Let’s be real for a second. Sending your work to 1 World Trade Center feels a lot like throwing a message in a bottle into the middle of the Atlantic Ocean and hoping a very specific, very sophisticated mermaid picks it up. It’s intimidating. You’re looking at a magazine that has published E.B. White, Haruki Murakami, and Jia Tolentino. But here’s the thing about how to submit to The New Yorker: they actually do read the slush pile. Seriously. It’s not just a black hole where dreams go to die, though it might feel like that when you're staring at an empty inbox six months later.
You’ve got to be smart about it. You can't just blast a 5,000-word essay about your cat to the general fiction inbox and expect a contract. There are rules. There are vibes. There are very specific digital portals that you need to navigate if you want even a glimmer of a chance.
The Reality of the Submittable Portal
Most people think they should find an editor’s secret email address or mail a physical manuscript with a wax seal. Please don't do that. It’s weird. For almost everything—fiction, Shouts & Murmurs, and poetry—The New Yorker uses Submittable or specific departmental emails.
If you're aiming for Fiction, you’re looking at a mountain. They receive thousands of stories. The fiction editor, Deborah Treisman, has mentioned in various interviews that they look for a "voice." That’s vague, right? Basically, it means they want something that doesn't sound like everything else. You should email your story as a PDF or Word doc to fiction@newyorker.com. Don't bother with a long cover letter. Just tell them who you are, what you've published (if anything), and let the work talk.
Why Shouts & Murmurs is Your Best Bet (Sorta)
Humor is the magazine's soul. If you’ve got a piece for "Shouts & Murmurs" or "Daily Shouts," you send that to laughter@newyorker.com.
Keep it short. Under 1,000 words is the sweet spot. Honestly, 600 to 800 words is even better. They want topical, sharp, and slightly surreal. Look at the work of Hallie Cantor or Colin Stokes. They aren't just writing jokes; they are skewering a very specific cultural moment. If you're wondering how to submit to The New Yorker humor section, remember that "Daily Shouts" is the online version and it's much hungrier for content than the print magazine.
The Poetry Gauntlet
Poetry is a different beast altogether. Kevin Young, the poetry editor, oversees a section that is arguably the most prestigious place to be published as a poet in the English-speaking world.
- Use the Submittable portal. It’s the only way they take poetry now.
- Don't send one poem. Send a batch. Usually, two to six poems is the standard.
- Wait. And wait. And then wait some more.
It is common to hear back in six months. It is also common to hear back in a year. Some people never hear back. It’s brutal, but that’s the scale they’re working with.
What About Non-Fiction and Talk of the Town?
This is where things get tricky. The "Talk of the Town" pieces are those quirky, observational snippets at the front of the book. Most of these are written by staff or long-term contributors. However, if you have a "Department of..." type long-form pitch, you're going to need more than just a good idea.
You need a hook.
For non-fiction, they aren't looking for "an essay about grief." They want "an essay about grief told through the lens of competitive taxidermy in rural Ohio." See the difference? It has to be specific. It has to be reported. Even the personal essays (like "The Sporting Scene" or "Annals of...") require a level of rigor that most writers underestimate. If you're pitching a feature, you’re likely emailing a specific editor. Research who handles the beat you’re writing about—whether it’s David Remnick (unlikely to answer a cold pitch, let's be honest) or a senior editor like Susan Morrison.
Mistakes That Get You Instant Rejection
I've talked to people who have worked in those offices. The fastest way to get your submission ignored is to ignore the formatting.
Double-space. 12-point font. Standard margins. It sounds like high school, but when an assistant is reading 200 stories a day, a weird script font or single-spacing is a physical assault on their eyes. They will close the tab.
Also, don't follow up after two weeks. Or four weeks. If it’s been three months, maybe—maybe—you can send a polite nudge for fiction. For humor? If they don't get back to you in a month, it's usually a "no."
The "No" isn't Always a "No"
The New Yorker sends out tiers of rejection slips. There’s the standard form letter. Then there’s the "form letter plus a handwritten note" or a personalized email. If an editor takes the time to say "This wasn't for us, but please send more," they aren't being polite. They are literally begging you to keep sending stuff because you’re close.
Most people quit after the first form rejection. Don't be that person.
The Cartoon Conundrum
Think you’re funny with a pen? Cartoon submissions used to be a physical "drop-off" tradition in New York. The pandemic killed that, and now it’s all digital. You submit via Submittable. You usually send a batch of ten sketches. They don't have to be perfectly finished, but the gag needs to be clear. Emma Allen, the cartoon editor, looks for a specific "New Yorker" irony. If it looks like something you’d see in a Sunday comic strip in a local paper, it's probably not right for them.
Actionable Steps for Your Submission
Ready to try? Here is exactly what you should do right now to get your work in front of them.
- Audit Your Work: Read the last five issues. If your piece doesn't "feel" like it fits between an ad for a luxury watch and a poem about a stone wall in Vermont, it isn't ready.
- Pick Your Portal:
- Fiction: fiction@newyorker.com (PDF/Word)
- Humor/Shouts: laughter@newyorker.com
- Poetry: The New Yorker Submittable Page
- Cartoons: Also via Submittable.
- Format Like a Pro: Use Times New Roman. Double-space. Include your contact info (name, email, phone) in the top left corner of the first page.
- The Subject Line: Keep it boring. "Fiction Submission: [Title] by [Your Name]" or "Shouts Submission: [Title] by [Your Name]."
- Prepare for Silence: Set a calendar reminder for three months from now. Until then, forget the piece exists and start writing the next one.
Persistence is the only thing that separates the published from the unpublished. The slush pile is a lottery, but you can't win if you don't buy a ticket. Go buy the ticket.