but I'm afraid to attend a meeting since I am really an imposter and I'm sure they are all experts. Gathering the courage. Maybe in the spring 🌱

My school district does a holiday gift sign-up that I look forward to all year. It is finally time. A 5yo who is into unicorns? YES. A 10 yo who wants to be a scientist? Let’s GOOOOOOOO 🎁

The sexiest words you can say to me in the morning? Come look at the sky.

Fantastic braided essay on the writing life and the art of flash fiction by @thorntonforreal.bsky.social ✨

How can I make jewelry out of my zebra grass?

Thanks to @jmwwjournal.bsky.social for letting me think thru my own writing journey in this craft/personal essay. As usual, writing this helped me see.

I woke up very early so I walked on my treadmill in the dark mud room watching headlights on the highway a field over. It was like sleeping, maybe better. I might do it again.

My kid wants a dual cassette player for Christmas so he can make his own mix tapes. I am SO EXCITED.

Roasted poblanos & anaheims for green chili. Making apple crumble next. I cant save the world but I can make it smell better.

Folks, we are now OPEN until December 15th! Lit mag editors, please send us your 5 nominated stories! Judged by Diane Seuss. @dseuss.bsky.social www.bestmicrofiction.com #FlashFiction #Microfiction #LiteraryMagazines #Author #Writers #Writing #ShortStory #WritingCommunity #WritingAndBooks

The leaves on the sugar maple are almost gone and I can see the neighbor's mailbox now from my bed. It's painted white and crooked in the ground. The pine tree will be green all winter.

This is the magic field. It always looks like a painting regardless of season or weather. Crops or no crops. There is always a bird singing in the ditch.

Ominous dream that all the muppets were leaving. Single file through an open chain link gate. I sobbed and sobbed.

It’s the orangiest, crispiest, sunniest, red brown, cool windiest, clear sky Halloween here 🎃💀🍁

My son has a friend who sits on a rock pile behind the silo in our little town to watch the trains go by. Haven’t figured out if he is a thoughtful, dreamy boy who wishes to travel or if he just really likes trains. Will report back.

We’ll be reopening for submissions for an unthemed issue tomorrow We 💙 flash, micros & prose poems <1000 words

Pulled over at a gas station to write poems in my notes app. The world is open. I’m free.

"A month before she died, she stripped to her bra and underwear on a July day and climbed into a city fountain." Flash Fiction: Not What the Living Think by Beth Hahn jmwwblog.wordpress.com/2025/10/29/f...

The ditches were dark this morning. How many fox(es) watched me drive to work?

It’s me!

Heron over the highway. Long neck bent a little and beak in silhouette. I will do my best.

Adding to my “autumn” file of old paintings to use as desktop images.

Subversively posted a bunch of vaccine recommendations on my bulletin board at school.

The hawk burst from behind the peonies and laser shot itself like an arrow straight above the ground perpendicular toward this flapping sparrow. If hawks were bigger we would all be dead.

Welcome our new Senior Fiction Editor, Priyanuj Mazumdar! jmwwblog.wordpress.com/2025/10/26/w...

Watched a hawk watch the bird feeder. Top of its head curved like a racing helmet. Not a sparrow in sight.

What a gift to have a moment before a window and thoughts to put on paper.

wildroofjournal.com/submissions We're open for Issue 32 and beyond

Today's weapons against the white sky include green lentils, orange squash, and red onion. Bake with dijon and balsamic vinegar.

I loved these poetry books by @josehernandezdz.bsky.social and @cynthiamhoffman.bsky.social when I first read them but I didn’t know they would become my friends and I would return to them over & over when I needed inspiration or just to feel like myself again. Get you some books like this.

We've got a #smallpoemsunday call coming on Sunday at noon ET from @tomsnarsky.bsky.social !! full info in image, alt text, and replies!

Museum quiet.

Staying home from work to write feels like having an affair. A secret, exhilarating afternoon in a cheap hotel.

I would not wish for a millions dollars, or endless life. Maybe not even world peace. I would wish for an extra day for all of us, a secret day, a pocket that didn't count towards time. In between Wednesday and Thursday. Just for reading.

The giant fake spider in my tree has blown away! I wonder where he went 🕷️👀

Pop of the heater switching on. I pulled out the rest of the garden by its roots. Someone I love is dying, and there’s nothing else to do.

At a fancy restaurant, I pulled plates from each diner, walking along the table behind them stacking dirties on my left arm. As I reached in to pull the next plate, a chicken bone teetered on the stack, slid off, & disappeared into the small space between a diner's collar & the back of his neck.

Poets!! ⬇️

Finally my son is old enough to watch Dr. Strangelove so we can call each other Dmitri and make jokes about our precious bodily fluids.

Took down the patio umbrella. Put the fans in the basement. It’s all happening.

Submissions are open for Issue 8 until the 30th day of October in the year 2025! Deal us some literary gold & other precious metals! Full guidelines right here 👇🏻🙂‍↕️ www.themerseyreview.com/submit