(When I am rejected, I always wonder, is it the content? Could this be the answer?)
Dear John Jaramillo,
I’m afraid we cannot accept your story after all.. Our third guidline says, “English only.”
I know some of Hemingway’s wonderful work contatins Spanish. But this is a tiny venue with strict guidelines. We cannot expect our readers or our evaluators to understand, “Oy, lo. Muy chingon,” and “mujer!”
I offer you the opportunity to send another story, paid for by your payment of $15.00, or the return of your $15.00. I’m sorry.
Sincerely,
Idore Anschell
(Here it is if you were curious.)
Front Seat and Pinocchio
(word ct: 100)
That morning in the Chevy, I said, “You know that thing that makes people learn?”
“Oy, lo. Muy chingon.”
“Know what I mean?”
“Brain?” she said.
“No! Conscience—”
“Jiminy Cricket. I saw it on tape.”
“Jesus. I let you talk all night”
“Finish!”
“I’m just saying. I don’t have that.”
“People don’t sleep in cars or what?”
“No.”
“Well, we’re here.”
“I’m older. I say they don’t.”
She leaned up and revealed a blemish where her Jefe had taken a cigarette to her cheek. “If you ashamed, take me home—”
“Ah, mujer! Go back to sleep!”
