Short Fiction Contests

“Fabuly Writer’s Challenge

“Step into Fabuly's writer's challenge and create a short 2,000-word story that focuses on this year's theme: an unexpected encounter. The winner of Fabuly's contest will win $500 and be featured in the mobile app as a professionally illustrated and produced audiobook.

Deadline: December 14, 2024

Prize: $500 and Audiobook production

“Story Shares’ Story of the Year

“It's the seventh annual Story of the Year Contest hosted by Storyshares, featuring up to $15,000 in cash prizes. In addition to the available monetary prize, winners and runners-up will have their works included in the Storyshares library, which currently serves tens of thousands of students worldwide.

Deadline: January 13, 2025

Prize: Up to $15,000 and publication

“Story Unlikely’s Short Story Contest

“The folks at Story Unlikely run a monthly digital magazine that shares a wide range of short stories with no genre restrictions, providing something for nearly every reader. The team also runs its annual short story contest, offering up to $1,500 for the first-place winner and the opportunity to be included in the publication's yearly print magazine.

Deadline: January 21, 2025

Prize: Up to $1,500 and publication

“Arc Manor Books' Mike Resnick Memorial Award

“The Mike Resnick Memorial Award, hosted by Arc Manor Books, is presented to a new science fiction author to reflect upon the American fiction writer of the same name who was nominated for 37 Hugo Awards in his lifetime. Short science fiction works up to 7,499 words can be submitted by authors who have yet to have any work published.

Deadline: To Be Determined (2025)

Prize: $250 and a trophy

“Baen Books' Jim Baen Memorial Short Story Award

“The team at Baen Books' is hosting the Jim Baen Memorial Short Story Award, recognizing a work of science fiction under 8,000 words. The publisher is looking for stories that show manned space exploration in the near future (50-60 years out). Baen notes they want to highlight realistic, optimistic science fiction showcasing our potential future, so no dystopian tales here.

Deadline: February 1, 2025

Prize: Publication with pay and a trophy

General Prose Contests

“Minotaur Books/Mystery Writers of America First Crime Novel Competition

“Minotaur Books, an imprint of Macmillan Books, and the Mystery Writers of America are teaming up to offer a competition highlighting a debut writer's first crime novel. You can submit previously published manuscripts (self-published not permitted) for consideration.

Deadline: December 15, 2024

Prize: $10,000 future royalties advance

“Kinsman Avenue's Stories of Inspiration

“Kinsman Avenue Publishing is running its Stories of Inspiration contest, an opportunity for nonfiction writers. Writers with stories highlighting the struggle and resilience of the human spirit related to marginalized communities' cultures are welcome. Individuals of a BIPOC or underrepresented community are preferred.

Deadline: December 21, 2024

Prize: Publication with pay

“L. Ron Hubbard's Writers of the Future Contest

“Lafayette Ronald Hubbard wrote science fiction and fantasy at the beginning and end of his life. The Writers of the Future Contest was launched in 1983 to highlight aspiring authors in the field of speculative fiction. Today, the contest continues annually, offering the grand prize winner a $5,000 cash prize and trophy.

Deadline: December 31, 2024

Prize: Up to $5,000 and a trophy

“Friends of American Writers Literature Award

“The Friends of American Writers Literature Award focuses on emerging authors whose books focus on the Midwest United States. If you have a book that has already been published, you can submit it for consideration as long as you are a Midwestern resident or your book's setting is within the Midwest.

Deadline: December 2024

Prize: Recognition

Poetry Contests

“Poetry Society of America's Four Quartets Prize

“The Poetry Society of America, founded in 1910, continues its mission of bringing poetry into everyday American life with its Four Quartets Prize. If you are a poet with a complete sequence of poems published in the United States in 2024, you are invited to enter. Finalists receive $1,000 each, with the winner receiving an additional $20,000.

Deadline: December 31, 2024

Prize: Up to $21,000

“Defenestrationism Lengthy Poem Contest

“Based on its name, we cannot think of a better organization to host the Lengthy Poem Contest than Defenstrationsim. Poets are invited to enter a poem of considerable length, at least 120 lines long, for submission. The contest runners will publish the three finalists on the website, and several days of public voting will be available before a winner is announced.

Deadline: January 1, 2025

Prize: $300

The Levis Reading Prize

“The Levis Reading Prize is offered yearly in memory of the Virginia Commonwealth University poet and faculty member. It recognizes the best first or second book of poetry published by a poet. Winners receive an honorarium and are invited, expenses paid, to Richmond, Va., for a public reading the following autumn.

Deadline: January 15, 2025

Prize: Honorarium and an invitation to Richmond

“Note: Before submitting to any writing contest, please carefully review the contest's rules and eligibility. These change regularly, so make sure to confirm that a contest has not instituted submission fees since this article was written.

15th November, 2024

In a town that lay somewhere between the world of waking and the realm of forgotten dreams, there was a man who sold sunsets. His shop perched on the edge of a jagged cliff, where the sea sighed against the rocks far below, and the sky burned with the fading hues of day. The shop had no sign, no lights, and yet every evening, just as the first stars dared to shimmer in the twilight, people would arrive, drawn by a longing they couldn’t quite name.

Aurelius, the shopkeeper, moved like a whisper through his dimly lit shop, his silver hair glowing faintly in the dusk. He was not just a merchant but a craftsman of moments, an alchemist of light and shadow. Each bottle on his shelves held a piece of the sky—amber glass shimmering with the fire of a desert sunset, midnight-blue vials deep as the endless ocean, and rose-gold flasks that captured the tender blush of dawn just as it kissed the night away. To gaze into one of his bottles was to lose oneself in a beauty that felt almost familiar, like a half-remembered dream.

But those who came did not merely seek pretty things. They were drawn by a deeper need—an ache to capture a moment that had slipped through their fingers, a hope to relive something beautiful that had once seemed eternal. For a price, Aurelius would take the dying light of the day and weave it into something tangible. But the cost was not measured in gold or silver. His sunsets came at a price more precious than money—a memory, an emotion, a piece of the soul.

The exchange was always the same: a fading recollection in return for a fragment of the sky. An old woman surrendered the memory of her first kiss, long forgotten but still sweet; a young man traded the laughter of a friend lost to time. They would hold the bottles in trembling hands, a light that flickered just out of reach, and walk away with a glimmer in their eyes, never quite aware of what had been taken from them.

For Aurelius knew that nothing was truly free, and the heart’s deepest desires always came with a cost. He himself had once paid dearly, though he no longer remembered what it was he had given away.

One evening, as the sky bled into shades of crimson and violet, a woman entered his shop. Her steps were hesitant, and her gaze wandered, as though she was not entirely sure where she was. She wore sorrow like a second skin, and her eyes held the weight of untold stories and dreams that had slipped through her fingers. She approached the counter with a slow, quiet grace, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

“I’d like to buy a sunset,” she murmured, her voice as soft as the evening breeze. “But I have nothing left to give.”

Aurelius looked at her, truly looked, as though for the first time in ages he was seeing beyond the surface of the world. Her eyes, though weary, still flickered with the faintest ember of hope—a light so fragile it could have been mistaken for a shadow. His hand faltered as he reached for a bottle, and he felt a pang of something he had long since forgotten—compassion, or perhaps it was recognition.

“You have already given more than enough,” he replied, his voice trembling like the last notes of a lullaby. Without another word, he selected a bottle of the clearest crystal, a vessel that held not a hint of color. He carried it to the edge of the cliff, where the sky seemed to dissolve into the sea, and uncorked the bottle with a reverence reserved for lost things.

The sunset spilled forth, not as light but as something more—an indescribable warmth that seeped into the very fabric of her being. It filled the hollows within her, the spaces carved out by grief and longing, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, she breathed. The air tasted like stardust and saltwater, like a lullaby sung in a language she almost remembered.

As the light faded from the sky, leaving only the indigo embrace of night, the woman turned to Aurelius with tears glistening like dew. “Thank you,” she whispered, though the words seemed impossibly small for the enormity of the gift she had received.

Aurelius only nodded, his gaze lingering on the horizon as though searching for something beyond it. He watched as she walked away, her silhouette melting into the night, and felt a quiet emptiness where the light had once been. For as long as he could remember, he had traded beauty for memories, moments for the pieces of people's lives they could not bear to keep. But this time, he had given away more than a sunset; he had given a part of himself.

That night, Aurelius closed the shop earlier than usual. As the stars began to glow above the darkened sea, he took down a bottle that had gathered dust on the highest shelf—a bottle that held a sunset long forgotten, wrapped in a memory he could not name. He uncorked it slowly, letting the light fill the shop one last time.

And as he watched the sunset dance within the glass, Aurelius wondered if, perhaps, there was a way to mend what was lost—to find again the beauty in simply watching the day slip into night, without needing to hold on to it.

In the end, what would you trade for a piece of the sky?

© 2024 A.M. Roberts. All rights reserved.

Green eyes, like the light of springtime days,

In them the world drowns, like drops of morning dew,

And her gaze — like a gentle stream,

Whispering of the mysteries in the quiet hue.

Green eyes that shine in twilight’s shade,

Like emeralds filled with a fiery glow,

And every moment spent with her,

Feels like eternity, endless and slow.

You see in them the forest and the distant seas,

And the rustling leaves on a golden afternoon,

Green eyes — a mystery of days,

That brings light to your soul, soft as a tune.

Victoria Lunar

I see God as he holds his sign.

Torn and tethered

raw knuckles

To

Black fingernails.

Written in Bold letters:

Anything helps.

Waiting to be noticed.

Hoping to be seen.

A coin for sustenance

Acknowledgment

Traded for a

meal of dignity.

And to set the

Privileged captive free;

Bound to his fleeting comfort

and luxury.

I crawled into the skull

with my physical intellect,

led by my spirit

into that skull,

of just one ant

you know,

the insect,

amongst many of its species,

. . . just one of incalculable

numbers of ants,

of trillions upon trillions,

ad infinitum,

of those living on planet earth

therein,

just in one

i found a

membrane

below an encasing

outer shell,

the exoskeleton,

and within

all of this,

divine intricacy,

this exponentially complex

sample of design,

i saw,

blood vessels

surrounding all components of

this ant,

this just one ant,

and each ant that has ever lived

to present and past

throughout the entire

earth

and to the future

all operating

functioning

like a computer's program

yet eternal

from the time of creation

to the present

utterly mechanisms

maintaining

sustaining just this one ant

and all living organisms

i perceived this just one

ant's

brain,

blood vessels coursing through it

and blood flowing through each

capillary

yes,

all its organs . . .

. . . and then,

i pondered,

the ant's thoughts

and its decision making

prowess . . .

what are its thoughts?

i am certain of its personhood

for it is a living entity

i know it is capable of fear

its reactions to stimuli

its inventive ability,

as i have observed since childhood

and my inquisitive intrusions

upon its world,

upon its fellow ants,

and their course of activity

. . . and yes again,

i am aware of its beating heart,

praise to the electron microscope

and its inventors

yet no man can resuscitate

its heart much long

after its final beating moments

i am aware of this one ant's frame,

it's structure,

i am studied in its being,

comprised of the elements,

like the carbon,

listed on the periodic table;

of its atoms harnessed by

electrons,

quarks

lepiquarks and the like . . .

and beyond the tiniest,

of the physical,

as in,

strange matter . . .

. . . into the portal beyond,

into the realm of spirit

all held together,

by creation

yes,

this just one,

ant . . .

for it possesses

life

life the inexplicable . . .

life from a creator

his name is Jesus

who is Life himself,

son of God

who created all things,

as in the book of

Colossians

. . . swarms of ants,

swarms of insects,

myriad animals,

on the land

in the sea,

visible

and invisible

surrounding our own,

human,

physical

and spiritual

being

if only you hadn't left your drink

sitting there on the balcony

in hot, carolina heat

sweating, swirling with the pulp,

beads of perspiration

counting the seconds

like a clock -

then maybe

when you lost it

and your temper finally snapped

and your hand slipped and

the knife thudded to the deck,

the drops of blood

wouldn't have dripped

dripped

dripped

right into the glass

with the striped paper straw

and the long-melted ice

and I would not have looked down

and seen my own life

blossom and bloom in the glass

and I would not have

any reason to hate

pink lemonade

or any lemonade,

the way that I do now.