Piltdown Resteth . . . sort of

Piltdown Resteth . . . sort of
Photographs from Bigstock. Photo montage by William Shunn.

We hope your 2018 was as all-around outstanding as ours here at The Piltdown Review. Since our debut in May, we’ve been reading nonstop, which has led to the publication of 20 short stories, 34 poems, and two essays by 33 different writers. We’ve also been running our first fiction contest, which just closed, and the reading for that is already underway.

All of which is by way of saying, it’s time for a little break. We already have stories and poems in the publication queue through April, and there’s a heap of manuscripts still to read, not to mention a contest to judge.

Don’t get us wrong—we’re not complaining. We love reading submissions and digging up the next fine Piltdown specimens. But it’s time to close to new submissions for a few months while we catch up.

So what will 2019 bring? We can’t wait for you to see the great new work we have lined up—starting tomorrow with Carolyn Oliver’s terrific and unusual Florida story, “Space Coast”—and meanwhile we plan to take all our reading and editing down to the beach and unplug for a while.

Happy New Year, and thanks for reading!  

          

               

More Remarkable Finds
The First Few A’s in St. James Infirmary

The First Few A’s in St. James Infirmary

That song’s first “A” didn’t show up, must’ve been sick. That “A” didn’t show up, could’ve been sick. Or maybe missed the call ’bout the gig between my lips.
His Sculpture

His Sculpture

O to just wash it clean, white as the shelf it sits on, that thing he’d put up on a pedestal—a misshapen bicycle seat, swollen coffee bean.
If It Were Not So

If It Were Not So

As kids, we jumped on grandpa’s sinkhole, plywood-lined, dandruff-sporing bed and wore his chamber pot as a hat.

Recent

Track your submissions at Duotrope