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
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Item description
Spring/Summer 2022
contents
Spring/Summer Issue — 2022
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Denny E. Marshall — Steam Stomper
Evangeline Gallagher — The Goat
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WITH A GLEAM IN ITS EYE — Lark Morgan Lu
Harlow spotted its partner in its reflection of the bathroom mirror. Kir@Kira smiled with her diamond-pupil eyes as she stood behind Harlow. Kir@Kira was a VTuber whose name meant cutely glittering or twinkling in Japanese, a poreless avatar with a mane of rainbow hair and pastel outfits mapped onto the movements of some unknown figure behind a camera. Today her lipstick was a deep plum like a bruise upon the mouth.
Two Blue Circles —John K. Peck
Mother has been sewing near-constantly for weeks, digging out our old shirts and smocks and going at them with her needle. Once they’re in shape she pulls them over our heads, and their cool linen smells like mildew and winter. When we complain she tells us to go outside and run around in them, and soon enough she's right, the sweat and sunlight chase the smell away. Later, when it's time to come back, they ring the bells in our village and all the villages up and down the valley. Without that we'd play half the night, never know when it was time for dinner, the sun still lighting up the treetops on the hills across the valley long past our bedtimes.
Fallow Stone—by dave ring
The ancient facade of the big house loomed grey and gleaming over the wild verdancy of Cyan’s demesne. The walls whistled, low and long, whenever the wind blew. Cyan had filled the house with imported brocade throws and beautiful rugs, but they did little to tame the toe-biting cold. The Berber carpet in the great room claimed the most space in my memory. It bore vivid saffron linework cutting through a field of oak leaf green, lit by the glowing blue screen of the immaculate console we’d all been forbidden to touch.
Thoughts Too Heavy To Carry — By Holley Cornetto
As the screen door slammed behind us, Momma called out a warning about swimming in the creek. “You’re likely to fall in and drown,” she said, “or get eat up by a cottonmouth.” She’d worried about snakes since I was six and she’d found me in the backyard hugging a rattler like a doll. “A miracle you didn’t get bit,” she’d told me over and over since. “Snake bites are mean; their poison seeps through your veins to your heart.”
Burnt, Bloodied, Loved— by Mariya Kika
His mama’s red hair falls like a curtain around him, hiding him. His mama’s hair has always been long, but now? Now, it spills across the floor, a burning fire, a warning sign, a bloodbath. And he, fully grown, can hide himself within it. He dares not touch. Not with bloodied hands. He does not look down, but he can feel the slick drag of blood across knuckles, dripping from empty nail beds. His hands flex with aching listlessness.
Flame of Knowledge — by D.K. Lawhorn
My ears fill with the flapping of a bird’s wings. The crow alights on its special perch outside my cell. I open my eyes to a world bathed in darkness, but not for much longer.
Follow the Moon— by Emma Murray
The television blares at me from across the room. Judy’s got it cranked up way too high again. It’s like they’re yelling at me. I look around. The remote’s missing.
“Judy, you seen the remote around?” I shout toward the stairway behind my chair. I wait a moment for a response. “Judy?”
A door creaks on its hinges.
Junipers—by Anastasia Jill
That is what I'm told while being ushered behind a velvet rope with an assortment of people, dime-store candies with flesh; moldy and nutty, missing pieces, smelling gross, probably tasting of medicine or bubblegum
The Night Dive— by Ben Thomas
Caitlin had been on enough deep-water dives to think of the ocean as she would any other wild place. Unpredictable, sure. Potentially dangerous, of course. But all the more alluring for that.