Author: Sonia M. Rompoti
-
If Your Book Isn’t Perfect, Publish It Anyway
Perfection is often just fear wearing expensive shoes. There is a private little prison many writers live in for years. It has lovely wallpaper, color-coded folders, seventeen revised opening chapters, and a manuscript that is “almost ready.” The bars are invisible, which is convenient, because then people can call it standards instead of what it…
-
After the Wedding
The maid of honour and the best man ended up on the same hotel balcony at midnight because they’d both needed air from the same wedding. This was, Madeleine reflected, statistically inevitable — spending an entire day helping two people love each other publicly tended to clarify things. Specifically, it had clarified that she had…
-
The Bet She Almost Lost
The terms were simple: Iris would pretend to be Callum’s girlfriend for his family’s annual Christmas gathering — four days in a farmhouse in the Cotswolds — and in exchange, he would write her recommendation letter for the fellowship she wanted so badly she’d been losing sleep over it. It was a transaction. A clean,…
-
How to Hold a Storm
She told him on the fourth date. Most people waited longer, she knew — most people presented the glossy version of themselves until they were sure the other person was hooked, and then they introduced the complications slowly, like medication titrated upward. But Sera had never been good at the glossy version, and when Jonah…
-
The Bet
The problem with hating someone was that you had to keep noticing them to sustain it. And Cleo had been noticing Finn Walsh for the better part of two years — noticing every confident, infuriating, quietly hilarious thing about him — until she wasn’t sure anymore whether what she felt was hatred or something that…
-
Everything You Didn’t Say
The letter started: I know we agreed not to do this, but I found your handwriting in the margin of the book you left behind and I have been undone by it for three days, so here we are. Nadia read it four times at the kitchen table, standing up, still in her coat. She…
-
The Indie Author Spellbook: What Actually Sells Books
There is a particular kind of heartbreak reserved for indie authors who publish a book, refresh the sales dashboard seventeen times, and then stare into the middle distance when nothing dramatic happens. You wrote the thing. You edited the thing. You uploaded the thing. You even announced the thing with a graphic that took far…
-
What Writing Romance Taught Me About Real Love
Spoiler: It is not six-pack abs and poor communication. There is a very committed misconception that romance authors spend their lives dreaming up impossible men, dramatic kisses in the rain, and eye contact so intense it could qualify as a fire hazard. To be fair, sometimes we do. We are artists, not accountants. But writing…
-
In the Space Between
Ten years. She’d counted, not obsessively, just the way you counted certain things — the years since a particular song was released, the age you’d been when something changed you. Ten years since the night on the fire escape when he’d said ‘I can’t ask you to wait‘ and she’d said ‘I know‘ and they’d…
-
Renovation Season
The note under her door read: ‘Re: the drilling. I am sorry. It will be finished by Thursday. — 4B.‘ It was written in very careful handwriting on the back of a hardware store receipt, which meant he’d written it standing in the aisle between spackle and sandpaper, and Priya found this oddly endearing. She’d…
Sonia M. Rompoti, MSc, Bsc 