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Ann Arbor, MI, 48103
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Dzanc Books is nonprofit press specializing in literary fiction and nonfiction. In addition to publishing activities, Dzanc Books also supports the Disquiet International Literary Program.

CHAYA BHUVANESWAR: FICTION

OUR MENTORS

CHAYA BHUVANESWAR: FICTION

Chaya Headshot.jpg
Chaya Headshot.jpg

CHAYA BHUVANESWAR: FICTION

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Categories: Fiction
Availability: 3 hours per month
1-hour session: $20
2-hour session: $35

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ABOUT THE MENTOR

CHAYA BHUVANESWAR is a practicing physician and writer whose work has appeared or is forthcoming in Narrative Magazine, The Awl, Tin House, Michigan Quarterly Review, Notre Dame Review, story South, aaduna, r.k.v.r.y. and elsewhere. She has received a Henfield writing award, a Rhodes scholarship, and is a frequent public speaker on social justice as well as trauma and recovery. Her debut short story collection, White Dancing Elephants, was selected as the winner of Dzanc Books' 2017 Short Story Collection Prize.

Mentorship sessions are available at a cost of $20 for one hour, $35 for two hours, or $50 for four hours. All payments are processed through Submittable at the time of manuscript submission.

To book a mentoring session with Chaya, please select one, two, or four hours (depending on availability) from the product menu above.  Please continue clicking through the checkout process; though you will not be charged at this time, finishing your purchase reserves your hours with this mentor.  Though you will need to provide a billing address, you do not need to enter a credit card at this time.

Once your purchase is completed, a Dzanc staff member will be in touch to help you submit your manuscript and your payment through Submittable.

SAMPLE FROM WHITE DANCING ELEPHANTS

So, here I am sitting in the doctor’s waiting room, hoping no one talks to me or intuits why I’m fat, when the door that says on the outside Do Not Enter swings open broadly and Talinda storms out, not long for this world. The young, blond nurse stands there unflappable, holding the door open so it won’t swing back and hit her in the face, propping it with one hand and holding a clipboard with the other. “We should have the results back any day,” she calls after Talinda, turning back inside before it’s obvious that my best friend isn’t listening. “Later this week. Do check,” her voice wafts out, as if she’s a woman working in a shop. As if she isn’t an announcer of life versus death.

Not long for this world. “Don’t say things like that,” I would’ve said if I had heard it from Talinda. One of her usual angry and dapper turns of phrase.

“You’ll fight this thing,” I said when she first told me she had stomach cancer, and for once she nodded without ridiculing a cliché. But that was a year ago, before I became this wretched person. A woman sleeping with her best friend’s husband, a woman waiting to take over a life.