How To Submit Stories To Terribly Tiny Tales?

Terribly Tiny Tales (TTT) has this magical way of making you feel a whole story in just a few lines, and I’ve always been curious about the minds behind it. From what I’ve gathered, their platform is open to submissions from writers all over the world—anyone with a knack for microfiction can contribute. But they also have a core team of talented writers who craft those punchy, emotional pieces that go viral. I love how diverse the voices are—some are poets, some are novelists experimenting with brevity, and others are just everyday people with a gift for condensing big feelings into tiny packages. The beauty of TTT is how it democratizes storytelling. You don’t need a fancy degree or a published book to write for them; you just need to resonate with their ethos. I’ve stumbled across interviews where their editors mention sifting through thousands of submissions to find gems. It’s like a treasure hunt for the perfect 50-word story. Makes me wanna try my hand at it someday!

Oh, this is such an interesting question! Terribly Tiny Tales (TTT) is a platform that thrives on ultra-short fiction, often just a sentence or two long, packed with emotion. While many of these tales feel incredibly real—like they could’ve been plucked from someone’s diary—most are crafted as fiction. The beauty of TTT lies in how they capture universal human experiences, making them feel true even if they aren’t. I’ve stumbled upon a few that resonated so deeply, I had to remind myself they weren’t autobiographical. The writers have this knack for distilling raw, relatable moments into bite-sized stories. That said, I’ve seen occasional posts labeled as based on real events, usually hinted at in the comments or author notes. But the majority? Pure artistry, designed to hit you right in the feels. What’s wild is how some tales blur the line. A friend once swore a TTT post was about her breakup—turns out, it was just eerily similar. That’s the magic of it: even when fictional, they tap into truths we all recognize. If you’re after confirmed true stories, platforms like Humans of New York might be more your speed. But for those tiny, hauntingly familiar moments? TTT’s fiction does the job better than most 'real' tales.

I adore 'Terribly Tiny Tales', but picking a "best" story is tough because they're all so fleeting and personal. For me, it's the ones with the sharpest twist in the tail that linger. There's this one about a lighthouse keeper who signals not to ships, but to his love across the bay, and the final line reveals they've both been dead for years, sending messages through the light. It's a ghost story in two sentences that somehow feels epic. I think the collection's power is its inconsistency, though. You'll scroll through a dozen and maybe two will truly punch you in the gut, but those two make the whole experience worth it. The minimalist format forces every word to carry weight, and when it clicks, it's like a perfect, tiny explosion of feeling. My other favorite is probably the one about the old woman watering a cactus she thinks is her son—devastating in its quiet absurdity.

Okay, but has anyone actually had a story accepted from a cold submission to a top-tier magazine like 'One Story' or 'Lightspeed'? I hear about it happening, but it feels like a myth. I'd love to hear a success story that didn't involve knowing someone or coming from a fancy MFA program. The guidelines make it seem possible, but the odds are so slim. It's like believing in the lottery, I guess. You have to be in it to win it, but man, it's hard to keep buying tickets when you never see anyone actually win.

I get a little giddy talking about submissions—there’s something about polishing a piece and sending it out that feels like mailing a tiny, hopeful letter into the world. My process starts with research: I read recent issues of magazines I like (I keep a little stack of print issues and a folder of PDFs) so I know their tone, length preferences, and whether they publish the kind of weird/quiet/hard-boiled things I write. Then I check the submission guidelines on their website or Submittable page—this is sacred. If they want double-spaced 12pt Times New Roman, that’s what they get; if they want single-spaced or a particular file type, I follow that exactly. When it comes to formatting, I treat the manuscript like a professional artifact: title centered on the first page, word count at the top or in the file name if requested, no name on the manuscript if they ask for blind submissions, and I usually upload a .docx unless they say otherwise. My cover letter is short—two to four lines. I say hello, give the title and word count, mention a relevant previous credit if I have one, and thank them for considering it. If a journal uses email, I paste the story into the body only if they explicitly ask; otherwise I attach. I always declare if it’s a simultaneous submission and withdraw promptly if it’s accepted elsewhere. Practical tools keep me sane: I track submissions in a spreadsheet (title, date sent, response time, simultaneous allowed?), and I use Duotrope or The Submission Grinder to find markets and estimate response times. Rejections burn for a second and then I revise or send elsewhere. After a few rounds you learn to match story to journal better, which feels like leveling up. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, but every accept is the best kind of caffeine.

So I've binged most of 'Terribly Tiny Tales' compilations. They're typically standalone flash fiction pieces—like a collection of 100 different ideas, characters, and moments. Each 'episode' or tale is its own complete world, often just a paragraph or two. You can absolutely jump in anywhere. That said, some of the books or online series will occasionally have recurring themes (like love in a specific city, or office scenarios) but the characters and plots don't continue. It's more about mood than continuity. I like dipping in for a quick read before bed; no commitment needed. I remember one about a missed train connection that stayed with me for days, but I couldn't tell you what came before or after it in the book.

Reading fees. Ugh. Some magazines, especially for contests, charge a small reading fee ($3-$5). This is a hot-button issue. Proponents say it helps fund the magazine and pay their editors. Critics say it creates a pay-to-play barrier. My personal rule: I'll occasionally pay a fee for a contest with a substantial prize or a magazine I truly, deeply admire and want to support. For general submissions, I prioritize the many, many excellent magazines that don't charge. It's a personal calculation. Don't feel like you have to pay to play, but also recognize that for some small presses, that fee is what keeps the lights on.