Beautiful Sentences: Sara Nović

I woke in the cobalt part of the dawn.

Sara Nović, Girl at War.


Beautiful Sentences: Fernando Pessoa

Having touched the feet of Christ is no excuse for faulty punctuation.

Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet.


Writerly resolutions, February Status

As the fact that I’m half a month late in posting this might attest, I’ve not been doing so good with my resolutions. Only 1,573 words on the novel which is worse than January.

Short story statuses: The revisions on the long story have been problematic and I put it aside for a while. The story I workshopped in early February is in the midst of revisions and the story which was almost done is ready for workshopping even if I’m not. Meanwhile little to no progress on a new story.

My rejections have had me down. I’ve been getting mostly form rejections of late which has put my positive response rate to the lowest it’s been since before I published my first story. At times I’m almost ready to give up on all of it.

“Saint Jude’s Medallion”: The Story Behind the Story

The earliest version of “Saint Jude’s Medallion” came from an assignment for a class I took as an undergrad,Image of Saint Jude Medallion Latinos and the Politics of Religion. We were supposed to interview an older Latino/a (the term Latinx had not yet been invented or at least had not achieved currency in the Pomona Valley of the late 80s) about some aspect of folk theology. The rest of the class were Latinx themselves and had only to call up abuelita and record a conversation with her to complete the assignment. I should have made arrangements to find someone to speak with, but I procrastinated and had to come up with something quick with no resources. So I created a work of fiction purporting to be truth (a friend majoring in political science told me later that what I considered to be a relatively venal sin was, in fact, a grave ethical violation. These sorts of issues were not usually matters of concern in the English department).

The original version of the story ended with the conversion of the narrator’s boyfriend, but when I revisited this story on my return to writing, I found that conclusion to be saccharine and unsatisfying. I came up with the conclusion that I did when in the course of researching contemporaneous terminology for the rail line that the narrator used to travel to the South Side neighborhood of Chicago I read about the train crash that takes place near the end of the story which seemed purpose-made for my needs.

An early version of this story was workshopped in the writing group I was in with Georgene Smith Goodin, and was rejected many many times before I brought into a writing class I took with Lee Strickland at StoryStudio Chicago where it was met with violent disapprobation by my classmates. I took Lee’s comment about the narrator’s English being too good to heart and I rewrote all of her dialogue in Spanish, did a literal translation of the Spanish into English and then cleaned up the resulting broken English to make it read better. I put it back into submissions and got still more rejections, all of them form rejections. My first hint that it wasn’t something I should trunk was a personalized rejection from Barcelona Review praising the writing. A couple weeks later, Switchback responded offering publication.

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Beautiful Sentences: Éduoard Louis

That’s one part of scenes like this that people don’t think of: the physical pain, the body suffering all at once, bruised and wounded What people think of—faced with a scene such as this one, I mean: looking at it from the outside—is the humiliation, the inability to understand, the fear, but they don’t think of the physical pain.

Éduoard Louis, The End of Eddy.


Beautiful Sentences: Jamie Quatro

Pets area fucking waste, Tommy says, chin quivering. They’re just ticking time bombs of sadness.

Jamie Quatro, Fire Sermon.


Beautiful Sentences: Rebecca Makkai

What is the opposite of memory? What is the inverse of an echo?

Rebecca Makkai, The Hundred-Year House.


Beautiful Sentences: Karen Joy Fowler

Just imagine writing one of your books with two thousand dead bodies to explain. And every single one of them left someone behind, begging their gods to undo it.

Karen Joy Fowler, “Private Grave 9.”


Beautiful Sentences: Jamie Quatro

Augustine’s God-shaped hole. But some people, she says, realize the emptiness itself is God.

Jamie Quatro, Fire Sermon.


Beautiful Sentences: Laura Kolbe

They were small people, with lawny eyebrows and demure hands.

Laura Kolbe, “Crimes of Paris.”