Smoking kills (the story of a happy yet unlucky man) by  Clara Herrero Hernández

He smoked a lot during his first days in Germany. He smoked whilst he created a network of other foreign workers like him. He made good friends there, who he would play cards with and would go to watch Real Madrid play. He learned bits of various languages between puffs and sent money home and saved his own. He returned home to do his year of military service, where he was so well liked that they assigned him to be the chauffeur for some officials, and there too, he smoked, played cards, and told jokes. He had become the coffee machine, exhaling smoke, and providing comfort and encouragement.

Fumar Mata (la historia de un hombre feliz sin suerte) de Clara Herrero Hernández

Fumó mucho los primeros días en Alemania, mientras formaba una comunidad de otros trabajadores extranjeros como él. Hizo buenos amigos allí, con los que jugaba a las cartas e iba a ver jugar al Madrid cuando iban a Alemania. Aprendió algo de varios idiomas entre calada y calada, mandó dinero a casa y ahorró el propio. Volvió para cumplir su año en la mili, donde cayó tan bien que lo destinaron a ser el chófer de algunos oficiales, y allí también fumó y jugó a las cartas y contó chistes. Se había convertido él en la cafetera, que echaba humo y consuelo y ánimo.

Swans in the Mediterranean by Pedro Gutiérrez Ubero

I thought about my great-grandfather when I leaped into the water from the overhanging deck of the Costa Concordia. It was night, it was winter (the Cruise ship Costa Concordia ran around just off the island of Giglio at 21:42 on the 13th of January 2012) and my first thought was to find out if the water was too cold.

Cisnes en el Mediterráneo by Pedro Gutiérrez Ubero

Pensé en él -en mi bisabuelo- mientras tomaba impulso para saltar al agua desde la escorada cubierta del Costa Concordia. Era de noche, era invierno (el crucero Costa Concordia encalló frente a la isla de Giglio a las 21:42 horas del 13 enero de 2012) y mi primera impresión fue comprobar que el agua estaba demasiado fría…

EP. 33 | Yvonne battle-felton on atlantic city

My grandmother’s house in Atlantic City… this white and pink house a block away from the ocean… you just went in and it felt like home. Whenever I’m thinking about writing or where I feel both safe and comfortable enough to create and imagine anything that’s possible… I go back to that place, that house… When I think about my literary home is that house that’s no longer there.

EP. 32 | Nguyễn Phan Quế Mai on Facing Rejection When You Write about a Hard Topic

My novel was rejected by so many publishers because it deals with very horrible topics. It deals with death, with  rape, with war, with agent orange, with mass murder, executions… Of course there’s a sense of hope and lots of love, and family bonds… but people have to confront the horror of all the evil and horror to be able to find kindness and compassion. They have to go through a lot of darkness to see the light and they have to become vulnerable together with my characters. So this book is not a fun read, it’s a serious read. So I think a lot of editors thought they wouldn’t be able to sell it.

usir, by teresa garanhel

‘I remember the ocean was as flat as the ship’s deck when the masters appeared. I saw their flag, but at the time I didn’t know what it meant. You know the one, white and red. We were all so scared. I understood later it was the Cross of the Order of Christ, the Empire’s divine right to the spice trade. We were coming from India when they sunk the ship, but not before putting me and a few others in crates.’ A sigh. ‘My sarcophagus. I was reborn inside it.’