Literally: Echo Ink Review recognizes writers before they become writers–before they become novelists, writing program directors, Pulitzer Prize nominees, or short story writers with credits in The Missouri Review, The Mississippi Review, The Atlantic, The New Yorker.
These writers include Marie Manilla, William J. Cobb, Gina Frangello, Kelli Allen, and others.
Financially: depending on reader support, we pay between $25 and $250 per manuscript accepted for publication.
Echo Ink Review seeks writing from talented, aspiring or established writers.
Review our submission guidelines.
We look forward to reading your best work.
- 140 to 200 pages
- full color cover
- 70# text
- $25 to $250 depending on reader support
- one free contributor’s copy
- Prints annually: October
- Nominates top manuscripts to Pushcart Prize committee
Digital and / or Online Version
- excerpts / random manuscripts published online in addition to being published in print version
- digital versions available: Kindle, iBook, etc
Jeff Van Dreason
David Scott Hay
Jennifer Hollie Bowles
Gary F. Iorio
Dustin M. Hoffman
John Oliver Hodges
1998 / 2009
William J. Cobb
Nannette Kennedy Rogers
“Lane watches occupied cabs slosh by, his hand extended, the tips of his fingers dripping with rain like a leaky spigot. The headlights of cars approach through a watery prism, and their golden eyes glow and expand, only to dissolve in a tearful blur when they pass by. ”
excerpt — “My Friend, The Cuckold” by David Manning
“Do you think it’s going to rain?” He asks. His stitches itch. Outside, the sky of a Los Angeles winter is all broken jars of terra cotta. When he swallows, he feels the place where the anesthesiologist pulled out the plastic breathing tube. A plastic tube, he thinks. For one whole hour a tube did the breathing for him.
His wife never answers about the rain.
In the night he is afraid of something that isn’t there.
excerpt — “The Cruelty of Children” by Traci Foust
“But her car started right up. Japanese cars are notorious for that. She drove up Palmetto in that pouring rain. Left on Taft. Right onto McKinney. Crossed the Railroad tracks. I imagine she could already see me coming in the ambulance. Lights flashing. Siren screaming. Yet here came Chrissy. She probably wondered where the emergency was. What it was. Train wreck? Heart attack? Never knowing. Never sensing. Then I hydroplaned. Skidded across the median. Practically drove right through Chrissy’s windshield.”
excerpt — “Counting Backwards” by Marie Manilla