Write it! Send it!
We want to feature your story on our stage and in our podcast.
In 650 words or fewer, the personal narratives we feature are short, powerful stories about meaningful experiences in your life.
We’re looking for work that expresses your unique sensibility and voice. Let us share your joys, hopes, fears, your sense of humor, sense of the sublime or even the ridiculous. We hope our prompts offer you an inspiring spark and we look forward to reading your engaging, well-crafted essays.
1) The pieces can be original, or can be excerpted or adapted from your own earlier work.
2) Submissions are evaluated by an editorial committee of professional writer/editors.
3) Your essay may be featured in our podcasts as well as future broadcasts and printed anthologies, but it remains yours to publish again elsewhere if you choose.
4) The maximum length of 650 words translates to a five-minute spoken word piece.
5) We’ll need your social media handles for Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook.
6) We’ll need a 125 word (max) biography. Please tell us about you, and not just your publishing credits.
There’s more to know down below!
Scroll to the bottom of this page for guidelines on headshots, bios, and more…
Cats
According to one of our longstanding cultural myths, dogs are man’s best friend, while cats are aloof, demanding creatures associated with witchcraft and bad luck. Of course that’s nonsense. Cats are beloved (if enigmatic) roommates and housemates; zen-like creatures who, in taking care of us, somehow let us believe we’re the ones taking care of them. Did you ever turn to your cat for comfort during a time of grief or a messy breakup? Watch a litter be born? Volunteer in a shelter? Lose a staring contest? Watch in awe of animal nature as your cat stalks a mouse? Learn something about the quiet appreciation of life by watching your cat in a sun-drenched window sill? In 650 words, write a true story about a cat who has served as a silent witness to a pivotal moment in your life—or is simply your best friend.
DEADLINE: November 1, 2026
LIVE EVENT: January or February 2027 / Date and NYC Venue TBD
The Best / Worst Meal Ever
Tell the true story of a single, unforgettable dish, meal, or recipe. Was it a hilarious culinary disaster, the exact meal you ate when your life took a turn (for good or bad), or the simple dish that anchored you during a hard season?
Pull us directly into the kitchen or room. Focus on the sensory details—the sizzling pan, the aroma, the specific flavor—and show us in 650 words how this particular meal became bound up with a key moment, relationship, or memory. Keep the focus sharp, personal, and grounded in a single scene.
DEADLINE: December 1, 2026
LIVE EVENT: February 2027 show date and venue TBD
Road Trip (Are We There Yet?)
In 650 words, tell the true story of a journey that took you far beyond your comfort zone. Was it an epic cross-country trek, a chaotic family drive gone off the rails, or a quiet, late-night trip where everything changed between two exits?
Put us in the vehicle with you and help us see what you do and where you’re going. Capture the sensory texture of the open road—the static on the radio, the neon diner lights, the miles ticking away. Focus on a single journey and show us how the distance traveled shifted something vital inside you or between you and a companion.
DEADLINE: February 1, 2027
LIVE EVENT: April 2027 show date and venue TBD
The Dance
Tell the true story of a single, unforgettable dance. Was it the awkward horror of middle school gym class, a formal ritual, a midnight kitchen dance party, or a night on a crowded floor where time stood still?
Whether you were a trained dancer, a square dancer, a secret moonwalker, or a wallflower clinging to the edge of the room—put us in the scene with you. Tell us in 650 words the story of a time you found your rhythm or footing (or completely lost it). Bring the moment alive and show us how a fleeting song became bound up with a vital truth about your life.
DEADLINE: April 1, 2027
LIVE EVENT: September 2027 show date and venue TBD
“Talent is cheaper than table salt. What separates the talented individual from the successful one is a lot of hard work.”
“Close the door. Write with no one looking over your shoulder. Don’t try to figure out what other people want to hear from you; figure out what you have to say. It’s the one and only thing you have to offer.”
“If my doctor told me I had only six minutes to live, I wouldn’t brood. I’d type a little faster.”
“The great enemy of writing isn’t your lack of talent, it’s being interrupted by other people.”
Your biography (125 words, max). We want to know about YOU. Here are some sample bios for inspiration:
-
After over twenty years at the Bronx Council on the Arts, Ed Friedman co-founded and served as the first Executive Director of Lifetime Arts, a non-profit dedicated to providing opportunities for older adults in arts learning. He’s commitment-phobic when it comes to literary forms, and flits from short plays, to short fiction, to short non-fiction, and says he has a high degree of success solving the New York Times crossword puzzle—except for Saturdays when he resists the urge to jump out his eighth story window. He’s a playwright whose work has been staged throughout New York and around the country, and his monologues and prose appear in many anthologies and literary journals. (112)
-
Martha Mitchell is a graphic designer and writer who’s lived in New York, New Jersey, New Hampshire, Connecticut, Arizona, Utah, and California. She now lives in Maine, in a repurposed, 150-year-old textile mill overlooking a dam—a home she shares with an elderly hound-dog named Hank and a cat named Professor who alerts her to bats and ghosts. Martha’s attended The Writing Institute at Sarah Lawrence College and the Westport Writers Workshop, and took note when her niece Johanna said, “Shhhh, Aunt Martha’s telling a story!” Deciding to broaden her audience, she came in second at her first Moth story-slam, and she’s flattered when asked why her parents would name her after someone connected to Watergate since she was absolutely born before 1972. (121)
-
Colin Broderick was raised Irish Catholic in the heart of Northern Ireland. In 1988, at the age of twenty, he moved to the Bronx to drink, work construction, and pursue his dream of becoming a writer. For the next twenty years, as he drank himself into oblivion: there were failed marriages, car wrecks, hospitals and jail cells. Few people who have been a slave to an addiction as vicious, destructive, and unrelenting as Broderick’s have lived to tell their tale. Orangutan is the story of an Irish drunk unlike any you’ve met before. Broderick has written a play, Father Who, and published articles in The Irish Echo, The Irish Voice, and The New York Times. (115)
-
Ruth Pennebaker morphed from being a lawyer into a writer so she wouldn’t have to narrowly define herself—and because she’s always been attracted to low-paying work. Over the years – well, decades, if you want to get fussy – she’s written columns, features, and op-eds for magazines and newspapers. She’s also written five novels (two adult, three young-adult), a book about aging, a collection of newspaper columns, and two humor books. She’s blogged and aired public radio commentaries. Ruth has written about everything from autumn in Texas (which, she says, may only last one day) to marriage and children, from politics to death, from cancer to wrinkles. She’s a feminist, a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a believer in science and good journalism, and a Texan – sometimes in spite of herself.
Submitting Your Work
Please follow our submission guidelines: Personal essays, 650 words, maximum. We do not accept poetry or plays. Regrettably, we are unable to read or review submissions that do not adhere to these guidelines.
Note to writers: Our editors are supremely interested in your personal stories. Your unique experiences in life. Told in your voice.
Before submitting a piece to Writers Read, you should know that many well-crafted submissions are rejected because they drift into OpEd or lecture territory; they attempt to tell readers what to think or feel about any given topic. Instead, wow us with narratives that show us how incidents and episodes unique to you have altered your life. You can review countless examples of successful stories on our YouTube channel.
Please note where the live show will take place, as you may be required to travel to New York City or the Hudson Valley (the exception: “Between the Lines” essays which may be recorded on a smartphone and shared via email).
• All submissions should be in double spaced, 12-point type (please, no PDFs).
• Your name, address, telephone number, and email address must appear at the top of the first page, along with the piece’s title and total word count.
• Following your essay in that same document, please include your social media handles for Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook and your 125 word (max) biography. We want to know more about you than your publishing credits; please check out the sample bios here for inspiration.
• If your piece is selected (yay!) we’ll need a head shot for promotional purposes. You’re also welcome to share one now; please see our guidelines for head shots below.
• Writers Read uses Submittable as our submissions manager. The submission fee is $5; PayPal and all major credit cards accepted.
— Response Time • We reply within eight weeks of the submission deadline (and usually sooner).
Some Tips on Writing for Writers Read
We’re most interested in true personal stories, and Writers Read is open to anyone with a good tale to tell.
A few years ago Hugo Lindgren shared this excellent advice for submitting a “Lives” essay to the New York Times: More action, more details, less rumination. Don’t be afraid of implicitness. And the old Thom Yorke line: “Don’t get sentimental. It always ends up drivel.”
If it reads like it would make for a Hallmark TV episode, don’t submit it.
Meaning (or humor, or interestingness) is in specific details, not in broad statements.
Write a piece in which something actually happens, even if it’s something small.
Don’t try to fit your whole life into one story.
Don’t try to tell the whole story.
Tell a small story — an evocative, particular moment.
Do not end with the phrases “Looking back now . . . ” or “I realized that . . . ” (to put a finer point on this: Robert Atwan, in a foreword to an edition of The Best American Essays, writes, “Many personal essays are marred by “unearned epiphanies,” a suddenly I realized moment that seems unwarranted or gratuitous, the result more of an artificial writerly convention than a genuine shock of recognition.”)
Better to start from something very simple that you think is interesting (an incident, a person) and expand upon it, rather than starting from a large idea that you then have to fit into an short essay.
For example, start with “the day the Santa Claus in the mall asked me on a date” rather than “the state of affairs that is dating in an older age bracket.”
Where, exactly, did it start?
Write past what you think the end of the story is. (Hat tip to Raymond Carver.)
Do not make it about illness or death, unless that is the story you have to tell.
Try an Oblique Strategy.
Go to the outer limit of your comfort zone in revealing something about yourself.
Embrace your own strangeness.
If you can’t write it, try telling it.
Head Shots
Your photo needn’t be shot by a professional, and most people do fine with a smart-phone snap (please avoid the selfie and ask someone for help). The photo should show you from mid-chest up, with even lighting and no harsh shadows on your face, against a background that doesn’t distract.
A 4″ x 6″ image at 300 dpi (dots per inch) is acceptable for printing (or approximately 1,200 x 1,800 pixels—dimensions shown in the photo’s file info on both Mac and PC).
Need some guidelines on what makes an acceptable headshot?
Looking for guidelines on what to wear—and what not to wear—on camera?
“The experience was (I imagine, only) like one’s first bungee jump — a long, somewhat tedious wait, followed by a rush of excitement, exhilaration and gratification of some primitive need, followed by gradual calming, followed by wondering why I was ever inclined to do it. Yet thinking it might be an OK thing to do again.”
— Stephen J. Brown