Temporary Hiatus and Submission Closure Notice

Dear Contributors and Readers,

I hope this message finds you well. I am writing to you today with a personal and significant update.

After much consideration, I have decided to put Pyre Magazine on a temporary hiatus, effective immediately. Consequently, we will be closing our doors to all submissions until Spring 2025. Though difficult, this decision was born out of a need to focus on my family and personal health, which require my full attention now.

Pyre Magazine has always been a labor of love, a platform where creativity and passion find a voice. With a heavy heart, I step back, but I do so with the belief that this pause is necessary for my well-being and, ultimately, for the future of our magazine.

During this period, we will not be publishing new content, and our editorial team will also take a break. No submissions sent in 2024 will be considered. I’m sorry for the inconvenience. 

I sincerely appreciate your understanding and support during this time. Your contributions and readership have been the lifeblood of Pyre Magazine, and I am endlessly grateful for the community we have built together.

I look forward to reuniting with all of you in Spring 2025, rejuvenated and ready to reignite our shared passion for outstanding literature and art.

Thank you for your continued support and understanding.

Best wishes,

Ryan Thomas LaBee

Editor-in-Chief

Pyre Magazine


It’s here… it’s finally here!

FALL/WINTER 2023 Issue

Purchase Now!

Pyre Magazine Presents its first physical copy edition. 120 beautiful pages full of art, short stories, flash fiction, poetry, and nonfiction. In this slam-packed special edition, you'll find work from more than 30 artists.

Cover image, The Cemetery, created by Sylvain Daudier.

The first physical copy of Pyre Magazine drops on November 28th, and it’s STACKED!


A NOTE ON the 2023 SPRING AND SUMMER SUBMISSIONS

Dear Writers, Artists, and Constant Readers,

First and foremost, I would like to apologize to you. It has been a while since there have been any updates to Pyre, and many are still waiting to hear back from us regarding submissions from the beginning of this year, and for that, I am genuinely sorry. The truth is, I, Ryan, have been dealing with some personal health issues that have made it very difficult for me to engage with submissions and emails mentally. In case you don’t know, Pyre is a labor of love, and running the magazine is primarily a team of one… me. Unfortunately, due to needing to focus on my mental and physical health, I had to make the difficult decision to cancel the Spring and Summer 2023 issue because I did not have the time to give submissions the proper amount of time and consideration that they deserved.

That being said, if you have a submission with us and have not heard back, all spring and summer submissions will be considered for the fall/winter issue, which will now be a larger issue that covers the entire year. I know many of you are eager to hear back from us and are tired of waiting, and as a writer myself, I understand entirely. That is why Pyre is and has always been a magazine that allows for simultaneous submissions so that, at least while you are waiting, you can submit to other outlets. 

I appreciate your understanding during this time. I plan to have the magazine running smoothly by the end of summer so that the fall/winter submission cycle will go off without a hitch. 

Thank you. 

Best wishes,


Ryan LaBee

Editor-in-Chief Pyre Magazine


Fall/Winter 2022

Coming: November 16th



Spring/Summer 2022


Flash Fiction, Dystopian, Pandemic Ryan LaBee Flash Fiction, Dystopian, Pandemic Ryan LaBee

Re-sourceful — by Cecilia Kennedy

The first rains come to freeze my bones. I wrap my hands around the last soap ball I’ve made--the last one to tide me over for a while. When a bar of soap shrinks down to just a sliver, I crush it and hold it in my palm. If I find a new bar, I use it down to its last sliver as well and add it to the first until I’ve formed a larger ball, all pink and blue and white and green—my last bits since the stores closed down, and the windows blew out, and I cut my work clothes into makeshift curtains to hang.

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