John Paul Jaramillo

5250 Shepherd Road Dept. of Arts and Humanities
Springfield, IL 62796

Author's Bio

His stories have appeared in the Acentos Review, Palabra, A Magazine of Chicano and Latino Literary Art and Somos en Escrito–most recently in La Casita Grande Lounge and Nat Brut #9. He is the author of the story collection The House of Order, named a 2013 Int’l Latino Book Award Finalist, and the novel in stories Little Mocos from Twelve Winters Press. In 2013 Latino Boom: An Anthology of U.S. Latino Literature listed Jaramillo as one of its Top 10 New Latino Authors to Watch and Read.

Publications and Prizes

Little Mocos--a Novel
(Twelve Winters Press, 2017)
, The House of Order: Stories
(Anaphora Literary Press, 2012)
Antique Children, Duende, InDigest, PALABRA: A Magazine of Chicano & Latino Literary Art, Paraphilia Magazine, Pilgrimage Magazine, Sleet Magazine, Acentos Review, Verdad
Prizes Won: 
His collection The House of Order: Stories was named an International Latino Book Award Finalist and in 2013 Latino Boom: An Anthology of U.S. Latino Literature listed Jaramillo as one of its Top 10 New Latino Authors to Watch and Read.

Personal Favorites

What I'm Reading Now: 
Pedro Paramo by Juan Rulfo
Fat City by Leonard Gardner
Maud Martha by Gwendolyn Brooks

More Information

Listed as: 
Fiction Writer
Gives readings: 
Travels for readings: 
Identifies as: 
Prefers to work with: 
Fluent in: 
Born in: 
Pueblo, CO
Raised in: 
Pueblo, CO
Little Mocos chapter 1 excerpt--animales: Tio Neto sat on the bed shirtless and hungover, shaking his balding head at the reality of missing his father’s funeral service. He raised both arms to smell his pits and started digging into his jeans for a comb. “There’s a lot of the old folks waiting on you upstairs,” I told him. When he saw who it was, Neto stood up and kicked off his sneakers, coughed and spat at the basement’s concrete floor. He dropped his soiled pants and rolled up in the sheets. “You the only Ortiz worth a damn left alive in this neighborhood,” Neto said. His clothes were in two great big garbage bags, and he stayed still a minute as I dragged his only collared shirt out from under his stash of nudie magazines and fungus-looking weed. I put Neto’s clothes down deep in the washing machine and asked out loud about the whereabouts of my own father. “Listen to what I say. I can tell you this, boy,” Neto lectured before collapsing back down. “Born into this world alone and die alone. Family will leave you. Women will leave you. All you have is your own damned self.”
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Last updated: Nov 29, 2017