Logo of The Commuter (Electric Lit) literary magazine
"Electric Literature’s second weekly magazine, The Commuter, is publishing strange and diverting poetry, flash fiction, and graphic narratives every Monday."
Vibe: Top-tier stuff. Not Paris Review, but ok
Response time:
3 months / 64 days
Simultaneous submissions:
Previously published:
Submission fee:
Expedited submissions:
Available in print:
Examples online:
Average acceptance rate:
United States
Year founded:
Has Masthead info:

Chill Subs Tracker Stats!

Total tracked subs
Average acceptance rate
5.71% of subs
(11.11% of people)
Average response time
64 days
Average acceptance time
31 days
Average rejection time
67 days
Fastest response time
4 days
Slowest response time
219 days

Important stuff

Payment. Flash Fiction, Poetry, Graphic Narrative - $100; Personal and Critical Essays - $100; Interviews $75.




Max words: 1500Max pieces: 3


Max words: 1500Max pieces: 3


Min pieces: 3Max pieces: 5


We currently list only main editors, more will be added later!
If you're an editor, you can edit your masthead in our admin panel :)

Denne Michele Norris


Halimah Marcus

Executive Director

Kelly Luce

Editor - The Commuter

Alyssa Songsiridej

Managing Editor - The Commuter


'diagnosis' by Maui Smith

the worst part of being crazy is i never get to be right. bipolar is really only appropriate to describe regular mood shifts or the weather, never the person. disclosing my disorder turns me stupid & every stranger into a mental health professional; thanks, but i cannot yoga my way out of this, “drink more water” my way out of this.
Read the full piece in the magazine

'A Consumer's Guide to Shopping With PTSD' by Katherine Robb

Last week at our annual condo meeting I was informed if I keep playing loud music at night it will become a legal issue so I’m on my way to Mattress Emporium. The line at the Chipotle in midtown slinks out the door and forces me to weave through a tangle of noontime professionals. I overhear one woman with expensively highlighted blonde hair say to another with expensively highlighted brown hair, “I swear to God I have PTSD from that time they ran out of guac,” which makes me consider how if all the people with actual PTSD went to war against all the people misusing the term this blonde-haired woman and her ilk would lose and yet we, the victors, still wouldn’t be able to enjoy a mediocre burrito. Lord I miss enjoyment.
Read the full piece in the magazine

'I cleaned the house.' by francine j. harris

I moved the bookshelf from the radiator. I put my brown things in boxes. I threw away the cardboard. I scrubbed the stove. and dried it with a black towel. There is no more fray coming from under the area rug. Broke a glass while doing it. and swept the glass. and wiped the glass. I wiped the glass. And I looked for glass, stray in the break of the wood flooring. Moved the couch and tried to find the glass heating its way into a wedge.
Read the full piece in the magazine

'Reality' by Diana Spechler

I have been chosen for reality television. I will compete to marry George, a retired NFL lineman. My sisters shout that I’m crazy. But I would thrive as the wife of a retiree—no suspicious sexy secretaries, no more financial despair. My sisters insist that shortcuts are a figment, that the world belongs to those who wake each morning and perform honest work. They say that what matters in the end is one’s FICO Score. Babies on hips, they caution against the trappings of minor celebrity—namely, that it’s nothing like major celebrity. They say viewers will pray I do something pathetic.
Read the full piece in the magazine

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