Category Archives: literary fiction

A Writer Friend Finds Me On Facebook And Reviews My Novel


Ah, my love/hate relationship with social networking websites.  But I have to admit, when it comes to my novel The Metal Girl, Facebook and Twitter have become magical, almost mystical forces. 

A writer friend popped up the other week, whom I haven’t seen in over 15 years.  (We knew each other in New York City, and I left 10 years ago).  She found me on the Facebook page of someone I don’t even know, but who wanted to “friend” me and seemed interesting, another writer.   Jeanne is a wonderful writer, and I was delighted to hear from her.  She promptly downloaded the Kindle version of my book and read it.  Here is her lovely and very kind review:

“I met Judy Sandra in the early 1990s at the East Village apartment of writer/translator Ursule Molinaro. There, we sat around a table and read our stories – mostly tales of transgression and youthful exploration – aloud. Our workshop was more intimate than those held at The New School, NYU or the 92nd Street Y. We drank wine, smoked Gauloises, and got personal. The group eventually broke up, as writers groups do, and all we went our separate ways.

Now, almost 20 years later, a name pops up on a distant “friend’s” Facebook page. A name and a title. Memories return. I can barely wait to download Judy Sandra’s The Metal Girl on my Kindle. As I read it, I vaguely remember the night we critiqued one scene or another, or the night Judy hit on the book’s resonant title. Rather, I’m immersed in this story I remember as good, really good. Yet, it’s changed somehow – with time, it’s gotten even better.

The Metal Girl is an intriguing story, simply told, about a young woman’s wandering in a foreign country at an age (and in an era) when every meeting or confrontation was a clue to piecing together the essential self. The book is strikingly different from much of the other memoir/fiction I’ve read in that there’s not a single false note, not a moment of empty showmanship, self-mythologizing, or gratuitous sexuality. I notice after, not during, the writer’s command of language, how skilled she is at drawing me through Copenhagen, seeing it through the narrator’s eyes as I ache for her dilemmas. I think its pleasure lies in this character’s exploration of truths about human nature that are not just personal, but universal. Her internal life blossoms within me as I read it.

For a moving story-within-a-story, go to the writer’s website (https://jsmedia.wordpress.com/2010/01/28/the-reverend-the-house-church-the-novel-the-resurrection/) and read about The Metal Girl’s resurrection in a church basement. I highly recommend this book whose time, I feel, has finally come.”

To read Jeanne Dickey’s wonderful short stories, go to:  http://www.fictionaut.com/users/jeanne-dickey

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The Reverend, The House Church, The Novel, The Resurrection: how my book was revived by divine intervention


My novel, The Metal Girl, will be released in a few weeks. Here’s what happened, resulting in its publication:

This past June, about a week before Father’s Day, I logged into my personal Facebook page. A stranger had written on my wall the following message:  “Hi, Are you the Judy Sandra that wrote The Metal Girl? I found your manuscript in the basement of my church. I’m reading it, and I really like it,” signed Rev. Tom Martinez.

But how could that be? He was talking, of course, about my second novel, which I had written in 1993 when I was still living in Brooklyn, NY. Eight years  after receiving an MA in Creative Writing, I wrote this novel as part of a private fiction writing class at the home of the novelist and translator Ursule Molinaro.  At that time, I had only sent the manuscript out to about six or seven literary agents and a few book editors. Tiring of the usual runaround, I plunged into the next creative projects. I let the book go for the moment and moved on, eventually leaving NYC for good in 2001. Since then I gave it another edit and recently was contemplating adapting it for a screenplay. I marveled that any of the few copies in circulation still existed, sixteen years later, in a church basement, no less.

I wrote back. “Yes, that’s me. I’m glad you like the book. But…how did you get it? Can we talk?” I called Brooklyn, and we spoke for quite a while, as the enigma of the manuscript slowly unraveled. Rev. Tom Martinez is the Minister of a small liberal Unitarian Universalist Church–All Souls Bethlehem Church, congregation 30– that took over a row house in the Kensington neighborhood of Brooklyn. The cover page of my manuscript had my Brooklyn address, and he  was surprised to learn that I’m now in Los Angeles. Here is Tom’s story:

“It all happened during a basement clean-up party a few months ago (before June). One of our parishioners was reaching into an old wooden file cabinet and pulling out old papers that we were aggressively tossing out. It was time for everything to go. Then she held up a manuscript and said aloud, “What’s this?” The cover page read, “The Metal Girl,” listed Judy Sandra as the author and showed a Brooklyn address. We were determined to throw out everything, and I do mean everything. But I knew I’d never forgive myself and would always wonder what it had been. And, besides, how did the manuscript wind up here, at All Souls Bethlehem Church?

So I set the book aside and later brought it up to my apartment above the church. A few days passed with me running here and there. Every now and then the manuscript would catch my eye and I’d feel that sense of curiosity, till one day I sat down and began to read. I read the first paragraph, and then the second, and before long I was enthralled. As I’ve since told Judy, I was struck by the beauty of the language, the candor and power of the narrator’s journey, and the eternal theme of a wandering artist in a foreign land. How the book found its way here to ASBC remains a mystery.”

I am most thankful and grateful for Rev.Tom Martinez, the parishioners of All Souls Bethlehem Church, and some truly divine intervention.  I’m still nonplussed by this miraculous chain of events. In the end, one is left quite speechless.

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