You're a human? Prove it. Connect with us here at Wordsworthing, strangers to you, by the power of your respective craftwork alone. Rip off pieces of our collective face and devour them, some latter day Cronus gobbling his seed. We want to feel what you feel, see what you see, hear what you hear, and know that, at the end of the piece when we hit the accept button, you will have earned your human status for the day.

Good hunting and remember: send only previously unpublished work and no more than one submission per person per issue unless we contact you otherwise. 

27JUN2017 EDIT: Jesus Christ, does it pain us here at WWing to have to append this extra edit but ONE SUBMISSION PER ISSUE. Shotgunning us three stories in a row is a recipe for... well we don't know what, but it certainly isn't going to help your publishing chances. This isn't a fucking raffle.

You have a story.

We want to hear it.

A real story. One that reaches up into the throat and tells the reader that they were there, no shit, with you, as the events unfolded. Are you an 80 year old rheumatic widowed mother to two stillborn children who lives on a failing dairy farm in Minnesota? Tell it. Did you come to the country in the back of a panel van, thirsty, filthy, and destined to work in the vast verdure of the San Joaquin valley? Inform us. Are you a lonely, obese, and slightly ugly marine biologist afloat a research vessel in the South Pacific who geeks out on the iridescent algae that swarm the waters there? Engage.

Your life is bizarre, transcendent, fleeting, and absurd. Tell us it. Make us weep but please, only send previously unpublished material and wait until we reply to your submission before submitting again.
Here's the deal, wordslingers.  We are interested in fiction that kicks a motherfucker in the face.  If your fiction does not grab the reader by the collar, pull them close, and say, "Listen to me you sonofabitch," then it likely does not fit our vision.  Remember the last time you read a short story and the only response you could muster was to close the book and chew on the corner for a couple of minutes?  That.  We want transcendence.  We want capital A art.  We want something that scars the reader in a way they can only describe as surprisingly inevitable.  Send us the things that you know break hearts in half with earthquake force.  Don't overwhelm us with words, give us the right words (right now we don't have a limit, but know that we will stop reading when it doesn't matter to us anymore).  If you meet this criteria, we will be unbelievably glad we connected with you.