Everyone is a writer.

We just don’t get much of a chance to show it these days. Our stories go unheard, our great novels never put to a page.

Heartfelt memoirs are consigned to 3am chats with strangers in strange kitchens as the MDMA begins to taper off.

Great confessions of love are left unread in phone notes, fantasy epics are drafted in the spare minutes before sleep creeps in.

We leave half-chewed story prompts buried in their computer folder tombs and we carry on with our lives.

But everyone is a writer. And in the Cookedbook, everyone has a page.

Empty your phone notes, scavenge for your journals.

Bring out your dead.

I don’t expect you to love everything in this magazine. In fact, I’d be disappointed if you didn’t absolutely hate at least a couple of pages in the magazine.

But I hope every page feels like a 3am kitchen conversation with a stranger, a clandestine glimpse through the pages of someone’s diary when they’re not looking.

There’s a link here for submissions.

If you want to write, we want to hear from you.