If you’ve had the chance to pick up a copy of this

If you’ve had the chance to pick up a copy of this year’s Voracious Dining Guide, you’re familiar with the standing weekly columns contributed by our talented crew of ravenous food writers. As it happens, you’ve now seen the last of those columns (or will come next Tuesday): The Weekly’s changing up its reporting model to make room for thoughtful, informed food journalism that runs longer and digs deeper than the blog posts we’ve long prided ourselves on providing. That means you can brace for fewer headlines and more meat.

Don’t worry: Our writers aren’t going anywhere. Although Monday Night Lights, Beet Street and other great columns are kaput, the writers behind them will continue to cover the city’s dynamic culinary scene. We look forward to sharing their dispatches with you.

But we’re also looking forward to expanding our corps of writers. By eliminating the requirement that Voracious writers chip in columns on a weekly basis, we hope to entice more extraordinary food writers into sharing their work with Weekly readers. We’re specifically looking for great 500-word stories about eating and drinking in and around Seattle. Pitching season is open.

If you’d like to pick up an itty-bitty Voracious paycheck, please send your resume, a clip or two and story idea to hraskin@seattleweekly.com. We’re interested in all kinds of food writing, including hard news, features, essays, opinion pieces, short fiction (clearly identified as such, of course), interviews, poems and just about anything else which flows from your pen. What we’re after is sharp writing about original topics of interest to anybody who produces, prepares or consumes food. The only rule is the work must be previously unpublished, and you must disclose any relationship you have with the piece’s subject: Writing a glowing review of your brother-in-law’s grilled cheese stand won’t fly.

Questions? Post them in the comments section below. And when you’re ready to pitch, I’m at hraskin@seattleweekly.com