Advertise with Us

Conjunctions offers print and online advertising opportunities. For all advertisements, invoices are issued upon receipt of the ad, and payment is due prior to ad publication.

 
ONLINE ADVERTISING

To ensure maximum exposure, each ad featured on Conjunctions’ website appears on our homepage, on the front pages of our Online, Selected Texts, and Multimedia sections, and on all conjunctions.com pages within our Store, Advertise, About Us, and Support sections. Reservations for online ad space may be made at any time by emailing conjunctions@bard.edu.

Online ad rates

  • One month: $300
  • Two months: $500

Online ad specs

  • Format: JPG, GIF, or TIFF
  • Color: RGB
  • Ad height: 227 pixels (a small amount of wiggle room is allowed for ad height)
  • Ad width: exactly 271 pixels
  • Resolution: 72ppi
 
PRINT ADVERTISING
Ad space is available in each spring and fall issue of Conjunctions. For spring issues, ads must be received by March 1, and we recommend reserving space no later than February 1. For fall issues, ads must be received by September 1, and we recommend reserving ad space no later than August 1.
 

Print ad rates

  • Full-page ad: $150
  • Two facing full-page ads: $250


Print ad specs

  • Format: TIFF (preferred) or JPG only—no PDFs, please
  • Color: CMYK grayscale / B&W
  • Ad dimensions: exactly 4.5"W X 7.5"H, (Trim size: 6"W X 9"H)
  • Resolution: Minimum 300ppi

Please contact us if you are interested in placing an ad, or if you wish to be advised of the themes or contributors for upcoming issues.

Connect

e-mail
Submissions

In Print

Vol. 76
Fortieth Anniversary Issue
Spring 2021
Edited by Bradford Morrow

Online

October 20, 2021
Launch

codes, we stripped species,
            our insecure
hands of gloves
to crack the test           to our capitalizable
future. Pray
            for the multiverse I’m working on
at midnight.
October 13, 2021
Forgive us. We were waiting
here, in the thickening ice. We worked a long time. Now
we try to give what we found, a little basket
hiding behind each back, full of the young shoots.
They are so green. Mercifully green. We say so. Yes,
they are alive, we say. We, too. We are still sick.
October 6, 2021
Friday night, and you have done the unthinkable. You’ve taken your father’s Jackal Ghost bowling ball from its locked hard-shell case under your mother’s bed—the ball that looks like a purple and black version of the earth, a jackal’s head rising from the swirls—and gone to meet Teddy and Zeke and Evan and Marya, most importantly Marya, for a night of bowling, the game your dead father was obsessed with: the game that, according to your mother, ruins people.
advertisement