100 words for your story … no more or no less. Tell a story, pen a slice of your memoir, or try your hand at an essay.

You get 100 words—exactly 100 words—which is both the pain and the pleasure here. It’s short, you tell yourself. You could write 100 words at a bus stop, on your lunch break, in your sleep. But with 100 words you must tell the whole story in its entirety, so it holds together like a perfect little doll house. (Your title is not part of the 100 words.)

Please include a short bio (25 words, max!) with your submission. Also, did we say exactly 100 words? We weren’t kidding! We count words according to Microsoft Word’s word-count tally. Also, make friends with your spell-check, or have a friend proofread your story.

We currently charge a $2 submission fee, the minimum in order to cover the costs of the submission system.

Submissions are now open until June 30!

Special call for submissions!

It’s Pride Month—as in LGBTQIA+ pride—and we’re celebrating LGBTQIA+ love! This June, we are looking for vibrant, fluid, expansive, queer love stories.

Send us your break-ups, your make-ups, your hook-ups and your limerence, your crushes that crushed you and your happily-ever-afters. Give us your triads, your first loves, your awakenings, your dating app mishaps, and stories about dating your ex’s ex.

And don’t forget, they have to fit into a 100-word container—which is only a tad longer than this call for submissions!

Submit now!


5 Responses to “Submit”

  1. Steve Prusky says:

    Will you read vignettes?

    • 100words says:

      Yes, we’ll read vignettes. The 100-word form is open to all genres–however you want to define it.

  2. 100words says:

    Good question: The title is separate for our word count.

  3. Bobbi says:

    Do you count the words in the title to get 100 words or is the title separate?

  4. steven beercock says:

    ’76, not as hot or humid as the previous year but warm enough to provide us with long grass, summer long, to hide away from the envious eyes of the “ad-vice squad” as we had named the old folk in our town. Heat, skin, hair and a necklace of electric kisses. Sunlight breaking through and inflaming her sweat-curled, summer-mad, auburn hair. In-your-face emerald eyes gently mocking my boyish shyness. Two years difference in age; twenty in experience. Those kisses cracked the fragile shell of my desires. Hands, hoping, helping. Contours of a new world. Then I went for a beer.