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.


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.

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


A Town Without Sequins by Zak Block


If the E train passes through Elmhurst station, does it not stand to reason that no train whatsoever stops there? I had this revelation long after I’d discovered that not only is Philadelphia an hour’s leisurely drive from the heart of Manhattan, but so are Washington, D.C., Boston and Baltimore. Cincinnati, Chicago, Indianapolis, Detroit, about two hours. Albeit that I’m never going to see these places, still is this incalculably useful information…

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Secrets by Robert Mundy


At sixty-five, Mark Armstrong was the same weight he’d been as a high school point guard—one-hundred-fifty-five pounds on a lean five-foot-eleven frame—though, as he liked to joke, the distribution was different…

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Versions Of This Year by R.S. Paulette


As the sun would rise on placid Saturday mornings, I would take the little row-boat with the trawling motor out towards the east and wait there, still, letting the water ebb away from the boat in consistent concentric circles, lapping its way towards shore. Sitting there, an unread book in my hand, I would watch the sun rise along the horizon, begging me to follow it along until I struck land…

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