U.S. Southern Culture: Where are the Native American Authors?

Since Tahlequah, Oklahoma is only 30 miles from the Arkansas border, we relate mostly to U.S. Southern culture. Why do I mention my hometown? It's not only the place where I live, work, and raise my family. It's also home to two Cherokee tribal governments: Cherokee Nation and the United Keetoowah Band of Cherokees. I personally work for Cherokee Nation in the Indian Child Welfare Department. Additionally, the third Cherokee government is the Eastern Band of Cherokees in North Carolina. All this to say, Cherokees are the largest federally recognized tribe in the United States and our governments are historically situated in the South. So why don't we exist in the canon of Southern literature?

It looks like the American system has made us invisible once again. It amazes me how hard folks work to keep the "pristine myth" alive. While we are the smallest minority in the U.S., we are here. Don't believe the lies. The land is not vacant. There are Indigenous people here and we've been here since time immemorial. We drive the same highways you drive, and often climb the same ladders. So there's not a lack of Natives writing from the South. What's missing is the amount of attention we receive.

If I were to ask you, who is the quintessential Native American author from the South? Does anyone come to mind? Now don't go running to Google! That's cheating. I can name several contemporary Native American authors with Southern roots, but I have a Master's Degree in English with a concentration in Native American Literature from the University of Oklahoma. If I didn't readily know any names that'd be a problem. But most American readers don't know. Some might mention Joy Harjo because she was the U.S. Poet Laureate in recent years.

As far as fiction writers, there's Leanne Howe, Annette Saunooke Clapsaddle, and Kelli Jo Ford. There are also contemporary poets, like Sy Hoahwah and Santee Fraizer. Those are off the top of my head. More names will come to me later. Historically, there's no one with more publications than Robert J. Conley, who was not only an enrolled member of the Keetoowah Band of Cherokees but also wrote novel after novel about Cherokees in traditionally Southern environments. He not only wrote about Cherokee historical figures but also depicted the removal of Cherokees from North Carolina in his novel Mountain Windsong. While much of his writing was historical fiction, he won three Spur Awards in the Western genre. Conley was someone who should've received more recognition for his contributions to Southern literature. Maybe we could've honored him in the same way we honored Lee, Hurston, and Faulkner.

I'd like to commend the publishing industry for recognizing when there is a societal discrepancy, like lack of representation. In recent years there has been tremendous gains in this area. There are more BIPOC authors right now than there has ever been in American history. I'd also like to ask the publishing industry to consider the biggest issue facing Native Americans today: invisibility. We are the smallest minority in the U.S. with some of the highest disparity rates. Our communities are doing phenomenal work to end intergenerational trauma. Native people are resilient, hardworking, and proud. Give Southern Natives the opportunity to showcase our tenacity and strength. Recognize our contributions to the publishing industry. The canon of Southern literature needs Native voices--voices that not only advocate for tribally specific customs but can also represent historically targeted communities with a critical eye and genuine compassion.

Debut Novel 14 Years of Ups and Downs: How CALLING FOR A BLANKET DANCE Survived, Endured, and Finally Came to Being

I'm always drawn to these stories. Of the writer who wrote for decades to finally find her way onto a bookshelf. I'm drawn to them because I feel for what the writer has endured and the level of gratitude that comes along with it. It's rough out there. We're all tough. You can't endure the writing process without thickening your hide with a multitude of scars. There are many talented writers. When it all comes together, when your hard work finally meets opportunity, you can't help but find yourself in a gracious meditation on the trials and tribulations of creating your work of art.

I'd like to start this with an homage to the educators. You see back before my entrance into literary writing, I wanted to be the Native Stephen King but I was also growing further away from the horror genre. During this period in my late 20s, I luckily found myself accepted into the Institute of American Indian Arts (IAIA) in Santa Fe, New Mexico. This was where I delved deep into literary genre's themes around social justice. I also met my mentors, Evelina Zuni Lucero and Stephen Wall, at IAIA. Evelina was the Head of Creative Writing, and Stephen Wall was the Head of Indigenous Liberal Studies. Little did I know at the time that I'd walk away three years later holding a BFA in Creative Writing with a minor in Indigenous Liberal Arts. I'm indebted to Evelina and Stephen for the leadership, guidance, and willingness to mentor a stubborn and often egotistical young man.

It was during my time at IAIA that I developed the earliest chapters of my debut, CALLING FOR A BLANKET DANCE. I wrote a story titled, Got Per Cap?, in 2008 and this was where my Kiowa community voice came out. The story was later published in American Short Fiction as "Our Day," and then eventually I changed the title to "Our Dance." Now the story is the fifth chapter in the debut, which is titled "Quinton Quoetone (1993)." Soon after developing my Kiowa voice for the page, I then began developing my Cherokee voice, and this came to fruition the following year, 2009, when I wrote a story called "Time Like Masks." This story would eventually be published in South Dakota Review, and is now the third chapter in my debut, titled "Hayes Shade (1986)."

"Psychologically, I couldn't even slide a flash drive into my computer for the purposes of writing another story, chapter, novel."

~ Oscar Hokeah ~

It was the process of developing these two stories that began a life long effort to disrupt the perception of Native American peoples as being a single homogeneous group. Since I grew up between Kiowa and Cherokee communities in Oklahoma, I knew first hand about the similarities and beautiful differences between tribes. I also knew about the ugly contention between these two communities--slights, judgments, and stereotypes all. I felt like I could show readers in subtle and obvious ways how these dynamics play out. How we as Indigenous peoples share a common history of colonial violence, which pulls us together, and at the same time how each tribe has beautiful and unique qualities to be honored and cherished.

By the time I graduated from IAIA in 2009 and went on to the University of Oklahoma in 2010, I had my ego bruised enough times to be humbled by the creative writing process. There is no better way to condition yourself to humility than pouring yourself onto a page and receiving the harsh realities of what is and what isn't. In 2010, I had a sense of my direction as a writer. I was already calling myself a regionalist writer. In fact, I used the two stories mentioned above in my admissions paperwork to the University of Oklahoma (OU), and it was this very dynamic of seeking to disrupt the perception of Natives being a homogeneous group that had me accepted in the Master's Program.

It was at OU that I found my next mentor, Dr. Geary Hobson. I had entered the Master's Program under the Creative Writing program, but quickly found myself hitting a writer's block. This would begin years and years of self-doubt and self-criticism that would cripple my ability to write. While the two stories mentioned above were both published (both before I obtained a Master's Degree), I received harsh criticism that I felt was more of an attack on my drive to become a published author. One thing I've learned is that in writing programs we find our most cherished mentors, but we also find our most ambition detractors. For every person hoping for our success, there are a dozen others wishing for our failure. I quickly stopped writing. Psychologically, I couldn't even slide a flash drive into my computer for the purposes of writing another story, chapter, novel. I thought of myself as failure who didn't truly see his pathway to publication, and more of a delusional novice with perpetual misgivings. Eventually, I switched to a concentration in Native American Literature, and this is where I found Dr. Hobson. He was kind and considerate and took me under his wing, talking to me for long periods of time and sharing some of his secrets to staying in the creative writing space.

"Suddenly, the last strand weaved itself into place. I had figured it out. This was a decolonization narrative and the main character was healing through familial love and cultural grace."

~ Oscar Hokeah ~

It wasn't until after I graduated from OU in 2012 that I found myself writing again. It had been three years at this point. The stories I mentioned above were written in 2008 and 2009, and then I finally started to write again in 2012. I wrote the first draft of one story that would later be titled "Paper Towels." Slowly, I wrote a story here and a story there (all first drafts), and then I started to revise, slowly again, until I had a good collection together. By 2014, I had my first book and titled it: Reflections on the Water. The collection centered a male character who had similar traits as his mother. Basically it was a compare and contrast. I remember sending out queries to agents and they all came back rejected. But I kept going. I submitted some of the stories, like the one titled "Paper Towels," to literary magazines. Again, I received rejection after rejection. None of the stories were getting picked up, and the agents weren't responding to the collection of stories. Finally one agent responded and asked for 50 pages, but after I sent the 50 pages I never heard back again--not even to get a firm rejection. So I gave up again. It was pointless. Why was I writing? No one was interested.

One year and one divorce later, I found myself back in my hometown of Tahlequah, Oklahoma in 2015. Having just left a job that was spiritually grueling and traumatizing for reasons I'll not mention here, I decided I was going to write a novel about the experience. This one wasn't going to be a novel-in-stories like my last defeat. This one was going to be a full length novel about enduring the hardships at this specific place of work. I've mentioned this experience on previous posts, but my brand of writing is what folks might call "semi-autobiographical fiction." It's fiction, but it's closely drawn from my personal experiences or experiences of friends and family. I was taught "write what you know" at IAIA, and I took it to heart. So I spent the next year writing this novel. I wrote a complete first draft and then sat it aside in 2016.

Then I received an email from my old mentor, Dr. Hobson. He asked me what I was working on and I had mentioned the novel about my "workplace tribulations." But it was this simple and generous question that made me start thinking about the collection of stories that didn't quite make it. So two years later I decided to slide the flash drive into the computer and take a look at these stories again. I figured I had nothing to lose so I decided to tear it apart, to look for a different story line, to find a better angle. I discarded some stories and kept others. It was a little triggering. My self-doubt increased again, but I kept at it. I kept looking at the stories and searching for something that might work as a book. After months and months of stepping away from the stories and then opening them back up, I finally saw it. This wasn't a compare and contrast novel. It was a transformation narrative. The central figure wasn't a reflection of his mother, but instead he was an entire ecosystem--and this ecosystem was his family. I saw the thread where the main character was highly aggressive when he was younger and then eventually purged his aggression. So why did he transform? Suddenly, the last strand weaved itself into place. I had figured it out. This was a decolonization narrative and the main character was healing through familial love and cultural grace.

It was 2017 when I started writing new stories, started adding new characters, new family members, and the ecosystem just grew and grew. Soon I could see this one character from a multitude of angles because every family member had a different view point of his life. Literary fiction is character driven fiction. The greatest compliment a literary writer can get is that "these characters are real and alive!" With the chorus of stories, the main character was more alive than he had ever been. So it was somewhere in the middle of 2018 when I learned of #DVpit on Twitter. It was a pitch event for "diverse voices," and I decided I was going to give my new collection in stories a shot. For two months, I wrote and rewrote a tweet-sized pitch. Then the day of the #DVpit pitch event arrived, and I started to post...post and watch...watch and post. To my surprise, the one and only Beth Phelan retweeted my pitch with eye emojis. So five different agents clicked on my tweet. I couldn't believe it.

"I was a #DVpit success story."

~ Oscar Hokeah ~

Long story short, I signed with Allie Levick of Writers House. I was a #DVpit success story. It worked. I couldn't believe my luck, and my confidence shot through the roof. So when Allie came to me and said, "We're going to need to add about 30,000 more words," I didn't flinch. I said, "I can do it," and I completely believed in myself. And over the next few months I did exactly that. This was when Vincent Geimausaddle, Opbee Geimausaddle, and Araceli Chavez were born. I added new family members and strengthened the ecosystem that we all now know as Ever Geimausaddle. So Allie and I worked over 18 months tightening up the novel and getting it ready for publishers. It was now late 2019 and we came to the final moments of revision. Then early 2020 came and we started pitching to publishers. And we all remember what happened in early 2020: COVID. So the exact same time Covid hit the United States and shut everything down, I negotiated terms with my publisher, Algonquin Books. Later that summer the contracts were signed. It was official. I was going to be a published author.

Now the story doesn't stop there. As all those published writers know: there is the process of revision with the editor. I started working with Kathy Pories and she did a phenomenal job of slicing and dicing. She knew exactly what to say to get me to take the novel to the next level. It was motivating. She asked me to cut certain things that made the novel exactly what I was hoping it'd become. Her talent for seeing the true essence of a story is amazing. Sometimes it's just rearranging small dynamics and cutting the tiniest pieces that brings a character to an even brighter spirit. By time Kathy and I were finished, we had transformed a novel-in-stories into a full length novel. It was awesome to see and a great learning opportunity. I can say with absolute certainty that I'm a better writer for working with Kathy. I'll be forever in her debt.

So it was the end of 2021 and Kathy and I finished with the last of the last copy edits. Finally, the book was complete and fully packaged and ready to go. Now, it was time for getting the word out. Writing is the hard part and it was long and arduous, but we can't underestimate the value of marketing. Next, I began reworking a pitch that I thought I had a handle on. I soon realized that every time I was asked the dreaded question, "So what's your book about?," I had a different response. I didn't know why. Through the events put together by the marketing team, I was given the space to work and rework a succinct pitch. I've had to learn what to say at the beginning of my response to get my brain to funnel toward the center of the novel. What I've learned is that there is always refining to do, and all this refinement started 14 years ago. My debut, CALLING FOR A BLANKET DANCE, landed on bookshelves on July 26, 2022. And it's been a whole other learning experience in my debut year. So stay tight to my blog, and sometime in the not-so-distant-future I'll recount the trials and tribulations of my book's first year in the world.

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Tommy Orange's Praise for Oscar Hokeah's Debut Novel, CALLING FOR A BLANKET DANCE

As many of you already know, I've been out of the loop. Also many of you know about my debut novel. I had been promoting it on my social media constantly for months after it released in late July 2022. Then tragedy hit my family. I became distracted and consumed by my little sister's well being. I deleted all my social media. In the last few days, I've had a little more time to come back to this layer of the multiverse. Guess what I stumbled upon? Lit Hub released an article in the middle of December titled "88 Writers on the Books They Loved in 2022," and I was shocked to find Tommy Orange's praise for my debut.

I sat with my sister on Christmas day. The right side of her body paralyzed. She was unable to speak, and is still unable to speak. I've been helping her daily try to enunciate vowel sounds. Since the left side of her brain was affected by a major stroke, she'll need to relearn to speak again. I bought my sister a Christmas gift and I watched her open the wrapping paper. There are moments when she functions very much like a child, and watching her open that gift made her appear like small girl to me. She pulled the soft pillow from the paper and immediately started rubbing it against the side of her face. She wore a big smile. Christmas was my birthday. I was born on December 25th. It was one of the best birthdays I've had in a long time.

Jumping online again to discover all the amazing articles about my debut is a nice surprise after the last two months. There's been mentions with Time, Kirkus Reviews, BookPage, Tribal Journal, and too many others to mention them all. A lot has happened since I've been away. Who knew the multiverse was so action packed?

I was especially surprised to find Tommy Orange's mention of my debut. Orange wrote the groundbreaking novel, THERE, THERE. It received a tremendous amount of praise, and I remember buying his book for friends and family during the holidays when it was initially released. This is the book that started the latest Native American renaissance in literature. One I'm especially grateful for since my debut has benefited from the renewed interest in books written by Native authors. When I stumbled upon Orange's praise of my book, I was shocked and humbled. Here's what he had to say:

"The book I got the most excited about in 2022 is Oscar Hokeah’s Calling For a Blanket Dance. It’s such a vital and powerful novel, giving us a wide range of voices over decades of Native life in a new and real way, from a writer I will from now on read everything he writes. Lately it’s felt like I either don’t like a book enough to finish it or love it so much I read it again immediately after finishing it. Often I’ll read the book first then listen to the audiobook (I did this with Tess Gunty’s The Rabbit Hutch this year too), and the cast and performance of Calling For a Blanket Dance is so satisfyingly dynamic and nothing less than stunning. I could not more highly recommend this book." --Tommy Orange, author of There, There

I'm truly grateful for Tommy Orange's words here and I hope I get the chance to thank him in person one day. I'm also honored by Lit Hub for their article "88 Writers on the Books They Loved in 2022." You can find my debut novel, CALLING FOR A BLANKET DANCE, at your favorite local bookstore or online retailer: Bookshop, Barnes & Noble, Amazon, Target, Walmart, Books-A-Million, IndieBound.

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In Defense of Peripheral Narration: Fitzgerald Vs Hokeah in a Battle of Class, POV, and Power

Have you heard of a book called The Great Gatsby? It's written by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Most folks read it in high school. I didn't make it to high school (the last grade I completed was the sixth grade) so I didn't read it until I was an adult (after I went on to obtain a Master's Degree). If you remember, the novel is told by a character, Nick Carraway, about another character, Jay Gatsby. The reason I'm bringing up this particular book is two fold: (1) It's well known, and (2) it's a popular example of peripheral narration, where one character tells the story of another character. Don't worry this is not a rehearsal of Fitzgerald's novel. Instead it's an allusion to mine.

If I were to make a comparison between The Great Gatsby and my debut novel, Calling for a Blanket Dance, I'd argue it takes peripheral narration and amplifies it. Why? I enhance it with polyvocality. Both books are short reads that pack a big punch, yes. But we, Fitzgerald and I, operate from opposite ends of the class spectrum. As you probably know, The Great Gatsby is about the wealthy and critiques the American Dream by showcasing the underbelly of the uber-rich, where Calling for a Blanket Dance is an homage to the working class, who aren't trying to stratify a system but simply want to live without becoming victims to a movable standard. The Great Gatsby is to the wealthy what Calling for a Blanket Dance is to the working poor.

“There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy and the tired.” ― F. Scott Fitzgerald,The Great Gatsby

All that aside, let's think about the periphery. If we were in a creative writing class, I'd probably give you reasons why an author, such as myself and "old boy" Fitzgerald, would employ it as a technique. These reasons tend to be somewhat obvious, like the main character might have a secret, she or he might die during the course of the novel, they could be unlikable and therefore not relatable, and/or each story might be more important to the narrator(s) than it is to the main character. But this is not a creative writing class so I'll not go on about those.

What I will address is the richness of peripheral narration when doubly executed with polyvocality. What happens when 11 different people tell a story about you? If they were coworkers, we'd probably get the down and dirty about your shady-ass past and how you're not as angelic as you might think you are. If it's your family, then we'll get something a little more diverse, a little softness to go along with the prickly. Bittersweet, if you will. And I'll argue here that we'd get more depth about you as a person from your family than we would from you. Using peripheral narration mixed with polyvocality gives readers a much richer and deeper understanding of a main character.

“Let us learn to show our friendship for a man when he is alive and not after he is dead.” ― F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

Ultimately, it gives us more than the typical drama triangle (villain, victim, hero). Instead we move away from Western traditions in literature and step a little closer toward Indigenous ideology, like shaping an entire novel on traditional Kiowa and Comanche customs (say a Blanket Dance, maybe). Here the community has agency--not the individual--where a collective center from a tribally specific and historically targeted community wrap around each other in support, healing, and decolonization. Where we acknowledge how we are shaped by the people who love us the hardest. Moreover, where a chorus of voices sing in rhythm with a single thundering drum, reverberating out and across the planet to announce: our power is back.

"Stunning" Novel Cover: Symbolic Representations in Post-Modern Art Forms

There are two questions I love most when it comes to talking about my debut novel. One has to do with the structure, with it's polyvocality laid atop time jumps spanning three decades, and the other has to do with the cover. It's a striking image. An image that conveys perfectly the post-modern fracture experienced by the main character, Ever Geimausaddle, and his resilient trek through the process of decolonization.

There are so many layers to this cover, but before I jump into the nitty gritty I'd like to take a moment to talk about the initial reaction to the image. Covers are designed to do one thing more than anything else: Grab the reader. It's supposed to get a reader's attention so that they'll want to further examine the contents. My hat goes off to Christopher Moisan, who is the Creative Director at Algonquin Books. He did an amazing job creating such a wonderful design. I'll discuss here in a moment about how each layer of the image speaks so clearly to the novel. I wanted to acknowledge first how striking the image is and how perfectly it grabs the eye.

Christopher suggested using the artist who created the image, Christin Apodaca. She had been on his radar for a while and he thought her post-modern style matched perfectly with the post-modern aspects of my brand of literary fiction. She is from El Paso, Texas and representative of Latinx communities. I'm half Mexican, with my father being from Aldama, Chihuahua, Mexico, so it was important to work with Hispanic artists from communities of color. And I can't say enough how important it is to support women artists in a field dominated by men. Christin's murals can be found at different locations in the city of El Paso, TX. You can also discover her art here: http://www.capodaca.com/.

Christopher took the power of Christin's image and enhanced it with deeper symbols. The image itself is ripe with symbolic representation. In black and white alone, the dollar bill and sash sends my mind toward Kiowa and Comanche gourd dances. Those of us who engage in traditional gourd dances know that a crumpled dollar bill dropped at the feet of a dancer signifies a process of honoring. I immediately connected how the main character, Ever Geimausaddle, is trying to live with honor. With the sash coming down, I knew this honor was inextricably tied to his family and his community. Christin did a superb job of picking up on those very important symbols in the novel. I can't even imagine the arduous task of reading someone's novel and then coming up with a visual representation of the novel's theme. Christin did exactly that, and she did so with the exquisite detail of her personal style, which I describe as a post-modern Salvador Dali style. And it matched perfectly with the post-modern structure of the novel.

Then we get the brilliance of Christopher Moisan at work. So how does a Creative Director go from this amazing sketch to a final product that will grab a reader's attention? I asked for the image to be made into color and Christopher was on the same page. I let him know to make the sash half red and half navy blue. These are the colors that Kiowa and Comanche dancers wear. I asked for him to place the red on top to signify that the main character, Ever Geimausaddle, is Kiowa. If it were navy blue on top then it would signify Comanche. While Christopher couldn't make the blue a navy blue because it would've printed too dark on paper and wouldn't have looked blue at all. Moreover, it would've erased all of Christin's beautiful line work. So Christopher went with a royal blue with dark line work. I understood his reasoning. It's not only how the colors come out in a jpeg, but also how it prints on paper. Once he filled the image with color not only did the sash pop but the dollar bill as well.

Now the image was an accurate depiction of what I grew up seeing at the gourd dances. I'm a gourd dancer myself. My family (Hokeah/Tashequah) has organized gourd dances for decades on the Southern Plains of Oklahoma. We're tied into some of the oldest Kiowa and Comanche Societies, such as the Kiowa Tia-Piah, Comanche War Scouts, and Comanche Little Ponies.

So I'll be honest here. I gave Christopher a hard time, or maybe I was just a little picky. I hope I wasn't too much of a pain. I wanted to get the colors right. When the ARCs printed, the image came out a little too artificial, I thought. I asked Christopher if the final book was going to do the same. He assured us that he had immediately contacted the printer and discussed the issue. I felt like a bit of a diva. I didn't want any part of the image to come off as artificial, and Christopher was a saint. I'm extremely grateful to have this opportunity to showcase my writing. I feel very fortunate to be in this position. I hope I wasn't too much of a nag. I felt like I kept asking for tweaks here and there. Subtle requests that may have been too often. But I'm grateful Christopher was willing to hear me out and modify at each stage.

What truly made the image resonate for me was the overall design. Christopher came back with a couple background settings. When I saw that pattern atop the orange, I immediately thought of the main character's grandmother, Lena Stopp. Just to explain the brilliant mind of an amazing Creative Director, let me tell you how deep this image goes. Notice the grid. The subtle squares in the background behind Christin's image. The bold orange background beneath red squared patterns, with those splashes of yellow. It's one of Lena's quilts! Now you're about to say I'm giving away a spoiler. You're asking, "Lena makes quilts in the novel?" She does, but this is divulged in the first chapter. You can read the first chapter via Buzz Books through Publishers Marketplace. So I'm not giving away any spoilers that aren't found in the first chapter.

What makes this so special is how Christopher turned the cover into a representation of a bird. Why is that important? As you read the first chapter, you learn that Lena Stopp makes grandchild quilts. On those quilts, she places images of birds. She does so because her family belongs to the Bird Clan in the Cherokee tribe. She uses the quilts as a way to keep her family connected to each other. I got the idea from my own mother, Virgilene Hokeah. My mother makes grandchild quilts for all her grandchildren. They all have the exact same pattern, but each quilt is made of a different color scheme. It captures her grandchildren's uniqueness and their ties to her, simultaneously. Similarly, Lena Stopp uses bird symbols to represent the Bird Clan so her grandchildren will know they are connected to the Cherokee community.

Understanding how to work with artists is an amazing talent. Christopher was able to take Christin's sketch and read my novel and come up with a way to capture the heart of the main character, Ever Geimausaddle. There's an important detail with Lena's quilts that I'll not be able to mention here. It comes in the final chapter of the novel. I'll have to let you discover that element yourself. But I would like to say is how much thought and care went into this cover. While it certainly does its job of grabbing someone's attention, it also speaks to a team of brilliant minds who think beyond simple surface qualities, who can see concepts behind imagery, and has the capacity to dream big and reach deep into the emotional center of a story.

What it Means to Write Decolonization Literature & Why Native Writers Must Not Be Silenced

The process of decolonization. We hear this a lot, and if you've taken a Native studies class then you've likely thought about this in different aspects of society. So what does this look like in literature? I'd like to take a close look at decolonization and talk about the importance of allowing people of color to bear witness on the page, to show readers what it's like to live through sometimes brutal circumstances, and to highlight the dangers of silencing people of color in a Neo-colonial program to whitewash our experiences.

"You can't miss-experience," was a phrase I often heard in the Indigenous Liberal Studies Program (ILS) at the Institute of American Indian Arts. I minored in ILS with a BFA in Creative Writing. Because of my educational background, I'm experienced in examining the intersections between literature and decolonization. Being a literary fiction writer myself, I'm hyper aware of how I execute these dynamics on the page.

When I wrote an entire chapter of my Master's thesis at the University of Oklahoma on N. Scott Momaday's Pulitzer Prize winning novel, House Made of Dawn, I did so with the lens of decolonization--in how the process serves characters in Native stories. Where Momaday writes his main character, Abel, being viciously attacked on the streets of Los Angles by corrupt police, it was an important lesson for me as a Native writer. Here was this explicit scene of male on male violence, and to top it off it was government instituted violence. The scene powerfully shows the residuals of colonization and its effects on Indigenous peoples.

The scene above reminded me of something that happened in my own childhood. In fact, this is one of my earliest memories. I was around three years old. My parents were driving us back from Aldama, Chihuahua, Mexico and heading toward Oklahoma in the United States. We were stopped by Mexican police in a remote area of Chihuahua just south of the Texas border. What happened next would stay in my memory for the next four decades. I'm 46 years old now and can still remember it in vivid detail. Both my mother and father were harassed and extorted by the corrupt police. In the end, my mother would be the ultimate victim in a horrendous situation I don't care to relive now.

Fast forward four decades. I'm working on my debut novel, which has strong themes of hyper masculine constructs. My memory of the above situation coupled with my influence from Momaday inspires the first chapter in the debut. I'm not going to give away any deep spoilers. The first chapter of the novel is available to read through Buzz Books via Publishers Marketplace. I needed to capture a real life moment of Neo-colonial violence--especially one executed from a government institution. Why?

The crux of the novel has the main character, Ever Geimausaddle, seeking to overcome a building aggression. I didn't want to give readers a history lesson on colonial violence in America (that had already been done), but I wanted to give readers a strong sense of how colonization continues to disrupt and fracture Native communities. I was also interested in extending or stretching out our perception of Indigenous communities to include all of Latin America. So my memory of my parents being targeted by Mexican police fit the situation perfectly.

So I did what I always do with my writing, I take a real life experience and modify it--I make it fiction. In the version I used in my debut novel, I made the main character's father, Everardo Francisco Carrillo-Chavez, the victim to corrupt police. Very much in the same way N. Scott Momaday uses it in his novel, House Made of Dawn. Here was a perfectly executed example of how Natives are targeted by police, and an example of continuing trauma Natives must heal from, aka decolonization.

How does the main character factor into all this? Ever Geimausaddle is present during the attack. He's an infant--much in the same way I was only three years old when I witnessed what happened to my mother--and the main character is forever affected by the incident. I'm not giving away any spoilers here. This is the first bite. This scene leads the reader deeper into the crux of the novel, where we must find out if Ever will find his way out of a cycle of violence. If so, who will guide him? And what will it look like from an Indigenous lens?

Often I think about situations on the border, and how it can be a corridor of terror for families. One event that sticks in my mind is when Óscar Alberto Martínez Ramírez drowned alongside his two year old daughter, Angie Valeria, while trying to get into the U.S. via the Rio Grande River. At the time it happened, my own daughter, Hadley, was two years old. I imagined the panic and desperation. And saw myself and my own daughter in those photos. While it was hard to look at the photos of Oscar and Angie, it was important for people to witness the atrocity for themselves.

“I can still see the butchered women and children lying heaped and scattered all along the crooked gulch as plain as when I saw them with eyes still young. And I can see that something else died there in the bloody mud, and was buried in the blizzard. A people’s dream died there. It was a beautiful dream . . . the nation’s hoop is broken and scattered.” ― Black Elk

Because violence is a very real experience for people of color, I can't express enough the importance to bear witness on the page. Especially for us literary fiction writers, who are tasked to be advocates for change. There is a real danger in silencing artists, or the attempt by many who've never had to experience violence in the first place. What would've happened if we asked photographers to not take pictures of the Native American Holocaust? When N. Scott Momaday writes about police violence over a half century ago, and a Native writer like myself shows readers the continuation of this government sanctioned violence today, we must remember that Natives have been enduring brutality for hundreds of years.

Vernacular, Agency, & Intersectionality of Language Transformation

Growing up in households where words and phrases in both Kiowa and Cherokee were spoken and mixed with English, it gave me a unique understanding of language. As my family spoke, someone could be both skaw-stee and mon'sape. Skaw-stee is a Cherokee word that means "stuck up," and mon'sape is a Kiowa word that means "trouble maker." Mix these words with other phrases and Indigenized English words like gaa which is the Native version of "golly," and all of a sudden language becomes a playground of agency. Where this Kiowa/Cherokee/Mexican boy had a canvas of words to create a beautiful new symmetry.

When I arrived at the University of Oklahoma for the Master's program in English, I had already written one of my earliest pieces where Kiowa and Cherokee communities intersected. I became even more fascinated by colloquial vernacular and the waves it could create in literature. It made sense to me. Of course community members had the freedom to use language in a way that made sense to them. Each community, whether tribal or not, had its own terms and sayings and accents and ways of engaging, and every community had the freedom to make of language what it wanted.

While I was learning to be a grammarian, I also learned how to break those rules exquisitely on the page. For me, it was an act of rebellion. I was going to exercise my agency and use language the way it was used in the households where I grew up and had access to. As a child, I could be at a traditional Gourd Dance and hear Kiowa and Comanche and then later in the same summer be at traditional Stomp Dances and hear Cherokee or Creek. Then there were times when I'd be with my cousins in Aldama, Chihuahua, Mexico and hear streams of Spanish. I shifted between these cultures fluidly, and all these languages were normalized as they landed on my ear. I didn't think it odd or unique. This was my life and it was just the way things were.

Fast forward a few decades and I'm in a classroom at the Institute of American Indian Arts in Santa Fe, New Mexico. I'm buying into the doctrine of "literary fiction," where we bear witness to our experiences, where we bleed on the page, where we tell on ourselves before we tell on anyone else. And as I'm writing as catharsis, seeking to heal deep traumas from childhood, I'm also aiming to capture my communities and my families the way I had truly experienced them. Not some generic version of Native identity that makes white people feel safe enough to consider us "model minorities," in some type of sad display of pitiful. But Natives who were sometimes mean and vicious and were amazingly cruel heroes. Blur the lines between hero and villain--make characters so human that readers think they're real.

And in all that, I had to be honest about the intersectionality of language and how language itself is "real" and "living." I knew I wasn't only going to capture character with genuine authenticity, but I needed language to lay on the page the way it lays on the lips of children--with direct honesty. This is what I heard. This is what I said. This is the way we were--and still remain. So when you engage my debut novel be prepared for language and rhythm to disrupt your senses. You think you know Native peoples, but you only know a Native people, and are about to learn what it means to be Indigenous in a Neo-modern intertribal world, where Turtle Island is the only map to show you the way.

Intro to Literary Fiction: A Native American Writer's Reasoning Toward Episodic Novel Writing & Unfamiliar Terms in Familiar Terrain

"What do you write?" Have you heard that question before? For literary writers this question is like a grain of dirt on the ass cheek of a wild hog running through the brush in the Ozark Hills. Every time I go to answer the question I know what's going to follow. It's going to be another question, with a quizzical expression on the questioner's face, asking me, "What's literary fiction?"

I wish I could say, "Literary Fiction," and folks would go, "Okay, that's cool," and then we could both go our separate ways. But that's never happened, and likely never will. In recent years, I've heard the term "adult fiction" being used more often. Maybe it's because we get less confusion and less hassle so we've started to lean on it. It's kinda like when I call to-go from a restaurant and the person on the other end of the phone doesn't hear my name right. I'll say, "Oscar" and they'll say back, "Austin?" I'll do this three times and then give up, saying, "Yes, Austin." At some point, literary writers get tired of trying to explain ourselves.

I've also started to name writers and for the most part I'll say Louise Erdrich, but I've also said Toni Morrison's name, to give folks a reference point--in search of someone they may have heard of. Typically, I name writers who have won the Pulitzer Prize or the Nobel. But the average person on the street doesn't follow those lists so often I'm left without a quick reference.

I've searched on the internet. There's "serious fiction," but I think that's more confusing than literary fiction. Adult fiction makes sense. It's a little more to the point, but most genres could be considered adult fiction. While literary fiction fills the shelves in bookstores for some reason there is little to no clarity on the genre. How can such a popular form of fiction have such a vague understanding?

"However, we should not be judged by our lowest common denominators. And also you should not fall prey to the fallacious thinking that literary fiction is literary and all other genres are genre. Literary fiction is a genre, and I will fight to the death anyone who denies this very self-evident truth." --Patrick Rothfuss

Then there's the response I get from writers of other genres. Some folks think literary fiction writers are stuck up and look down on genre, which couldn't be further from the truth. I love genre fiction and read across several genres like horror, fantasy, and noir. I think literary writers tend to be more serious in our personalities and that might come off as being disinterested. I can only speak for myself so I'll say that I am a serious person and I tend to be drawn to more serious issues. There's a part of me that feels obligated to attempt to fix societal issues, like I need to do my part to make life better for people of color. But in no way do I think genre fiction is less than literary fiction. If not for genre fiction I wouldn't have fallen in love with writing in the first place.

So I've come up with a description of literary fiction. Just to appease myself and my frustration in the pursuit of an explanation. Here it is: "An introspective study of the human condition that explores sociopolitical issues. More serious than genre fiction, it purposefully blurs the lines between hero and villain to focus on character driven plot. In addition, it seeks to disrupt formulaic writing."

It's long. I can't say this to someone on the street. But it knocks the dirt off the wild hog's ass, so I'm gonna keep it. I think people need to understand what they're getting into before they start reading a novel. My debut, CALLING FOR A BLANKET DANCE, is about Native communities, culture, and identity, but it's also about how Indigenous families confront toxic behavior. It's about the conflict between Indigenous matriarchy and Western patriarchy. What happens when these two ideologies clash? The main character, Ever Geimausaddle, becomes a battle ground. He's caught between two contending forces and he must make a choice. And if he does transform, what will it look like? The only way I could do this story justice was to wrap it in the genre I hold dear: Literary Fiction.

Mona Susan Power's Praise for Oscar Hokeah's Debut Novel: CALLING FOR A BLANKET DANCE

You have to understand how big of a fanboy I am. When someone asks me for a book recommendation, Power's story collection, ROOFWALKER, is usually the first I name. It captures perfectly the flux between community/reservation life to an urban Native experience. I have a special love for the book because I taught it in my Native Lit class at the Institute of American Indian Arts. This was back in 2013 when the then Head of Creative Writing, Evelina Zuni Lucero, asked me to adjunct for a semester. When I compiled my list of Native fiction to teach, Mona Susan Power's book was at the top.

When my editor, Kathy Pories, of Algonquin Books asked me to reach out to Native authors to request blurbs, I immediately thought, it'd be a dream to have Susan Power's blessing. Then I figured it was far fetched. There was no way Susan Power would be able to read my book. Here I am a nothing little Native writer from nowhere Oklahoma. She's not going to respond to me. But Kathy assured me that writers are more inclined to respond to other writers in these situations. I'm so new to all this, being a debut author, and I'm still learning as I go. I trusted Kathy and thought, okay I'm going to give it a shot in the dark.

Mona Susan Power is most well-known for her own debut novel, THE GRASS DANCER, which was released in 1994. It's described as "the harsh price of unfulfilled longings and the healing power of mystery and hope. Rich with drama and infused with the magic of the everyday, it takes readers on a journey through both past and present—in a tale as resonant and haunting as an ancestor’s memory, and as promising as a child’s dream." Her debut novel is published by Penguin Random House, and won the Ernest Hemingway Foundation Award for First Fiction. The novel received praise from numerous news sources, including The New York Times, Washington Post, and the Chicago Sun. Additionally, Louise Erdrich and Amy Tan gave beautiful blurbs for the novel.

The short story collection I mentioned above, ROOFWALKER, was released in 2002 from Milkweed Editions, and described as "a world in which spirits and the living commingle and Sioux culture and modern life collide with disarming power, humor, and joy. The characters grapple with potent forces of family, history, and belief—forces that at times dare them to do more to feed their identity, and at times simply paralyze them. Rich with women who do things, this book gives voice to characters who make space for contradictions in their lives with varying success and, by extension, live the 'Indian way' to varying degrees." This short story collection resonated powerfully with students in my Native Lit class and I highly recommend instructors to add this one to their lists. Moreover, Louise Erdrich described ROOFWALKER as "A book of wild humor and compassion." I can't sing enough praise for this book. I loved the depth of the characters and how each story stacked atop each other like bricks, capturing an emotionally rich experience of a Native community.

Her latest novel, SACRED WILDERNESS, was released in 2014 by Michigan State University Press. It's described as "A Clan Mother story for the twenty-first century, Sacred Wilderness explores the lives of four women of different eras and backgrounds who come together to restore foundation to a mixed-up, mixed-blood woman—a woman who had been living the American dream, and found it a great maw of emptiness. These Clan Mothers may be wisdom-keepers, but they are anything but stern and aloof—they are women of joy and grief, risking their hearts and sometimes their lives for those they love. The novel swirls through time, from present-day Minnesota to the Mohawk territory of the 1620s, to the ancient biblical world, brought to life by an indigenous woman who would come to be known as the Virgin Mary. The Clan Mothers reveal secrets, the insights of prophecy, and stories that are by turns comic, so painful they can break your heart, and perhaps even powerful enough to save the world. In lyrical, lushly imagined prose, Sacred Wilderness is a novel of unprecedented necessity."

I was excited to cross one of her Facebook posts the other day, where she announced she had recently acquired a literary agent for a NEW NOVEL! Yes! I'm very excited for her next novel, A COUNCIL OF DOLLS, to find a home with a publisher. I'll be placing it on pre order ASAP! From what I understand, it appears to be in early stages with an agent, but I'll be keeping a look out for this novel in the future--hopefully near future.

Needless to say, after giving it a shot in the dark, I unexpectedly received a response from Mona. I couldn't believe it. I quickly clicked on the popup for Facebook Messenger and her message showed on my iPhone's screen. I read the words "thank you for teaching my work" and "congratulations on finding a wonderful publisher," and I half expected her to be too busy and not be able to read my debut novel. Then I read the words "I'd be honored to have an early read of your forthcoming work." I thought, what? So I read the words again, "I'd be honored to have an early read of your forthcoming work." I couldn't believe it. She said, "Yes." Mona Susan Power said, "Yes."

I clicked over to my email and typed as fast as my fat thumbs would allow, sending Kathy Pories and my agent, Allie Levick, the good news. They both emailed back quickly with excitement. We were all delighted to have Mona give the novel a chance.

Then came the waiting. Oh, the waiting. It's more the wondering. Maybe the not knowing, but hoping. I'm such a fanboy. I called a close friend and told her, "Susan Power is reading MY book." I was excited and nervous to hear her thoughts. What would she think of the main character, Ever Geimausaddle? How will she respond to the tri cultural intersections? Did I capture Oklahoma's intertribal dynamics well? If there is ever anyone you want to impress, it's someone you've admired for so long.

Then a few weeks passed and she responded. Again, I saw the notification for Facebook Messenger and I immediately clicked it as soon as it hit my screen. Then I couldn't believe what I read. It was filled with such wonderful praise. I just couldn't believe she enjoyed my book. I'm excited to share with you Mona Susan Power's praise for my debut novel:

"CALLING FOR A BLANKET DANCE is a stunning novel I couldn't stop reading! Oscar Hokeah writes from deep inside the heart of his communities, bringing life to generations of voices who became so real to me they felt like relatives. The reader can't help but invest in each character as they navigate bitter challenges, sometimes surprising themselves with their strength, their ability to survive and love. Hokeah's prose gorgeously weaves authentic local vernacular with the lyrical notes of hard-won insight. This novel belongs on every recommended booklist for fans of literary fiction!"

My debut novel will release next year: July 26, 2022. Right now it's available for pre order at most online retailers, but I do like to promote Bookshop because it gives a portion of the money to a local book store in your area.

• Bookshop
• Barnes & Noble
• Books-A-Million
• IndieBound
• Amazon

I'm so very grateful Power was willing to give my novel a chance. And super delighted for her wonderful praise. I'm still floored by her generosity in helping a new Native writer come on the scene. It's not easy. Especially as you're learning as you go. I feel very humbled by all this. I really can't express enough how grateful I am.

The heart of the novel has to do with family, naw thep’thay’gaw, and how families show up for each other. The title of the novel comes from an important ritual in powwow culture.  When we call for a blanket dance, in essence what we’re doing is asking for the community to step up and help out someone in need.  The main character, Ever Geimausaddle, has a host of family members willing to do just that, willing to hear the call, step up to the edges of the blanket, and offer a piece of themselves for his greater healing. 

The structure of the novel is told in 12 chapter/narrator fashion, and we hear from different family members–grandparents, aunties, uncles, cousins, and then in the last chapter Ever Geimausaddle speaks for himself. Ever’s identity becomes shaped by Kiowa, Cherokee, and Mexican relatives, and the crux of the novel has his family concerned for his changing identity as a man. His Cherokee grandmother, Lena Stopp, fears the brutal trauma he experiences as an infant will forever leave him “witched,” while his Kiowa grandfather, Vincent Geimausaddle, fights to change Ever’s fate with his dying breath. Moreover, his Mexican American cousin, Araceli Chavez, is the conduit for deep familial healing. So family member after family member step up to the edges of the blanket to offer a piece of themselves. But will this be enough?

As Ever grows into adulthood, readers will get to explore large and unique themes situated in tribally specific values, like tribal matriarchy, communal ideology, and collective identities. Furthermore, readers will follow Ever Geimausaddle through the ups and downs of living an intertribal and multicultural life in Oklahoma, offering a slice of America very few know about.

• Bookshop
• Barnes & Noble
• Books-A-Million
• IndieBound
• Amazon

Cherokee Actor: Kholan Studie Starring in Short Film "The Dark Valley"

You have to respect an artist for taking bold steps. That's what we do. We're here to capture the harsh realities and interpret those realities for purposes of entertainment, as well as processing tools for deep intellectual thinking. When I cross artists who are willing to truly reach deep inside themselves to find an honest portrayal of the world, I immediately recognize game. These are the real ones. The ones envied by the weak, the unwilling, the carcasses of outdated memories.

When I heard Kholan Garrett Studie starred in a short film titled "The Dark Valley," it immediately peeked my interest. The landscape is set in Los Angles, and the film style is a hyper blend, and it's bold. I'd call it Film Noir meets French New Wave and Dogme 95. It's unflinching. Bitter sweet and succinct.

As you already know, Kholan Studie is the son of the Academy Honorary Award winning Cherokee actor, Wes Studi, and he also happens to be the grandson of Jack Albertson, who won an Academy Award, and was forever remembered for his role on the 1970’s hit television series “Chico and the Man."

I was approached by the film's director, TJ Morehouse, who is originally from Pryor, Oklahoma before he transplanted into the film industry, traversing on both the east and west coast. He is a 27 year veteran in entertainment and has served in many roles. He sent me a private link to the "The Dark Valley," and I felt lucky to have an opportunity to view this film. It will be shown for audiences for the first time on September 11, 2021 at the Burbank Film Festival.

During an interview with the Tulsa World, Morehouse said, “We have won or placed in all film festivals that have accepted us and we have applied to almost 70 festivals in total including Sundance, Slamdance, SXSW, Austin film fest and Writers Conference, which we almost won in 2018 with the screenplay ‘June in California,’ and other prestigious festivals.”

"The Dark Valley" captures perfectly a contrast to human idealism, where we must examine the darker parts of our perpetual slumber, where we jolt out of the most beautiful dream to wake in horror at the truth of our surroundings. Kholan Studie's character must come to terms with the underbelly of Los Angeles and his own psyche living within such sharp contrast between dark and light.

Morehouse uses voice-over along with black-and-white cinematography to create the noir feel for the film. It immediately sets the dark tone and keeps the audience guessing. In fact, it's the blend between the mundane and the subtly disturbing that makes the ending of the film both perfect and shocking. It all makes sense, but it'll catch you by surprise. Morehouse does a beautiful job of distracting and enticing the audience along.

Between Kholan Studie's acting and TJ Morehouse's directing, "The Dark Valley" is sure to continue to win awards. I sing praises for the film and admire the bold and striking artistic style. And it seems fitting to be making the rounds at film festivals as the new FX/Hulu series "Reservation Dogs" delights audiences with dark comedy. Not only does the short film star a Native actor, it also dares to be original, and dares to provoke the soft underbelly of the American Dream.

Cover Reveal for Debut Novel: CALLING FOR A BLANKET DANCE

I've been waiting for this day for a long time. I think it was back in May 2021 when my editor, Kathy Pories, introduced me to the Creative Director of Algonquin Books, Christopher Moisan. We began discussions about who to approach for the cover art. Christopher found an amazing artist in El Paso, Texas and sent us some examples of her work. Both Kathy and I were floored. We passed the images along to my agent, Allie Levick, of Writers House, and she too instantly became enamored by her work. It's my great pleasure to introduce you to: Christin Apodaca.

Like Christopher, we were all impressed with the three dimensional quality of her work. There was something captivating with the surrealist style and her black and white images had a way of lifting off the surface. Many of her drawings beckoned to an almost Salvador Dali dynamic, where the unraveling of faces seemed to speak to greater issues in humanity.

Once Christopher gave us the word that he was going to approach her for the cover of CALLING FOR A BLANKET DANCE, we sat patiently biting our nails and wondering how she would respond. She was sent early chapters of the novel. I couldn't help but wonder: will the novel resonate with her?

A few weeks passed and we were all delighted when she agreed to work with us. I perused through her website and her Instagram and thought about how she would capture the novel. What elements would stand out? How will she see the characters? Where will the cultural elements come into play? With Christopher Moisan's guidance, Christin sent us her preliminary sketch.

And it was perfect!

When you discover Apodaca's work, you're first impressed with how she captures faces and how she can make you think about the images' internal life. But it's a drawing, one side of your mind says. But it's so alive, says the other. There is such a depth that at once you feel like the image is in pain or joyous, like the drawing is a person working through hardships and living out triumphs. You know her, and maybe you've felt her pain, experienced her happiness, and had once lived life like an Apodaca drawing.

All the qualities I had hoped for came out in the image she created for the debut novel. I couldn't have asked for anything better. I spent a weekend in secret, holding onto the sketch like it was a personal joy. Something I knew about that no one else did. Sometimes it feels good to have a private moment with something so powerful, like remembering the magic of childhood--when it was okay to live in dreamlike spaces.

Christin is well respected in her El Paso, Texas community. She has spectacular murals at various locations around the city and holds gallery showings to help her community carry a sense of pride. When I first started the discussions with Kathy and Christopher, I made it clear that I needed to work with an artist who understood the intertribal and multicultural dynamics at play in my novel.

Because the novel plays with the intersections among Kiowa, Cherokee, and Latinx peoples and communities, I was immediately drawn to Apodaca's Mex-Indigenous roots. With more and more Indigenous peoples crossing the U.S./Mexico border every year, we need artists of all varieties to give voice to the voiceless. My novel not only works to highlight the intertribal dynamics of life in Oklahoma, but it also brings a spotlight to the transnational Indigenous identity of North America, aka Turtle Island. Christin's art breaks down imaginary borders, and simultaneously builds bridges of hope.

The Creative Director of Algonquin Books, Christopher Moisan, took Christin's image and started to add color and create background designs. He sent Allie and I a few prototypes and played around with the color scheme and design. He blended the colors on the Gourd Dance sash well, giving enough contrast to effectively capture Christin's line work in the blue and red. The dollar bill stood out more than ever with the deep green. He blended the rich copper brown of the face's skin tone at my request. I was grateful for his flexibility and his wisdom in working with artists. Soon he displayed the fullness of his talent and sent Allie and I the final draft of the cover. It was amazing.

I'm not only excited to share with you an amazing artist, Christin Apodaca, but I'm also humbled to have worked with such a masterful Creative Director, Christopher Moisan. I'm grateful to Michael McKenzie for connecting us all with Marisa Siegel at The Rumpus for an exclusive cover reveal. So be one of the first to see the cover of my debut novel, CALLING FOR A BLANKET DANCE, by following this link: www.therumpus.net/2021/08/rumpus-exclusive-cover-reveal-for-calling-for-a-blanket-dance/

Debut Novel Cover Reveal Tomorrow!

There I am emailing back and forth with my editor, Kathy Pories, of Algonquin Books about the cover to my debut novel, CALLING FOR A BLANKET DANCE. She let's me know that the Creative Director of Algonquin Books, Christopher Moisan, has found an artist in southwest Texas who does amazing work. He's especially interested in the specific style of art she employs. I quickly click on the attachment they provided. I'm instantly taken by how her work captivates the mind. It's almost like a trap. A beautiful and alluring trap that you never want to leave.

Next thing Christopher reaches out to her to see if she's interested in doing the cover art for the novel. He sends her chapters of the book and we wait patiently. A few weeks pass, and then finally I get the the good news. She's agreed to work with us.

What happens next stuns me. Now I've looked through her website and her Instagram. I know what she's capable of doing as an artist. Her work is well respected by her community and captures dynamics that I had hoped to see in her final piece for the novel. But not only was she able to capture the cultural elements I was hoping, she also made the image come right off the page. All I can tell you is this: this image crawled into my mind the moment I saw it and it has never left. Her ability to lure you into her art is amazing. You'll catch yourself staring, waiting, hoping for the image to go further into your psyche.

And once the image traps you, you'll immediately want to open the book's pages to find more.

The cover reveal happens tomorrow, August 24, 2021, at 2pm Central Time. I can't wait to introduce you to a stunning artist whose work is both radical and enticing.

Overcoming the Criticisms of FX/Hulu Series "Reservation Dogs"

First off, none of us live in the village of the happy people. Secondly, if there was such a story, no one would read nor watch it. Because it'd be a bunch of BS. One of the many pleasures of engaging with art, whether it be film, literature, or the various branches of studio arts, is the freedom we have to think critically about what we consume. When I heard about the series, Reservation Dogs, coming from FX and Hulu, I was excited to watch. I'm always pleased to see Native faces and Native communities in popular culture--especially when it showcases our resilience. We're a beautiful people with unique experiences to share.

I didn't get an opportunity to watch the first two episodes until several days after its initial release. I got caught up in the hype and heard a ton of positive comments. Natives were excited to watch. Finally, a popular representation of ourselves in media.

Then I started to hear the initial criticisms, like Natives being depicted as criminals and a disparaging outlook on community. Furthermore, is this misery porn for audiences who want to see Natives attack other Natives? Folks were also wondering about the sense of community pride and the representation of strong family networks. Moreover, where was the saving grace of cultural participation? There were also criticisms about how the characters don't have Oklahoman accents, which is very distinct.

I don't want to devalue these observations. I think Natives are making some valid points.

There are a few things to keep in mind. Firstly, this series is just starting. It can take several episodes to get into the depth of the storyline. Truly, there is plenty of time for the familial elements to develop. Similarly, hyperlocal Muscogee culture will likely rise to the top as the series continues. It's too early to say what is missing overall. It's like reading the first chapter of a novel and then criticizing the entire book without reading to the end. We, as an audience, don't know yet what will play out as the season moves forward.

When it comes to the criticism about depicting Natives as criminals, I think the show does attempt to show the characters' humanity. Their intent isn't malicious. These are not vicious criminals. Moreover, the creators are touching on an aspect that does exist in our communities. Especially when it comes to violence between youth. We can all attest to gang related activities in our Native communities. Being a published writer myself, I also understand the method of structuring a story with characters at either a low point or a high point. If you start the story with a high point, then you can only spiral downwards. I think starting Reservation Dogs at a low point is a good sign. Now if the characters stay at that low point, then that's a different situation altogether. But like I mention above, the series is still too early in episodes to make that criticism.

I want to take care of this whole "misery porn" BS now and forever. We, as artists, are ascribed to capture life as we've experienced it and transform it--not only as entertainment but as an opportunity for audiences to self-reflect. Like I started this post, none of us live in the village of the happy people. We, as artists, don't have control over an audience's reasons to engage. We have control over how we engage our communities for critical thought and discussion. If people want to make a "misery porn" criticism, then that should be directed at consumers--not creators--to think about how and why they engage with Native art. All in all, it's a great opportunity to have a thoughtful discourse and grow.

Lastly, I'd like to take on the issue with the Oklahoman accent. True, the characters don't have the distinct accent we from Oklahoma expected. I live, work, and love in Oklahoma so I get it. But what we need to keep in mind is that this series isn't "only" for Oklahoma Natives. I'd describe the Native accents used in this series as a "non-regional NATIVE" accent. It's more of a universal Native accent. We do hear it in Oklahoma, like other parts of the United States, but ours is spiced up with a lovable Okie twang. I think the creators did the right thing. The non-regional Native accent makes the show more appealing across the board. It also shows the commonality we have with a shared colonial history, while still accessing a beautiful and unique hyperlocal Muscogee reality. I say well-played to Sterling Harjo and Taika Waititi.

I'd like to leave folks with this: we're early in the show and it's important to support Native arts. We complain about not having representation in popular media, and then when it gets here we bash it. I say let's give Reservation Dogs its due justice and support the show as it continues the season. For myself, I'm excited to see what Bear, Elora, Jackie, and Cheese encounter next--especially as the quirky side cast weaves in and out of their lives.

Twitter Serves Minority Writers: Intro to New Agent & #DVpit Success

Metaphorically #DVpit becomes water.  Likewise, I could say Twitter is some type of container--a canteen maybe--something tethered to your belt.  Whether you've been slinging a sledge hammer to break rocks or ripping callouses off your hands for grip on a climb, you're exhausted and you could use a drink.  What you need is opportunity and energy to keep climbing, to keep breaking those rocks.I've said this a number of times on my blog.  One of the biggest obstacles for minority writers is opportunity.  There can be a number of reasons why you might not see much diversity at your writer's conference.   Questions race through our minds. Where am I going to get the resources to attend?  Who's going to take care of my kids?  Will I lose my job?  How will I pay my bills?   And those are only a few of the questions.  Economic disparity for minorities is not a new topic.  It's easy to see how avenues for success can close down for a minority writer seeking to give voice to the voiceless, to represent her community in a genuine way.Little did I know #DVpit would be an environment for such opportunity.  I read their website (www.dvpit.com) and I jumped onto their Twitter (@DVpit_).  I understood the concept and was hopeful.  The event was started by Beth Phelan and what grabbed me was the description:

"#DVpit is a Twitter event created to showcase pitches from marginalized voices that have been historically underrepresented in publishing. This includes (but is not limited to): Native peoples and people of color; people living and/or born/raised in underrepresented cultures and countries; disabled persons (including neurodiverse); people living with illness; people on marginalized ends of the socioeconomic, cultural and/or religious spectrum; people identifying within LGBTQIA+; and more." -- Beth Phelan.

After reading the description, I marked it on my calendar and started to prepare my pitch.  I wasn't sure of what was to come of this "Diverse Voices Pitch" event, aka #DVpit, but I knew I had to try.What happened was this:  I started to get "likes" or clicks which are hearts on Twitter.  This is a good sign because a "like" means, "Hey, send me a query; I like what you're writing."  So that's what I did.  I had five agents click so I sent out five queries and I received five requests for manuscripts (two full and three partial).  All five were from large literary agencies in New York and California.  Oddly enough two of the agents were from the same agency so they worked out who would read the manuscript.Long story short, I signed with an agent.  It took one week to filter through the process, and when I had to pull my submissions with the other agents they emailed back saying their congratulations.  One of the agents read the full manuscript even though she wouldn't be representing the novel.  She was very kind and generous with her compliments.  I am completely humbled by it all.In this, I must give a big thank you to Beth Phelan for creating a space where minorities can navigate environments they might not otherwise be able.  I highly recommend minority writers to seek out #DVpit for 2019.  After looking into this event I also ran across other Twitter events which offer similar opportunities for writers, like #Pitmad, #PitchWars, #PitDark, and #PBPitch.  I recommend writers to look into which pitching event fits your genre and participate.  Take the time to develop your pitch, as well as your book (the market is still competitive and there is no guarantee).I've saved the best for last:  I'm proud to announce I'm rep'd by Allie Levick of Writers House Literary Agency.  I can't say enough about how excited I am.  My palms have ripped through callouses getting to the next hold, and having Allie on my side makes me optimistic about the next climb.  She is now representing my novel, UNSETTLED BETWEEN.  You can find her via the Writers House website, www.writershouse.com, her personal website, www.alexandralevick.com, or her Twitter, @AllieLevick.

Native American Cuisine in Kiowa Literary Thematics

Exploring culture through foods is nothing new to the literary world.  Likewise, it's not new to Native American literature.  While we in the literary field know this to be true there is still very little exploration of the topic in thematic terms.  How can traditional food and customs associated with consumption of those foods enhance the greater theme of a piece?Those of you reading this post to learn how to make Native American food may be asking, "What is Native American cuisine?"  You'll have to search a little further to find out details on cooking Native American food, but I'll give you a little sample of what may constitute Native American cuisine in this article.  For further elaboration on the topic of Native American cuisine check out: Foods of the Southwest Indian Nations by Lois Ellen Frank.  She taught my ethnobotany course at the Institute of American Indian Arts and knows what she's talking about.  Plus she's Kiowa so that puts her on my radar. There are a host of other options you can find on Amazon as well.  Diabetes is a serious issue among Native peoples so I'm going to link a vital source for healthy eating here: Click Here!Back when I was a young guy "tearing it" on the Southern Plains of Oklahoma meatpies were indicative of KCA culture (Kiowa, Comanche, and Apache).  It was a localized food specific to a certain geographic area.  Today, using meatpies as a Kiowa artist, it can be applied for generational specificity in that it "was" localized, and now tribes across Oklahoma and other parts of Native America have latched onto it as a "cultural food."  Living in Tahlequah today I've found many Cherokees making meatpies, but when I was growing up in Tahlequah as a child meatpies weren't in the community so I would dream of trips back to Lawton, Oklahoma (KCA country) where I could get my hands on a meatpie. Oh, the diaspora!In my short story, Our Dance, you'll find in the second paragraph of the story the narrator describe receiving his Kiowa per cap, his ahongiah, (which was federally dispersed money where the Kiowa tribe allocated a financial disbursement between all tribal members), as "we both tore into those envelopes faster than the last meatpie on a plate."  In the juxtaposition of receiving money alongside a cultural food like meatpies, we deduce the equal desperation in which both were acquired, and how each--meatpie and money--have become an appropriated substance for cultural survival.Meatpies are made from the combination of fry bread and meat.  More or less a meat-stuffed piece of fry bread.  Fry bread is commonly understood as a cultural food, but it's not traditional, meaning our ancestors didn't make fry bread prior to contact by Western peoples.  It became a consistent part of our cultural foods when the U.S. government distributed food  rations to tribes (we commonly refer to them as commodities or "commods" for slang).  Because meatpies are basically fry bread with meat inside, they have also become a survival food for Kiowa, Comanche, and Apache people in southern Oklahoma (further out now due to diasporic conditions).When the narrator of my story, Our Dance, describes going for money the same as going for "the last meatpie on the plate," it speaks to the creative and critical thinking skills applied by Kiowa people to take something and appropriate it for cultural survival.  In essence the story's title, Our Dance, is the dance of survival, like meatpies, like receiving per cap, like bonding with the community.  To further connect this thematic for the reader, the quote at the onset of the story by James Auchiah, “Kiowa Five” artist (now Kiowa Six) and Chief Satanta’s grandson, reads, “We Kiowa are old, but we dance.”  It is the dance of survival beginning with the narrator's ancestors and carrying into his present community which dictates his use of cultural foods for survival, and subsequently my use of culture, food, and customs to connect the thematic dots for my readers.

Capricorn Mind on Structure and Writing Process

"I gotta keep my Capricorn mind straight," said the planet of Saturn to the writer writing this post.  Okay, so that first sentence had a weird third person shift--almost like a third person shift to a different third person gear, but the first third person perspective was oddly different from the latter, which was equally bizarre but uniquely awkward.  See what I mean?  I do need to keep this Capricorn mind straight.  Saturn was right.Everyone goes into their writing projects differently.  No one does it the same so it can be hard to offer advice on how to start the process of writing on something as large as a novel.  Many writers like writing blind.  Meaning, they get the idea for the story and just start writing wherever the story begins in their mind and as they write the storyline will magically unfold.  Well, not magically, but as you write then a sequence tends to come to mind so you follow the sequence.  Then you revise and insert more elements to the story as they manifest along the way.  That's writing in the dark.I do like writing in the dark for short stories.  There seems to be an urgency to short stories that forces me to write it all down as fast as possible.  People also call this the vomit method.  I prefer to say writing in the dark.  Regurgitation is not something I want to associate with my writing process.  Or any of my process really.But for the novel?  Maybe you've come up with a good idea.  You've been wanting to write it for years, maybe decades, and you've not yet come to start the process.  Writing a novel in the dark is possible.  Many writers have done so and like the method.  But I can't seem to do it.Writing a novel has so many elements to it. Not only do you have the main plot, but you also have  a series of subplots that can either mirror the main plot, highlight a trait of the main character, or be a complete escape from the main plot so as to break the tension or give the reader an opportunity to breath (while simultaneously showing a new side to the main character).  All these subplots weave in and out of the main plot making for a beautifully constructed basket at the end.If you want to make beautiful art, a beautiful basket, you have to be purposeful with the way you weave each strand (subplot) against the basket's base (main plot).  Because this process takes so much mental energy and careful planning, I like to outline my novels.  Now I don't use an essay style outline.  That would kill my energy quick.  I can see you now.  You're throwing your hands in the air and groaning, saying, "Oscar, I'm not going back to high school tactics to write a book."  And I couldn't agree with you more.Here's what I do.  I use One Note.  If you haven't used it then I'd give it a try, or you can use something similar.  What One Note gives me are tools I can use to creatively engage with my writing.  Not only can I free write in random boxes, and then move those boxes around, but I can also draw out graphs.  Hand made line graphs, not the standard graphs made for reports.  I need something that makes sense to the flow of my story.  I use the drawing tool and I'll draw zigzag lines leading up to the apex or crescendo of the story.  Then I use text next to each peak and valley so as to mark what happens in the story. Typically, each peak and each valley represents a chapter.So when you go into outlining it doesn't have to be an English high school class all over again.  You can get creative with it.  But what I find?  It helps me guide the story.  I used this method with the novel I'm revising now, Uncle Called Him Spider, and I've started the outline of a new novel (which is why I'm writing this post).  I'm about seven chapters deep into the outline of the new novel.  I know the ending and I know the beginning, and I'm using the weaving method to create the middle.  I actually enjoy this part of the process.  It's the planning part, which comes from my Capricorn mind.

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(Images Cited:  The images above were borrowed from Wikimedia Commons, Flicr, and Pinterest)

Resistance Literature: A New Wave of Intellectual Engagement

So I'm walking through a bookstore in downtown Santa Fe, New Mexico and I'm reading blurbs.  I'm not going to blast any artists.  That's not what I'm about.  We all come from a different set of experiences.  But why are mainstream book publisher publishing the same narrative over and over and over and over?  These blurbs seeming lay out different storylines, but when you look at the macro's macro you start to see a pattern.Maybe it's because I'm Native.  But I want to see resistance.  Marches and protests are great and if they show up in literature then fantastic, but what I'm proposing is literature that deconstructs the system.  I'm talking about a symbolic code that will inform others on how to fight back, on what has worked for them in rearranging the parts in the system.  For me, resistance isn't about destruction, but instead it's more about moving parts around.The novel I'm working on now, Uncle Called Him Spider, shows a group of Natives (Kiowa, Cherokee, and Muskogee-Creek) battling with an overbearing boss.  It's not done in a dismissive comedy routine to release your pressure valve, like those popular movies and television shows.  I'm not trying to make you a complacent slave. I'm trying to show you the underground railroad.  In the novel, you watch as Natives struggle with each other and with values imposed on them by this boss.  You get to see exactly how they resist and you get to see how they discipline each other to teach resistance.  The main character, Dean, takes something from each of his coworkers and empowers himself to stand up against this boss.How does it all end?  Does he redeem himself and his coworkers?  Well, once the novel has completed it's final stage of revision I'll be able to get it out to you.  But for now know this:  Resistance literature is the next wave of intellectual entertainment.How many artists will help me take up this cause?  If you're interested in engaging in a diverse didactic calling which shows how fighting back works for you, then click on the social media icons below.  Let's reach as many artists as we can.

Support a Native owned Etsy shop, Allies United, where I offer unique merch for allies of social justice movements, like MMIW, Native Lives Matter and Black Lives Matter. Take a look inside my Etsy shop here: etsy.com/shop/AlliesUnited.

(Works Cited:  Images borrowed from Wikimedia Commons)

Capitalism Down the Interstate

I was in grad school when a professor asked, "What metaphor would you use to describe how power structures stay intact?"  We were studying Faucoult and had come to his explanation of how individuals give up their power to others, with his example of a moving ship and how everyone does their part to keep the ship moving forward and are in fear of what would happen if the ship stopped moving.  I agree with Faucoult's analogy.  It makes sense in most situations.  In a modern context though, I'm thinking more along the lines of interstates.I'm about to head to Santa Fe, New Mexico from Tahlequah, Oklahoma next week.  My oldest son is graduating from the Santa Fe Indian School.  I've spent a lot of time on I-40 over the years. I grew up between Tahlequah and Lawton, OK, but moved out to Santa Fe, NM and spent 10 years out there before moving back to Tahlequah.  My oldest three kids grew up out there.Staring at that road for long periods gives you opportunity to contemplate life's many questions.  Not that I need to stare at a road to do that.  My brain is hardwired for such reflection so a cup of coffee is enough to get me going.  But as I've thought about the above question over the years I've attempted to apply several different metaphors to better grasp power dynamics in group formations.The rules of road can be transferred to the subtle social rules subconsciously agreed upon between group members.  As I sit behind the wheel and watch the road pass me by, I'm constantly aware of the rules of road and which will keep me safe.  When you're going 75 mph or more you pay close attention to what's going to keep you safe.It's not that I'm always going to abide by those rules.  I'll speed anywhere from five to fifteen miles over the speed limit, as long as there are no police officers around.  And I'll not use a blinker if there are no other vehicles around.  Things that make sense to me but don't coincide with the established rules.It's not that we've all agreed to abide by these rules.  It's that we've all chosen to utilize the road.  Psychologically we feel it's the safest way to get where we are going.  If at the onset we chose to use the system, then we agree to give our power to it.  If we're driving and we find there are certain people who are getting special treatment and are not penalized or people who are traveling in worse or better vehicles, we expect the rules of the road or the people who enforce those rules to make things right.  We expect people who have already given over their power to the system to change the system.What's peculiar is once we've started on a singular path, mimesis keeps us locked into the system.  We can pass all this landscape and watch as potential for freedom passes us by at every second of the day and we can still choose to follow the rules of the road.  Why?  Because these roads give us options.  We can turn left and right and follow whatever road we want.  The system is what gives us our options.  The system lays out the roads.  Social psychology dictates that we cannot desire solely on our own.  Let me say that again:  We cannot desire solely on our own.  We know what to do for basic survival, like eat, drink, and find shelter.  Once those basic needs are taken care of, people do not know what to do with themselves.  We need other people to tell us what to desire.  We need options.  The roads are paved and laid out in front of us before we are born.The current corporate philanthropic venture of supporting "cradle to career" programs speaks best to how human programming works.  We are taught from infancy to build certain characteristics, the rich have creative freedom while the poor learn rote behavior, but both are geared toward "staying on the road" and "maintaining the road as the only viable option."Parents want the best for their children (I should know I have six) so we teach our children those characteristics and believe this is the best modality for survival.  What we don't consider is that we--ourselves--have been trained to desire the system we've been born in.  It doesn't necessarily mean it's the best.  It just means it's what we know.  We get hints of that when we see certain people of certain communities mangled in crashes alongside the road.  In disproportionate numbers.  But we are so bought into the system, we assume the police are going to do the right thing and take care of those people and somehow the rules of the road will keep everyone safe.  And we just keep driving by.  Never taking action ourselves to stop and help.  And we teach our children to do the same.The more times you stop.  The more you are no longer afraid of the wilderness.  The more you will change mimesis.  We can show people how to travel off the beaten path by our own actions.  If social psychology is correct and we do not know how to desire solely on our own, then it is up to us to show people how to desire a different direction.  More importantly, show people there is nothing to be afraid of.  Fear confines us to the rules of the road. But to be fearless, stop the vehicle, and take steps into the wilderness can give us options we've never conceived .  Who knows?  Maybe those options won't leave anyone mangled. The road we're on has historically proven there will always be victims.  Break away and do something different.  Step away from the "ho-hum it's been done," and reconstruct mimetic design.

Support a Native owned Etsy shop, Allies United, where I offer unique merch for allies of social justice movements, like MMIW, Native Lives Matter and Black Lives Matter. Take a look inside my Etsy shop here: etsy.com/shop/AlliesUnited.

(Works Cited:  The images were borrowed from Wikimedia Commons, PxHere, nps.gov, and Wikipedia.)

Voice Echoes in Mimetic Hearing

How to hear?  Not to listen, like saying "You need to pay attention," but instead how we create consistency in our voice as artists.  How do we hear voice?  How do we recognize  what is uniquely our own?  Is one obstacle.  Then the next.  How do we reproduce it again and again?It might seem easy on the surface.  Once you do something, just do that same thing again.  Then again.  Then again.  And on and on.  But tell that to an artist.  If you've ever shot a three pointer on the basketball court, you know it's muscle memory that allows the odds of hitting those threes over and over.  When you're first starting to understand voice in your art you have moments when you hit nothing but net.  Then you have moments when you air ball shot after shot, and you start to question, "How did I make those shots before?"As a creative writer, I've written stories with a certain voice and this voice was born out of my Kiowa community, which is interlaced with the Comanche community (many of my relatives are half Comanche).  In my short story, Our Dance, the narrator is from Lawton, Oklahoma and he recounts when he received a per capita check from the Kiowa tribe.  The story reflects my and other family member's experiences when we received money at the age of 18.  The story wrote itself.  The voice came so quickly and naturally it was an out of body experience to write it.  Some spirit from within took me over and used me to write the story--was how it felt.Then I wrote other stories trying to capture similarly the Cherokee voices in my Cherokee community of Tahlequah, Oklahoma.  My reason?  I wanted to show people the beauty in our differences.  How unique each tribe is.  Often we Native Americans are lumped into the same group, and we do share a common experience and this history undoubtedly binds us together for many generations to come, and at the same time people from the outside often adhere to ubiquity and miss our essence as individual tribes.  This is a great modality for a writer, but it spelled doom for my ability to capture a singularly unique voice as an artist.What was the consequence?I went into a tailspin for several years.  Mimesis often locks me in circles that produce interesting pieces of literature, but it can also bind me into a cycle (or obsession) with topics that are distracting, like battling ubiquity.Ultimately, I learned I can address this issue of homogeneity in other ways.  I've come full circle recently and am starting to look toward the voice that came out of my Kiowa community as the voice I'm going to use in my literature.  I'm revising my first novel and yesterday I came to chapter 13 and somehow my Kiowa "voice" started to manifest.  I suddenly could "hear" the tone and pitch of my community laced in the words.  The voice is a little different than when I wrote Our Dance, but I'm excited to see how it has grown.  My advice for other writers:  hear your community, hear your family, pause and hear.  Don't listen, because you'll only focus on the words.  Hear the vowels rise or drop.  Hear the absence of consonants.  Hear the subtle pauses.Then when you hear the voice you're going to use in your art: capture it quickly.  Produce something you can return to time and again.  Every time you reread that story, you look at that painting, or you sing that song take it and transfer it into the next project and then the next.  Always go back to the original voice in the same way you always go back home.  Even if it's just to remember where you came from.

Support a Native owned Etsy shop, Allies United, where I offer unique merch for allies of social justice movements, like MMIW, Native Lives Matter and Black Lives Matter. Take a look inside my Etsy shop here: etsy.com/shop/AlliesUnited.

(Cited:  Images were borrowed from Wikipedia and Wikimedia Common).

Rewind Oscar's Tape: The Making of an Introverted In'din Nerd

That's how far back we're about to go.  I'm going to use a simile only a certain generation will understand.  Remember tapes?  It kind of sounds odd to say now.  Tapes.  Sounds like a prehistoric infection.  If my kids overheard me ask someone if they "had tapes" when they were a teenager, they would think it was an STD.  Like an old school slang term for gonorrhea.  But I digress, as usual.  I'm about to rewind my tape and take young and old back to my days as an introverted neophyte surviving on southern sweet tea and tapes.

You could say it was exacerbated by the abuse from my father, but I had a hard time socializing.  The last grade I completed was the sixth grade.  I dropped out of school at the age of thirteen years old.  How does a thirteen year old go missing from the public school system without notice?  You might ask.  Well there wasn't much expectation for us Natives to do anything other than fail in life so when I stopped going to school, my mother withdrew me, and the school system never asked any questions.

I'd spend months without interacting with anyone other than my mother and the two grandmothers I lived with.  I spent the majority of my time playing video games like Rygar, Contra, and Zelda on my Nintendo.  When I wasn't playing video games I was reading books (Stephen King and fantasy novels like Dragonlance) or I was listening to gangster rape or writing bizarre stories of great imagination.  In other words, I was anywhere but here on planet Earth.

I'd come out of my introverted trance of escape when I'd go visit my cousin, Quincy, in Lawton, Oklahoma.  My family out there was very active in Kiowa and Comanche cultural activities so I'd get a good dose of culture and community.  My aunt, Linda, is like a mother to me and her husband, Uncle Butch, was a father figure when I didn't have one.

Similarly, I had a close friend in Tahlequah, Brandon, who would bring me out of isolation on the occasional weekends.  He was extroverted and knew a lot of people in Tahlequah.  Through him I could pretend to be normal for short time periods.  His mother, also Linda, was another mother figure in my life.  Brandon's family took me under their wing and I had time periods where I did family type activities with them.

I was raised by a single mother who was undiagnosed with Asperger's syndrome.  She is very intelligent and highly calculated, but she does not have the social skills you would want a mother to have.  Her reasoning is more logical and practical.  She can get overstimulated by social environments so she wasn't trying to take any of her children to community or cultural functions.  If it wasn't for the above mentioned individuals then I would have never had opportunities to socialize.

I fall under the umbrella of Asperger's syndrome, but I'm not as far on the spectrum to full Asperger's as my mother.  I can understand (now) how my mother thinks and looks at the world.  I don't criticize her because I understand she is biologically constructed to be the way she is.  In fact, I have my level of intelligence and high inclination toward creativity because of my mother's genetics.  A lot of people say I look like her and act like her.  I write fiction.  My mother does traditional beadwork.  I play the guitar.  My mother hand makes traditional quilts.  While we have chosen different skills, we are the same in intelligence and creativity.  Which are both symptoms of Asperger's.

Certainly my introvertedness can be contributed to a number of aspects in my childhood, but I've had a lot of jobs in my adult life where I was taught to be extroverted.  I've taught English classes at the University of Oklahoma, and I've facilitated experiential education programs with a hundred participants.  I don't shy away from attention.  In fact, I enjoy attention, but I'm not competing to get it.

As you get older you get more comfortable in who you are.  I'm an artist and an intellectual.  It may be by genetic and environmental design but it is who I am.  I'm content.  I don't desire to be anything else.  It'd be like asking a shark to be lion.

Support a Native owned Etsy shop, Allies United, where I offer unique merch for allies of social justice movements, like MMIW, Native Lives Matter and Black Lives Matter. Take a look inside my Etsy shop here: etsy.com/shop/AlliesUnited.