Jack Jetstark travels the universe to seek out the descendants of superpowered freaks created long ago by VesCorp scientists. The vibrations encoded in a particular song transform the members of Jack’s crew into a firebreather and an angel, a wildman and telepathic conjoined triplets, so they hide the truth of who they really are with the theatrics of a carnival.
 
The song plays every night through the receptor Jack carries with them, but when one night it has a different ending and their temporary powers become permanent, Jack believes the change is a signal from the woman who sent him on this quest in the first place. He and his freaks must navigate a universe at war to protect the love of his life.
 
But does the ruler of VesCorp really need protecting?

If you are interested in science fiction that incorporates superheroes, carnivals, space, and much more, then grab yourself a copy! JACK JETSTARK'S INTERGALACTIC FREAKSHOW is out in ebook and paperback today, December 4, 2018!

Jennifer Lee Rossman is a disabled and autistic freak, and proudly so. Her work has been featured in many anthologies and her debut novella, Anachronism, was published by Kristell Ink in 2018. She blogs
​at http://jenniferleerossman.blogspot.com/ and tweets @JenLRossman.

Each year, the Pushcart Prize invites literary magazines and small presses to nominate their best short fiction to be considered for both a prestigious prize and a "best of" anthology. We published two short fiction anthologies this year, and chose six stories between them to nominate.

Scroll down to find out our 2019 Pushcart Prize nominees — for stories published in 2018 — plus a brief excerpt from each story. Congratulations to these authors, and good luck!

From Glass and Gardens: Solarpunk Summers
Anthology edited by Sarena Ulibarri

DK Mok is a fantasy and science fiction author whose novels include Squid’s Grief and Hunt for Valamon. DK has been shortlisted for four Aurealis Awards, two Ditmars and a WSFA Small Press Award. DK graduated from UNSW with a degree in Psychology, pursuing her interests in both social justice and scientist humour. DK lives in Sydney, Australia, and her favourite fossil deposit is the Burgess Shale. Connect on Twitter @dk_mok or www.dkmok.com.

From Glass and Gardens: Solarpunk Summers
Anthology edited by Sarena Ulibarri

Stefani Cox is a Los Angeles-based speculative fiction writer and lapsed urban planner. She’s an alumna of the VONA/Voices of Our Nations Arts writing workshops and an associate editor for PodCastle fantasy fiction podcast. Stefani also works as a communications consultant, and spends her free time practicing yoga, hiking, and being an insatiable bookworm. She holds a master’s in City and Regional Planning from UC Berkeley. Find her on Twitter @stefanicox or her website stefanicox.com.

From Glass and Gardens: Solarpunk Summers
Anthology edited by Sarena Ulibarri

Wendy Nikel is a speculative fiction author with a degree in elementary education, a fondness for road trips, and a terrible habit of forgetting where she's left her cup of tea. Her short fiction has been published by Fantastic Stories of the Imagination, Daily Science Fiction, Nature: Futures, and elsewhere. Her time travel novella, The Continuum, was published by World Weaver Press in January 2018, with a sequel forthcoming. For more info, visit wendynikel.com.

From Glass and Gardens: Solarpunk Summers
Anthology edited by Sarena Ulibarri

Blake Jessop is a Canadian writer, lecturer, and poet. You can read more of his science fiction in the 2018 Young Explorer's Adventure Guide from Dreaming Robot Press, or follow him on Twitter @everydayjisei.

From Solarpunk: Ecological and Fantastical Stories in Sustainable Worlds
Anthology edited by Gerson Lodi-Ribeiro, Translated from the Portuguese by Fabio Fernandes

Romeu Martins is a journalist, specializing in scientific dissemination, and an author of fantastic literature. He began writing fiction in 2008 for his own blog, Terroristas da Conspiração (Terrorists of the Conspiracy), where he also published a few dozen other writers. Today, he has work in books by three national publishers, and an excerpt from his short story has been selected and translated into English for the Steampunk Bible by Americans Jeff VanderMeer and S. J. Chambers. With Editora Draco, he debuted as a short storyteller in Sherlock Holmes—Aventuras Secretas (2012).

From Solarpunk: Ecological and Fantastical Stories in Sustainable Worlds
Anthology edited by Gerson Lodi-Ribeiro, Translated from the Portuguese by Fabio Fernandes

André S. Silva is a carioca (native of Rio de Janeiro), a civil servant, and a student of Letters at UFRJ. He started writing fanfictions inspired by the X-Files series in the late 1990s. He collaborated with OTP Filmes in the screenwriting of short films and had short stories in the 2011 Literary Challenge and the Henry Evaristo Prize for Fantastic Literature 2012, both on the website A Irmandade (The Brotherhood). For Editora Draco, he participated in two anthologies, Dragões (2012) and Excalibur (2013). Find him on Twitter @andressilva

For today's Small Press Week post, we asked some of our authors to recommend some of their favorite reads from the past year. Check out their recommendations below!

World Weaver Press is participating in Small Press Week, an initiative helmed by Upper Rubber Boot Books to promote small press publishing. Every day there is a new topic that concentrates on a different facet of publishing! The topic for today says: "Every Tuesday is #newreleasetuesday, but this Tuesday is for featuring all of your current 2018 releases, no matter when their release date."

We published eight new books in 2018, and you can see the whole list below! Beside each book, you'll find an excerpt. Maybe you'll even find a new favorite or a good holiday gift.

Baba Yaga will be ready to fly her mortar and pestle right into your bookshelf (or ereader) on January 22, 2019, and you can pre-order your copy now! Amazon's being weird about the paperback right now, so please consider ordering your copy directly from us. Paperback pre-orders will be only $10.95, plus shipping—the price will go up to $13.95 on release day.

Want to know more about what kind of stories we've put together for you? Read an excerpt from "A Tale Soon Told" by Lissa Sloan, and one from "Boy Meets Witch" by Rebecca A. Coates below!

From "A Tale Soon Told" by Lissa Sloan

The tale is soon told.

I have walked this path before. It winds through the wood, skirting gullies and rocky outcroppings, growing wide and narrow as it chooses. My feet know the way. They didn’t to begin with, though. Not that first time, when they were bare and soft and felt the prick of every pine needle and pebble underneath them. Every part of me was soft then.

“Keep going,” I breathed into the dark. All around me were the sounds of the wood at night. The hoot of an owl, the scratching of a mouse in the brush. The scream of a hare, a fox’s teeth around its throat. The breeze rustled through the trees, and I pulled my shawl tighter around my shoulders. The spring days were getting warm, but the nights were cold still.

“Which way?” I whispered, as loud as I dared.

The voice came from the little doll clutched in my hand. Between those trees, my love.

“I cannot see the path,” I whispered. “It is too dark.”

To your right, dearest, she said. I held her up so her bright gaze fell on the trees she meant, lighting them just a little.

“It is too dark,” I said again. “How could Anya see to make her lace in the dark?” I asked the doll. “Her pins make no light. She could see no better than me.” She didn’t answer. I kept walking.

I stumbled on a tree root, falling to my hands and knees. “And how could Olga see to knit?” I went on as I stood up, rubbing one stinging palm on my skirt. “Her needles make no light either. She could see no better than me.” Then I added under my breath, “And I could see nothing.”

My love, the doll said gently, never mind your sisters now. You have your task, and you must do it. Do not worry tonight. The morning is wiser than the evening. I knew she was right, so I said no more.

I went on through the forest. I walked a long time or a short time, the doll in my hand telling me to climb a rise or ford a stream or go straight ahead. And all the while I listened to the nighttime sounds of the wood: the howls and rustles, the creaks and shuffles.

At last I heard a new sound. It was the jingle of a horse’s bridle, the muffled tread of hooves on the soft earth. I dropped the doll into my pocket and ducked behind a tree, my eyes fixed on the dark path before me. When the horse came through the trees, I saw her clearly. She almost glowed in the blackness, her mane streaming out behind her in the breeze. She was white. White like snow. White like the moon. White like new milk. And so was her rider. He was dressed all in white from his boots to his helmet.
The pair slowed on the path, and for a moment I forgot about my stepmother sending me to fetch fire from the baba yaga. I forgot my fear of the dark. I found myself stealing out from behind the tree, my hands searching my pockets until my fingers closed on what I wanted. It was one of the carrots I had stuffed into my pocket as I left the house. I wanted to give this beautiful creature something. I wanted to be near her warmth, to stand in her glow, if only for a moment. I took another step onto the path, holding out my offering.

The rider watched me. Perhaps he could see in the dark. Or perhaps his brightness illuminated everything around him. He stopped his horse and beckoned me closer, leaning down with his arms crossed on his horse’s pommel. When the horse had accepted the carrot and moved on to nuzzling one of my braids, I heard a low chuckle. I looked up at the rider. His smile was warm, lifting his white mustaches at the edges and crinkling the corners of his eyes. He reached down and tapped my nose with one white-gloved finger. Then he winked, touched his mount with his heels, and the white horse and rider galloped away. The sky began to lighten. Dawn was coming at last.

The doll had told me that morning is wiser than evening; it was what she always said. I didn’t feel any wiser, though. I began to see the wood around me as I walked. But I still needed the doll to tell me which way to go when the path forked or seemed to disappear entirely. I kept walking, a long time or a short time, listening to the birds waking and calling to each other in the growing light.

From "Boy Meets Witch" by Rebecca A. Coates

In the deepest, darkest part of the forest, where the trees grow as tall as the sky, there was a small clearing, and in that clearing was a single-wide General Coach “Chateau” trailer on cinder blocks. Its white sides were dull with dust, its window curtains were faded, and its awning dipped at one corner where the supporting post tilted like a drunk.

Alex pushed up his glasses with a knuckle and tongued his braces nervously. Maybe the kids at school had been having him on. Maybe they’d known he was eavesdropping and this was all a big set-up.

He’d left his bike at the base of the trail where it branched off the old logging road. Dry needles crackled under his sneakers as he picked his way across the clearing. The sun was bright overhead, but the trees were so close together that only a slender shaft of light, still hazy with smoke from the summer forest fires, broke through. A double line of round white stones, half-hidden under dead twigs and snarls of browning ferns, led up the front path. Beneath the trailer’s front door, three aluminum steps dangled over the dirt. They echoed tinnily under his feet. Heart thumping in his throat, he raised a hand and knocked.

No answer.

“Hey! Anybody home?” He knocked again, harder this time--bang! bang! bang!

The trailer trembled with approaching footsteps. The door flew open, and an old woman glared at him through the screen. She had a bird’s nest of dirty white hair and a wobbly jaw like a hound dog. Spotted pouches sagged under her watery eyes. Her whole face looked like it could slide off its bones as easily as an egg out of a frying pan. “Vat da hell do you vant?” she said in an accent like a B-movie Dracula.

“I—” His voice cracked embarrassingly. “I heard that, uh, that a witch lives here.”
She raised one hairy white eyebrow. “So?”

“I need your help.” He shoved his fists into his jeans pockets and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I need you to, um, take care of someone for me. You know, like take care of?”

The old woman narrowed her eyes. “Go home, little boy,” she said, and slammed the door shut.

He flinched. Rude old bitch! He was 14! He wasn’t a child. He banged on the door with his fist, shaking the frame. “Hey! Hey, lady! C’mon, please?”

The door opened just enough for her to squint through it, looking him up and down. He was taller than her but only just, still waiting for that growth spurt he really hoped was around the corner. She sucked on her teeth, which were white and weirdly even. Probably dentures, he figured; it would explain why her s’s sounded so mushy. She licked her creased lips. “You are fat enough, I think.”

His face went hot and he had to bite his tongue, hard, to keep back something rude.
“Well,” she said, “maybe I will help you. And if not, you will make nice meal.”

“Yeah,” he said doubtfully, “I’m not much of a cook.”

She wheezed out a laugh like he’d just said something funny. Witch or not, he decided, this old bag was seriously wacko.

She stepped away from the screen door and shuffled into the trailer. Her red velour track suit was stretched and shiny across her lumpy bottom, which seemed to have sucked all the flesh out of her arms and legs. “Don’t stand in doorway,” she said without turning around. “Come in.”

Guest Post by K. Bird Lincoln

Hold on to your hats, folks,  I’m about to get political.

In high school and college I was politically active. But as I grew older, and had to, you know, live next to people and volunteer at school with people and basically maintain friendships outside of college I stopped talking about my beliefs.

Discretion was the better part of valor. Far better to maintain cordiality than risk upsetting my carefully woven web of interdependence with other parents, co-workers, and friends.

But then the last couple years happened in the U.S. and I realized that my very silence, my reticence to discuss difficult topics, contributed to the current political climate where immigration and international policies have become problematic.

But how is a white, middle class fantasy-obsessed female nerd supposed to write about global relations when her brain is full of trickster Kitsune, romance, ancient dragons, and artisanal chocolate?

Dream Eater, the first in the Portland Hafu series, was an attempt to bring multi-culturalism in the form of Japanese and First People’s myths into Urban Fantasy. I wanted my own daughters to see more multi-racial heroines like themselves in the genre I loved best. Crazy, Rich Asians and To All the Boys I Loved Before highlighted multi-cultural Asians in mainstream romance and YA. They made me ecstatic, to my daughters’ embarrassment.

 In Black Pearl Dreaming, my trio of main characters go to Tokyo to find answers about Koi’s Baku heritage and her father’s dementia.  Instead of answers, Koi gets tangled up in the lingering hurts and aftereffects of World War II. Both Japan’s colonialism and the U.S.’s ignorant use of the Atomic Bomb figure into the plot. Japan invaded Manchuria in 1931. America dropped the bomb on Hiroshima in 1945. The soldiers and civilians who were alive to experience, and thus remember those atrocities, are nearing the end of their natural lifespan.

We, as a global community, must not forget the lessons we learned about the value of human life from Auschwitz nor Minidoka.

I purposefully wrote in references to Japan’s treatment of Koreans and Chinese as well as a graphic description of the aftermath of the Hiroshima Bombing from the perspective of an eyewitness.
And in the third book of the Portland Hafu:  The Last Dream of Her Mortal Soul, which I am editing now, Koi and her boys return home to Portland to face political conflict containing echoes of World War II racism.

Don’t get me wrong. There is chocolate, coffee, and more magical creatures from Japanese mythology in Black Pearl Dreaming. Its entertainment. But I no longer feel I can create stories for the world that don’t include overt reference to the undeniable interwoven interdependence of our globalizing world. For better or for worse, technology means we are bound to each other, even across oceans.

And in Black Pearl Dreaming, Koi finds out how much hate and racism in the past still hurt those she loves today.

K. Bird Lincoln is an ESL professional and writer living on the windswept Minnesota Prairie with family and a huge addiction to frou-frou coffee. Also dark chocolate-- without which, the world is a howling void. Originally from Cleveland, she has spent more years living on the edges of the Pacific Ocean than in the Midwest. Her speculative short stories are published in various online & paper publications such as Strange Horizons. Her medieval Japanese fantasy series, Tiger Lily, is available from Amazon. World Weaver Press released Dream Eater, the first novel in an exciting, multi-cultural Urban Fantasy trilogy set in Portland and Japan, in 2017. She also writes tasty speculative fiction reviews on Amazon and Goodreads. Check her out on Facebook, join her newsletter for chocolate and free stories, or stalk her online at kblincoln.com

In the second Portland Hafu novel, half-baku Koi Pierce visits Japan looking for answers to her father’s mental decline and encounters kidnappings, dark secrets, an imprisoned dragon, and an impossible choice. If you want diverse and quick-paced urban fantasy that explores the supernatural creatures of Japanese and Native American folklore, you'll love the Portland Hafu series. BLACK PEARL DREAMING is out in ebook and paperback today, October 16, 2018.

With the help of powerful new friends Koi defeated her dragon enemy in Portland. Now, no longer able to deny her dream-eating powers or the real reason for her father’s mental decline, she flies to Tokyo with her new Kitsune love, Ken, and the trickster Kwaskwi, seeking answers. But secrets from Ken’s past and Kind politics threaten to unravel their newfound trust and someone in Tokyo is desperate to kidnap a Baku. Koi must untangle a long history of pain and deceit in order to save her father, an imprisoned dragon, and herself.

K. Bird Lincoln is an ESL professional and writer living on the windswept Minnesota Prairie with family and a huge addiction to frou-frou coffee. Also dark chocolate-- without which, the world is a howling void. Originally from Cleveland, she has spent more years living on the edges of the Pacific Ocean than in the Midwest. Her speculative short stories are published in various online & paper publications such as Strange Horizons. Her medieval Japanese fantasy series, Tiger Lily, is available from Amazon. World Weaver Press released Dream Eater, the first novel in an exciting, multi-cultural Urban Fantasy trilogy set in Portland and Japan, in 2017. She also writes tasty speculative fiction reviews on Amazon and Goodreads. Check her out on Facebook, join her newsletter for chocolate and free stories, or stalk her online at kblincoln.com

We're giving away an advance review copy of JACK JETSTARK'S INTERGALACTIC FREAKSHOW, plus a beautiful cross stitch handmade by the author!

Pitched as Heroes meets Firefly, this delightful science fiction novel by Jennifer Lee Rossman is about the genetically engineered "freaks" of a traveling space carnival who find themselves at the front lines of a universe at war. It will be available to purchase in trade paperback and ebook Tuesday, December 4, 2018. See below to read an excerpt, and enter to win your early copy!

The crowd grew restless in the renovated cargo bay of my carnival ship, muttering amongst themselves and drifting toward the exit. But they wouldn’t leave; they never left, not before the show started. The draw was too strong, their thirst for the bizarre and grotesque too unquenchable. They would stand in that dim alcove of the Rubeno Mardo’s cargo bay for hours if I let them, just for the briefest glimpse of the exotic performers promised by the advertisements posted throughout town.

Across the tapestry of the universe and all its vast and varied cultures, there ran a single, unifying thread: no one could resist the allure of the words “not for the faint of heart” written in a scandalous, jagged font and followed by four exclamation points. Good marketing knew no bounds.
From my post in the shadows, I looked out over the audience with satisfaction. Used to be I couldn’t see the floor between the people, the way they crowded in. Now it seemed I saw more of it every show, but I couldn’t complain about the turnout on this night, nor about the revenue they brought in.

There was something to be said for docking on the less affluent moons and planets. Sure, the rich people floating around on their space stations and on the hoity toity worlds that governed their solar systems had coin enough to melt down into disposable flatware, but they spent it on electronic gadgets that numbed their brains, not on the kind of quality entertainment we offered.

On the farming and mining colonies, where the only forms of entertainment were swatting mosquitoes and throwing rocks at neighbors, the arrival of a carnival ship made for a major event. They saved up all year for a night’s diversion from their hard lives.

And I was all too glad to provide it for them.

“We made a killing tonight,” my pilot Lily whispered in my ear, her bright smile evident in her voice. “Might even be able to afford the fuel to get us to the next gig.”

“We’ll be fine,” I said, not really listening as a person in the crowd drew my attention. “I think we found another one.”

“Who?”

I pointed to the girl, dressed in her best flannel shirt and black slacks, with most of the hay brushed out of her coppery hair. She was a teenager, but the electric fascination in her eyes as she waited for the show to begin wasn’t the excitement of a mere child. Something about our world spoke to her. Maybe the opportunity to travel the galaxies, maybe the camaraderie of a carnival family, or maybe just the chance for something more than the lot life had given her.

Whatever the case, she’d be part of the crew before we departed the next day. I was sure of it.

“She could just be excited for the show,” Lily argued, crossing her arms. “It doesn’t mean she’s one of us.”

I nudged her with my elbow, grinning. “Why do you doubt me?”

“Because you refuse to.” She pointed a long, manicured nail at the crowd. “They’re waiting,” she said, disappearing into the darkness as she went back to her mark.

“Can’t rush the music,” I said, yet even as the words left my mouth, the old receiver crackled to life beside me, singing the first notes of my intro.

Adrenaline surged to my heart at the sound of the slowly rising tones of the eerie, wordless song, and I hurried to my post on the catwalk. Her voice sounded more like a warbling violin than it did a singing woman, which only added to the ethereal ambiance. A murmur went through the crowd as I emerged from the shadows high above the stage. I felt alive, fire burning through my veins.

“Ladies and gentlemen and nonbinary gentlefolk,” I boomed, the music growing high and tense, “consider this your last warning. You are about to bear witness to creatures and abominations from the farthest reaches of the known universe, horrors the human eye was never meant to see. I cannot be held responsible for the effects these sights have on your psyche. Some people never recover from the shock, so I encourage those with sensitive dispositions or weak hearts to leave now.”

No one left; no one ever left.

Jennifer Lee Rossman is a disabled and autistic freak, and proudly so. Her work has been featured in many anthologies and her debut novella, Anachronism, was published by Kristell Ink in 2018. She blogs at http://jenniferleerossman.blogspot.com/ and tweets @JenLRossman.

She can be the enemy of your nightmares or the spirit guide to your dreams. Her hair is wild and gray. Her teeth are made of iron, and she travels using a giant mortar and pestle and lives in a shack on chicken feet surrounded by a fence of skulls and bones. She is Baba Yaga, a crone who ruthlessly uses the needy and greedy for her own devices. And in this anthology of new stories starring Baba Yaga, she lands in some spectacular scenarios.
 
A Jewish resistance fighter in World War II Poland must gain the help of Baba Yaga to vanquish three supernatural men and avenge the loss of her comrades. A young mother leaves her family to serve the witch in penance for committing a terrible wrong. One story delves into Baba Yaga’s tragic origins, while another re-examines the classic tale of Vasilisa, following the young girl who comes to Baba Yaga for fire on her own journey from maiden to mother to crone. One tale transports the witch from the forests of Russia to the swamplands of the American South, expertly weaving together Slavic and African-American folklore, and another brings her right into the modern day, as a young boy goes looking for a witch to put a spell on a school bully and gets more than he bargained for.

SKULL AND PESTLE: NEW TALES OF BABA YAGA, an anthology edited by Kate Wolford, will be available in ebook and paperback on January 22, 2019. Pre-orders will be available soon. Many thanks to artist Russell Thornton for his wonderful original cover art!

Skull and Pestle: New Tales of Baba Yaga
an anthology compiled by Kate Wolford
Coming January 2019

Table of Contents
Introduction by Amanda Bergloff
“Vasilisa the Wise” by Kate Forsyth
“A Tale Soon Told” by Lissa Sloan
“Baba Yaga: Her Story” by Jill Marie Ross
“The Partisan and the Witch” by Charlotte Honigman
“The Swamp Hag’s Apprentice” by Szmeralda Shanel
“Boy Meets Witch” by Rebecca A. Coates
“Teeth” by Jessamy Corob Cook

Amanda Bergloff is an editor and author who writes modern fairy tales and speculative fiction. Her work has appeared in various anthologies, including Stories from the World of Tomorrow, Frozen Fairy Tales, After the Happily Ever After, and Uncommon Pet Tales.  She is also editor-in-chief of Enchanted Conversation: Fairy Tales, Folktales, and Myths at fairytalemagazine.com.

Kate Forsyth has written forty books, ranging from picture books to poetry, children’s fantasy to historical novels for adults, and collections of essays and short stories. She has sold more than a million copies worldwide, been published in 17 languages, and won many awards including the 2015 American Library Association Award for Best Historical Fiction, the 2017 Aurealis Award for Best Collection, and the 2017 William Atheling Jr Award for Criticism. She is also an acclaimed speaker, performance storyteller and creative writing teacher, with a BA (Literature), a MA (Writing) and a Doctorate of Creative Arts.
 
Lissa Sloan’s poems and short stories are published in Enchanted Conversation, Krampusnacht: Twelve Nights of Krampus, and Frozen Fairy Tales. “Death in Winter,” Lissa’s contribution to Frozen Fairy Tales, was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Visit her at her website, lissasloan.com, or on Twitter: @LissaSloan.
 
Jill Marie Ross lives in rural Pennsylvania beside a lovely pond with her husband, four children, three cats, and a sweet little dog. She is surrounded by books as a librarian, and she most enjoys reading and writing fantasy, paranormal, and historical fiction. She loves camping, hiking, and avoiding housework by curling up with a good book.
 
Charlotte Honigman was raised on Russian fairy tales and World War II legends; the inevitable result of growing up surrounded by veterans of the Soviet Army with stories of the Great Patriotic War to tell. She is a history teacher, wife, mom, and rabbinic school dropout, as well as a writer who weaves Jewish myth and history into fantasy and science fiction. As C.G. Griffin, she is the author of Last Mass, a mystery novel set in Renaissance Florence.
 
Szmeralda Shanel is an expressive arts therapist and educator from Chicago, IL. She loves folklore and especially enjoys writing fairy tales that reflect the rich cultural traditions, practices and folk beliefs of African Americans.
 
Rebecca A. Coates is a writer and editor whose work has been published in skirt quarterly and emerge 15. She blogs about grammar and writing (and UFOs and werewolves and mermaids) at Grammarlandia.com. A graduate of the Writer’s Studio at Simon Fraser University, she lives in Vancouver because she loves trees and hates sun. Baba Yaga has long been her favorite witch.
 
Jessamy Corob Cook is an actress, writer and Londoner. She recently won first place in Writing Magazine’s adult fairy tale competition and second place in Caterpillar Magazine’s children’s story competition.

Kate Wolford is a writer, editor, and blogger living in the Midwest. Fairy tales are her specialty. Previous books include Beyond the Glass Slipper: Ten Neglected Fairy Tales to Fall in Love With, Krampusnacht: Twelve Nights of Krampus, and Frozen Fairy Tales, all published by World Weaver Press. She was the founder of Enchanted Conversation: A Fairy Tale Magazine, at fairytalemagazine.com.

GLASS & GARDENS: SOLARPUNK WINTERS
Anthologist: Sarena Ulibarri
Open for Submissions: January 1 - March 1, 2019
Expected Publication: January 2020
Story Length: up to 8,000 words
Payment: $0.01 per word + contributor copy
 
Solarpunk is a type of eco-conscious science fiction that imagines an optimistic future founded on renewable energies. Often aiming for a balance of nature and technology, and always inclusive and diverse, solarpunk stories show the ways we have adapted to climate change, or the ways we overcome it.
 
For this anthology, I want to see solarpunk stories that take place in winter. That might mean working together to survive extreme blizzards, or feeling the heat in places that no longer see snow. Which renewable tech works best during long winter nights? How do solarpunk societies celebrate the winter holidays? Keep it planet-based (Earth or other), and optimistic. Solarpunk worlds aren’t necessarily utopias, but they definitely aren’t dystopias.
 
We're a northern hemisphere publisher, but southern hemisphere winters are also welcome!
 
Need inspiration? Read New York 2140 by Kim Stanley Robinson, the Ecopunk! anthology, or Glass & Gardens: Solarpunk Summers. For more on what the anthologist is looking for, as well as some writing prompts, see Sarena's blog, "Solarpunk Winters Writing Prompts."
 
Submission Method: *After January 1, 2019,* Send your story as a .doc, .docx, or .rtf attachment to solarpunk[at]worldweaverpress[dot]com with Submission: [story title] in the subject line. Please include a brief cover letter, but DO NOT summarize your story in the cover letter. Submissions received before January 1st will be discarded.

Simultaneous submissions: Yes, you may submit your story to other markets before you hear back from us. Please let us know ASAP if someone else accepts it.
 
Multiple submissions: No, please only send us one story for consideration.

Sarena Ulibarri is Editor-in-Chief of World Weaver Press, and she is also a fiction writer who has been published in Lightspeed, Fantastic Stories of the Imagination, Weirdbook, and elsewhere. Her solarpunk story "Riding in Place" appeared in the anthology Biketopia: Feminist Bicycle Science Fiction Stories in Extreme Futures, and another, "Chrysalis in Sunlight" was published in GigaNotoSaurus. She lives in a solar-powered adobe house in New Mexico, and can be found online at SarenaUlibarri.com and @SarenaUlibarri. She edited the anthologies Glass and Gardens: Solarpunk Summers and Speculative Story Bites.