An Online Speculative Fiction Journal
The Spectrogram is an online speculative fiction literary journal owned and operated by Speculative Fiction Writers Association (“SpecFicWriters”), a Colorado non-profit association.
Masthead—About The Spectrogram
Issue 2026
As the flowers of Springtime color our world, I want to pen a note about GRATITUDE:
We’re excited to run our first author interview in The Spectrogram. It’s with Matt Cushing, a successful writer who also served as the immediate past President.
The first time I decided that was my philosophy was when Riya died in my arms for the 5,902nd time.
The tide withdrew, revealing her chains. Tourists called it art—iron bolts sunk deep in stone, crusted and barnacled by centuries long forgotten. But something vast still churned beneath the waves.
You think those flimsy towels protect you?
We told her to avoid the beach before the Harvest Moon. She went anyway to do nighttime yoga, half-moon her favorite lunar phase.
Issue 2025
Our debut issue.
In the Quantum Tunneling Complex control room, a monitor displayed fuzzy images of two grayish spheres. Far out in space but speeding towards Earth. Director Miriam McKenzie kept that screen always on. As if anyone needed a reminder.
“Fascists!” I yelled at a Terminix Truck driving by my apartment. That was for Koko, the five-foot-five golden tortoise beetle, standing in my living room. Koko had been a very cute Korean girl studying environmental law and working at the Bean Scene on Carpenter Street.
Dear Rosie, In the town where I grew up, the evening settled over quiet parks, found me in the baseball field trading cards after school, or on the street with my pants sagging and my feet dragging. Like the moon, I snuck into alleys and woke up winos. Like a poltergeist, I pawed through their…
A thin layer of ice crystallized along the outside of the windowpane, transforming the glass into a frosted sheet of stars. Bitter cold seeped past the cracks in the frame, and my breath puffed in small clouds, but the bed she had tucked underneath the window for me had grown warm beneath my weight during…
Gillian’s fame began as a kid, when she buried that egg. She’s a great little sister, but you’ll see her craziness. Like when she shredded fresh beets from our garden into the clothes washer
Long after the last stars burn to ash, the cold remnant of a dwarf planet hurtles through the intergalactic voids of an ancient universe approaching maximum entropy. It travels alone. Flung aeons ago…
