Stories from
March, 2014

The stories of my death are greatly exaggerated. Only the Usurper knows I still live. The irony of this doesn’t escape me.

Sylvia van Bruggen writes every day, Sometimes the words make it to paper.

He worked up to ten mile runs. A tiny boy asked: what are you running from? It’s not like that, he said, but couldn’t silence the question.

Derek Dexheimer (@dex3703) gives his report at dex3703.wordpress.com. He is working on a novel.

Five years ago, we created @nanoism to be the very first paying publication for literary Twitter fiction, celebrating the very best stories that fit in the cracks of your day. Five years later and Nanoism remains the longest continuously running magazine dedicated to #TwitterFiction of all time. We’ve published nearly six hundred stories from over four hundred writers and inspired people across the world to think big but write small.

Well that sounds a bit over the top, doesn’t it?

Really, we just appreciate a good story and love to celebrate it in the world’s favorite tiny format. In honor of our five-year anniversary and this year’s #TwitterFiction festival, we’re doing a contest. It’s simple:

  • You send us one story of up to 140 characters (of course) by April 1st at 11:59 PM to contest@nanoism.net.
  • No titles, please. We don’t publish them. The whole thing must fit in one tweet.
  • We don’t want bios or cover letters or anything extra. We’ll get that from you later if we need it.
  • You don’t pay us anything. You do spread the word and tell your friends.
  • We anonymize the submissions and then pick our very favorite.
  • The winner gets $100.
  • Yes, that’s almost a dollar per character.

Here’s the bonus kicker: We’re finally doing the Nanoism anthology we’ve always promised. Not only is every contest entry eligible for publication on our site and Twitter feed, but the very best will included in our ultimate compilation of teeny-tiny stories.

So send us something you love.

He watches his wife sleep. She lies on her side on their Egyptian cotton sheets, a half-smile dancing on her lips.

He sighs and drives home.

Mathew Loudon writes.

Joey pushes Katie near the monkey bars. Fists clenched, he inflates his chest like his father and shouts, “How many times have I told you?”

Jennifer Foley likes to read and write well past decent bedtimes.