SFWP is an independent press dedicated to the craft of writing. We stand by our authors and we stand by our books, embracing new trends and ideas beyond those of the current publishing industry. Learn more about SFWP.

News

Four of the 2013 Literary Awards Program winners will be published in spring 2015. Find out more right here, and find the list of fiction winners here, and nonfiction here. There is not an Awards Program in 2014.

If you’re looking for news on the Gifford’s Ice Cream memoir, check out the publisher’s blog.

Find out more about SFWP’s origins and founder Andrew Gifford at Delphi Quarterly.

You are invited to our fall 2014 launch party in Silver Spring, MD!

The Books

I started publishing because I love books. I publish titles that I would buy, and that I want to see on the shelves, regardless of genre. SFWP’s mission is not about making a fortune, or creating a catalog that the accountants can get behind. The mission is one of recognition and preservation. These books are works of art, as precious as anything you would hang on your wall. Please take a moment to explore our titles and join me on this mission.

-Andrew Gifford, Director

 

 

The Latest From the Journal

 

Virulence by Morgan Beatty

By:

The videos on our site were artful, meaning crafty. Meaning, they become a part of you, they twist your tastes and cannot be unlearned. Choosing to watch is an important part of the experience. It’s the experience. You have to want to choose, then you click, then watch, each step a descent into nausea, your boredom wiped away, primal curiosity slaked. Download, delete, forward or press pause mid-way, it doesn’t matter: mind-whipped and virulent, you’ve seen it.

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Legal. Tender. by Susan Scutti

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I watch them move like two planets orbiting one another — rarely touching, rarely looking into one another’s eyes. When at times their eyes meet, it seems as though too much meaning is in the look they share to be necessary for the stuff of daily living…

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The Dwindling of a Torrid Relationship by Owen Goodwyne

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I’m not busy for the first ten-minute span since eight this morning. The whirring in my head dissipates; the centrifuge has been idle for an hour. Tuesdays and Thursdays, six to midnight, I work this lab to pay rent—nine-hundred monthly for a subterranean cubicle with access to a stove, sink, commode, work table and a stall meant to be a shower. Despite the ban on overnight guests, it’s a bargain because I have the visual use of a large room with stored furniture and racks of a former tenant’s art.

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