Estela, Undrowning

Written by René Peña-Govea 

*Publisher: Quill Tree Books

*Publication date: March 3, 2026

*Language: English

*Print length: 368 pages

*ISBN-10: 0063429950

*ISBN-13: 978-0063429956

*Reading age: 14 years and up

In her raw and resonant debut novel, René Peña-Govea seamlessly interweaves prose and poetry to uplift the power of language, the courage to fight injustice, and the complex beauty of finding your people—perfect for fans of Elizabeth Acevedo’s The Poet X and Carolina Ixta’s Shut Up, This is Serious. 

Estela Morales is one of the only Latinas who tested into San Francisco’s most exclusive public high school. In her senior year, Estela just wants to keep her head down, eke out a passing grade from her racist Spanish teacher, and get into her dream college. 

But after placing second in the Latiné Heritage Poetry Contest behind a non-Latino student, Estela is thrust into citywide debates about merit, identity, and diversity.

Things only get messier when her family is threatened with eviction. As Estela’s friends organize against bigotry and her landlady increases the pressure, Estela is suffocating and finds release only in poetry and in a breathless new romance. When tensions finally reach their breaking point, Estela must find a way to undrown the community she loves—and herself.

Review

"In Peña-Govea’s arresting debut, Estela contends with complex questions regarding love and sexuality, identity, and how to use her voice to enact change, she comes to understand the value of imperfection and growth. It’s both a poignant reflection on young adulthood and a joyful celebration of adolescence that challenges stereotypes and engenders hope." - Publisher's Weekly- starred review

"Hand this to teens hungry for realistic fiction with rich, complex characters, and multifaceted drama." - The Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books- starred review

"Through a gorgeous blend of prose and verse, Peña-Govea delivers a timely and impactful story about personal growth and combating harmful systems of oppression that encourage self-hatred and racial in-fighting." - Booklist- starred reviews

"First-person narrator Estela’s intense, dramatic inner voice takes center stage, highlighting her angst and emotional extremes...The work asks poignant questions about bias, opportunity, and racial inequalities and explores techniques for supporting mental health." - Kirkus Reviews

René Peña-Govea is a Chicana writer, musician, and educator who was born and raised in San Francisco and still lives there with her family. She published her first poem and released her first album at age fifteen. Since then, she has been named an inaugural Bay Beats musician, a YBCA-100 Honoree, a Las Musas Hermana, a Brown-Handler Resident, and a Creative-in-Residence at the Ruby. René performs music with three generations of La Familia Peña-Govea and as René y Familia. Estela, Undrowning is her first novel. 

Memories, Moths, Enamoradas Pasadas

Nightime Walkabout: Visit With A Swarm of Unknown Moths

Michael Sedano

The night isn’t particularly dark on the concrete driveway entering the brightly lit mall parking lot. I’m walking, so I keep to the edge where a bed of dwarf lantana grow. Something, maybe a gum wrapper, maybe a critter, darts across the flowers into shadow.

I bend to gaze intently scanning the spot where movement has arrested my attention. I search around several plants, eyes primed to see a piece of paper that doesn’t exist. I straighten up surveying the bed at my feet where some natural magic shares this climactic moment of metamorphosis with me when these moths rise from the earth like silent chicharras, seeking nourishment from abundant lantana flowers.

I have no idea what moth this can be. When the moths stop to sip, their wings flutter in nonstop delight fully comprehending this nectar. Getting close and getting an iphone foto takes dozens of exposures, but at such wing velocities the iphone cannot catch a wing in space even with flash. By their wings will you know them, moths, I have no identification for these small souls.

I get to my car and a moth has posed itself on the windshield. Mira nomás.

Fast As You Can Wink An Eye

Michael Sedano  

 

She ripped my heart

Into tiny quivering pieces

scattered everywhere. 

A bloody mess.

The janitor complained

It’s not my job, man.

I gathered the shards

Myself

Thinking to put it back

The way it was, later.

 

Carolina haunted him with profound regret, and unrequited passion. Walking away straight-shouldered, she turns to smile over her bare freckled shoulder, hair wafting into a golden blur. The glint from her eye promises him everything he would ever want. But she is paper and gelatin and silver halides and a fifty-years old memory. He’d held the camera to his cheek watching her turn away. She had walked into the crowd and he’d never laid eyes upon Carolina again.

 

Until now. The novelty of being in Edison NJ wears off quickly. Yesterday, to conclude the day’s business routine, his local hosts insist on taking Mr. De las Costillas sightseeing. The blimp. Edison’s labs. The Raritan Canal. White Castle burgers stuns him as the epitome of everything evil about fast food, but Miguel keeps that to himself. The locals are delighted to introduce the big shot from the coast to sliders.

 

It is the final night of the annual three-week swing and Costillas finally gets to be on his own. Relieved at the absence of ritualized company dinners, Miguel walks in a bouncy quick time, excited at the prospect of dinner in a diner. A shiny aluminum railcar diner, just like in old movies or corny teevee situation comedies. Even better, it’s called Carolina’s Place. 

 

De las Costillas mentally leaps in the air to click his heels to read “Blue Plate Special” on the chalkboard. The menu goes on for pages. Burgers, knishes, pirogi, cabbage soup, borscht, steak, fish, spaghetti. Miguel orders the blue plate special, meat loaf and all the trimmings. When he tops off the meal with a slice of custard pie, he tells Mary how delicious this custard pie tastes, like home.

 

Mary laughs and tells Miguel frankly she can’t stomach that slimy shit in her mouth, pardon my french. But the owner insists they keep custard pie on the menu. It doesn’t sell. Mary tells him I gotta tell boss lady about this. And with that Mary wheels around and pushes her way into the back.

 

The piecrust has a hard shell of granulated sugar along the rim. The side of Miguel’s fork cracks into the crispiness and glides through dense orange pudding. Perfumes of cardamom, nutmeg, and canela tantalize his nostrils and quivering tastebuds. Miguel’s fork trembles remembering another custard pie.

 

His mouth fills with flavor when he crushes the morsel with his tongue. The custard has baked just to the point of perfection; light, solid, creamy smoothness. He thinks of the smile over Carolina’s shoulder, the fine hairs of her cheek fuzz glowing in the afternoon light, her eyes at once distant and urgent. Miguel draws a long slow breath through parted lips across the flan still resting in his mouth. He closes his eyes to concentrate on sensing this aroma filling his sinus as he exhales. He remembers the moment he’d called, “Carolina, soma pa’ca! look over here!”

 

When Miguel de las Costillas opens his eyes he is looking into a woman’s eyes. He knows her and he slowly angles his head to look at her from a different perspective. She looks at him intently, then suspiciously. “How’d you find me?” Her voice still carries that sweet timbre that had rested unheard in his memory for fifty years. Fifty years of cigarettes—she reeks of tobacco—ravaged it, but the woman speaks with Carolina’s voice.

 

“Hi, Carolina” is all he says. Then he adds, “Happy birthday, 50 times over.” It has been that long. Carolina sits.

 

Miguel takes another bite of custard pie, savors it, and takes another bite. He remembers watching a 16-year old Carolina bustling in her mother’s kitchen, whipping up a custard pie. That girl had spirit. He played “Billy Boy” on the piano and made up a lyric about custard pie. She had laughed and danced and sang along, and baked a custard pie fast as young Miguel could blink an eye.

 

Carolina’s biography serves up a litany of woes and five husbands. Hard luck turns into elation. But that doesn’t work out, and more hard luck. Only three kids, thankfully, who have troubles of their own. Lou, the last husband before she gave up men, had beaten the shit out of her but when he died he left her this diner and the parking lot. She is not eking by, doing all right, getting there. 

 

Does he want to, you know? Miguel holds her eyes with regret and she begins to sing “It’s Been a Long, Long Time.” 

 

It was their song. He played the sheet music, she sang. Singing had been her tease. She would lean over him to read the words, squeezing him with both arms. Or she snuggled against him on the piano bench, an arm around his waist, leaning into him to turn the page with her right hand, occasionally sliding her nose into his neck. She drove him wild, a long, long time ago.

 

Costillas wishes he could photograph the empty darkened diner, shades half drawn, their corner booth in a pool of light. Two figures sit across from each other, their faces moving into and out of the overhead bulb like nighthawks turning in the gyre. The muted green walls scream out to be photographed. 

 

She sings the entire song and by the final measure she has reached her hands across to him. He takes both hands and caresses them. She begins to lose the melody and energy, her voice fades until she whispers haltingly “… long, long, time.”

“Tinta negra, Black Ink, Tinta Nera, Μαύρη μελάνη” by Xánath Caraza

“Tinta negra, Black Ink, Tinta Nera, Μαύρη μελάνη” by Xánath Caraza

 

Xanath Caraza

Tinta negra

 

por Xánath Caraza

 

Llueve en el fosforescente verde matutino.

Descubro entre la cibernética tinta negra,

entre un desconocido norte que es mi sur,

palabras entretejidas con miedos,

sentimientos disfrazados de distancia,

muros metálicos dividen dos países,

dos corazones, madres e hijos,

padres y hermanos, pasado y presente.

 

¿Qué nos hace diferentes?

 

Somos manos que escriben,

que trabajan, limpian y guían

en la oscuridad más grande.

 

¿Qué es una frontera?

 

Límites creados,

culturas forzadas

a darse la espalda.

 

Llueve en el fosforescente verde matutino.

Descubro entre la tinta negra

de esta pantalla de luz artificial,

los hombres y mujeres sin nombre

que apenas dejan rastro de su existencia

en los desiertos. 

 

Anónimos seres que nunca

serán reclamados.

 

Esperan las madres orgullosas

a los hijos e hijas tragados por

la flamígera arena del desierto.

 

Rojo atardecer llena mi pantalla

y la tinta negra empieza a sangrar.

 

 

Xanath Caraza

Black Ink

 

Translated by Sandra Kingery

 

It’s raining in the phosphorescent greenness of daybreak.

I discover in the cybernetic black ink,

in an unknown north that is my south,

words interwoven with fears,

emotions disguised as distance,

metallic walls dividing two nations,

two hearts, mothers and children,

fathers and siblings, past and present.

 

What makes us different?

 

We are hands that write,

that work cleaning and guiding

in the darkest dark.

 

What is a border?

 

Created limits,

cultures forced

to turn their back.

 

It’s raining in the phosphorescent greenness of daybreak.

I discover in the black ink

of this screen of artificial light,

nameless men and women

who barely leave a trace of their existence in the deserts. 

 

Anonymous beings who

will never be claimed.

 

Proud mothers awaiting 

sons and daughters swallowed

by the scorching desert sand. 

 

Red twilight fills my screen

and the black ink begins to bleed.

 

 

Xanath Caraza

Tinta Nera

 

Tradotto da Andrea Garbin

 

Piore nel fosforescente verde mattutino.

Copro nella cibernetica tinta nera,

in uno sconosciuto nord che è il mio sud,

parole intrecciate con paure,

sentimenti mascherati da distanza

muri metallici dividono due paesi

due cuori, madri e figli

padri e fratelli, passato e presente.

 

Cosa ci rende differenti?

 

Siamo mani che scrivono,

che lavorano, che puliscono e guidano

nell’oscurita più gande.

 

Cos’ è una frontiera?

 

Limiti creati,

culture forzate

a voltarsi le spalle.

 

Piove nel fosforescente verde matutino.

Scopro dentro la tinta nera di questo

schermo di luce artificiale,

le ombre e donna senza nome

che a stento lasciano una traccia della

lore esistenza nei deserti. 

 

Esseri anonimi che non saranno

mai reclamati.

 

Sperano le madri orgoliose

dei loro figli e figlie inghioltiti dalla

fiammoggiante sabbia del deserto.

 

Il rosso crespuscolo riempie

il mio schermo e la tinta nera

cumincia a sanguinare.

 

Xanath Caraza

Μαύρη μελάνη

 

Translated to the Greek by María José Martínez Rodríguez and her students: Angelikí Patera, Stella Panagopoulou, Katerina Apostolaki, Varvara Asouti, Tatiana Basakou, Timoklia Dougali, Afroditi Papatheodorou

 

Βρέχει στο λαμπερό πράσινο του πρωινού

ανακαλύπτω ανάμεσα στη μαύρη μελάνη του κυβερνοχώρου

ανάμεσα σ’ έναν άγνωστο βορρά που είναι ο νότος μου

λέξεις υφασμένες με φόβους

αισθήματα μεταμφιεσμένα από απόσταση μεταλλικά

τείχη διαιρούν δυο χώρες

δυο καρδιές, μητέρες και παιδιά

Γονείς και αδέρφια, παρελθόν και παρόν

 

Τι μας κάνει διαφορετικούς;

 

Είμαστε χέρια που γράφουν, που εργάζονται

καθαρίζουν και οδηγούν στο πιο μεγάλο σκοτάδι

 

Τι είναι τα σύνορα; Όρια φτιαχτά

πολιτισμοί πειθαναγκασμένοι να γυρίζουν την πλάτη

βρέχει στο λαμπερό πράσινο του πρωινού

ανακαλύπτω ανάμεσα στη μαύρη μελάνη αυτής της

οθόνης με τεχνητό φως τους άνδρες

και τις γυναίκες χωρίς όνομα που μόλις

 

αφήνουν ίχνη της ύπαρξης τους

στις ερήμους. Ανώνυμα πλάσματα

 

που ποτέ δεν θα αναζητηθούν

οι μητέρες περήφανες περιμένουν τους

γιους και τις κόρες που κατάπιε η φλογισμένη

 

άμμος της ερήμου. Κόκκινο σούρουπο γεμίζει την

οθόνη μου και η μαύρη μελάνη αρχίζει

να ματώνει.

 

Tinta negra / Black Ink

Author:  Xánath Caraza

Publisher: Pandora Lobo Estepario Press (April, 2016)

 

Tinta Negra / Μαύρη μελάνη

Author: Xánath Caraza

Publisher: Pandora Lobo Estepario Press (2019) (Spanish-Greek)

 

Cover art by Silvia Santos

 

Tinta negra / Black Ink by Xánath Caraza received Honorable Mention for ‘Best Book of Poetry in Spanish-One Author’ for the 2017 International Latino Book Awards

 

Xanath Caraza

APPLICATION FOR MACONDO WRITERS WORKSHOP 2026

For more information and to apply visit, 

https://macondowriters.com

 

 

Workshop applications/registration for the 2026 workshop are now for everyone. All essential information is detailed in the application form which is made available on this link, https://macondowriters.com/workshop/

 

MACONDO WRITERS WORKSHOP 2026

JULY 20- JULY 26, 2026

TRINITY UNIVERSITY

SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS

The Macondo Writers Workshop is an association of socially-engaged writers working to advance creativity, foster generosity, and serve the community. Founded in 1995 by writer Sandra Cisneros and named after the town in Gabriel García Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude, the workshop gathers writers from all genres who work on geographic, cultural, economic, gender, and spiritual borders. An essential aspect of the Workshop is a global sense of community; participants recognize their place as writers in our society and the world. We are also seasoned writers who demonstrate a professional or master’s level of writing. Qualified applicants must meet both criteria. Excellent writing does not excuse poor community spirit; vice-versa, an impressive record of community involvement does not excuse poor writing. Macondo is a gift we give to one another, with willing hands and open hearts. 

The deadline to submit your online application and non-refundable registration fee is February 22, 2026. Accepted participants will be notified by April 1, 2026.

Looking Back To Move Forward

Thirteen Years Later

by Thelma  T. Reyna  

Oil painting by @ Victor Cass

 

These harrowing times feel familiar to me.  Our basic human and Constitutional rights are assaulted daily by federal agents deployed by Trump. In 2013, I wrote a book titled Life & Other Important Things (only published one author’s copy). The book addresses issues in our nation at that time, when President Obama was at the beginning of his second term, with the GOP in control;  and Trump was active on the sidelines. It’s a collection of excerpts from my published writings, print and online. Here are some:

 

A nation that systematically, arbitrarily denies to a class of citizens its Constitutional rights to equal protection under the law, and equal access to the rights that other citizens enjoy, is a nation in danger of losing its soul. 

                                                                                                            ••••

 

Ideologues evidently believe that if they tell their lies often enough, consistently enough, with all the ideologues agreeing to cite the same script, like banging a giant drum that deafens rationality, the people will believe them, and the ideologues' policies will prevail. They'll win because their lies won….The only antidote is education.

                                                                                                            

••••

 

When the people unite and speak out together against injustice, discrimination, greed, and inhumanity, the perpetrators of these ills will eventually listen. It's silence that perpetrators crave, silence from those who suffer at their hands. 

••••

 

Our nation is at a dangerous crossroads: ….Conservative legislators say that the poor must give up more. Now Social Security is targeted for partial dismantling, and Medicare is in the Republicans' bulls-eye for termination and deliverance to corporate control. Now school funding is gutted, and children are packed like sardines into decaying buildings. Now poor children's food is taken away, and poor mothers' healthcare and family planning are stripped as well. Women's sovereignty over their bodies is stolen. Brilliant, motivated students who happen to be poor are excluded from colleges due to termination of grants and other funding that could have helped them improve their lives. Now our environment is also being delivered to corporate control so they can do with it as they wish: pollute, poison, ignore...whatever is best for their bottom line. Our nation is headed to a more dire bankruptcy than the economic one we face: bankruptcy of humanity.

 

••••

 

When millions of voices roar together--­the voices of old and young, rich and poor, gay and straight, middle class and disadvanta­ged, men and women, brown, black, yellow, red, and every other color in the spectrum--­it's a mighty roar indeed! Again and again, history has proven, in nation after nation, that the power of the people marching in the streets, united in their rejection of oppression­, cannot be overcome. It may take time, and it may take bloodshed, . . . but the magnitude of the people's collective voice is difficult to nullify.

 

••••

Looking back to 2013 now, it’s also harrowing to realize how history repeats itself, how injustice recycles itself like the proverbial bad penny coming back, how slow meaningful change can be…how fragile and vulnerable democracy is. But we the people must always believe that solidarity in defending our freedoms is a viable alternative. The march goes on.