We’re looking for essays between seven thousand and fifteen thousand words (we are somewhat flexible on the length if the work is of exceptional quality). The genres we are accepting are:
For essays that are accepted and published, we will pay between $100 and $125, depending on the word count. There is no fee to submit. Accepted authors will also receive a free copy of the printed anthology.
The deadline for submissions is November 30, 2016. The anthology will be published in early 2017 (either spring or summer 2017, depending on the number of submissions we have to review).
Please make sure you have read our genre guidelines* before you send in your work. When you send us your submissions, write “ANTHOLOGY SUBMISSION” in the subject line of the email. All submissions must be sent as a word doc and attached to the email.
Send submissions to:
*Since multiple people have asked about this, allow us to clarify; our “genre guidelines” are simply the four genres listed in this call for submissions. We will not be accepting stories of any other genres, though we may consider accepting cross-genre works (i.e. Spooky Stories that happen to have a Wild West theme) on a case-by-case basis. Edited 9/20/2016.
Wingman rule number two: never reveal how much you want them.
Lex hates Gabi. Gabi hates Lex. But, hey, at least the hate is mutual, right? All Lex has to do is survive the next few weeks training Gabi in all the ways of Wingmen Inc. and then he can be done with her. But now that they have to work together, the sexual tension and fighting is off the charts. He isn’t sure if he wants to strangle her or throw her against the nearest sturdy table and have his way with her.
But Gabi has a secret, something she’s keeping from not just her best friend but her nemesis too. Lines are blurred as Lex becomes less the villain she’s always painted him to be…and starts turning into something more. Gabi has always hated the way she’s been just a little bit attracted to him—no computer-science major should have that nice of a body or look that good in glasses—but “Lex Luthor” is an evil womanizer. He’s dangerous. Gabi should stay far, far away.
Then again, she’s always wanted a little danger.
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Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she’s not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor.
She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband, adorable son, and two snoring boxers! She loves to hear from readers!
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Series: Crimson Confessions, #1
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Publication Date: March 20, 2016
Amazon (FREE ON KU!)
Determined to retake control, I feathered a caress over the sloping muscle of her abdomen while fighting to my last breath the urge to explore her body further. As I took one step back to unsteady her balance, she instantly countered, throwing her palms against the wall behind her and launching the both of us backward. On the far side of the hall, we slammed with a crash so violent that it dislodged a pair of antique mirrors from their mounts.
Moments later, I finished the job. As I shook off the impact of not one, but two bodies, she dropped to the ground, ripping my belt away and heaving it down the staircase. For a passing second, I humored the desire to leave her there on her knees, at the mercy of the beast she seemed determined to unleash. Any longer, however, and she risked getting herself into real trouble. With a grunt of reluctance, I lifted her to her feet and spun her hard against the wall. This time, both mirrors collapsed under the force of the blow, unleashing a deafening roar to each side as bronze frames hit the floor and rained shards of glass over ancient oak.
Looking to one side and then the other while helplessly bound by my grasp, she shook her head and spoke softly, “Fourteen years of bad luck. I hope I’m worth it.”
“You better be.”
I pressed her firmly to the paneling with an added shove for emphasis, and then raked slowly up her sides. Keeping her shoulders glued to the wall, her lower body began to buck as the random whimper escaped her lips. Eventually, every inch struggled to break free and lurch forward for my lips but I allowed nothing on her terms.
With a punishing tug of her hair, I held her still and licked a trail up the warm pulse of her neck. Near enough to taste her lips, I leaned in to stake my claim with that first deep kiss, mangling her blouse in desperation I could no longer control. With a starved tug of fabric, the top two buttons flew free to bounce across the floor, just as the resurrected power grid kindled a soft amber glow.
While my eyes adjusted, I caught a first glimpse of the crucifix revealed by my assault. I can’t tell you how long it kept me at bay as the receding darkness left me once again accountable for my craving. For the first time that evening, I looked into her eyes, squarely and honestly, and reaped all the shame that she had sown. In the rekindled lamp light, I saw only a young girl, and the trust I had so long refused to break.
“I have to get back,” I said, dropping my guilt-laden gaze to the floor.
To this day, those words stand among the most difficult I’ve ever uttered. I knew perfectly well the repercussions they would echo, if not for how long they would do so. No longer had I sacrificed my opportunity for her unwitting benefit. I had now formally rejected it. Fourteen years of bad luck, indeed…
As I turned to leave her trembling in the hallway, I feared the curse may have already taken hold. The moment I stepped again into solitude, that fear gave way to certainty. With a broken breath, I stepped to the bedside to take an icy hand in my own, realizing immediately that I’d returned just minutes too late. I collapsed back into my seat and buried a roar of resignation deep between my palms, grudgingly accepting the unpalatable truth that I had failed not one, but two vows that evening.