Catching Up, or Why I Was Gone

I have been a very uneven blogger here lately, in part because this past winter has been a physical disaster for me. After developing Giant Cell Arteritis (GCA), a major illness that requires me to be on massive steroids in a maintenance dose for possibly years and the pain and difficulties I went through with that before it was diagnosed and treated, I then contracted the awful H3N2 flu that turned into bronchitis and knocked over a month out of my life. 

As we began to come into spring, and I was just getting starting to get back on my feet slightly after the flu and bronchitis, I fell and shattered my right shoulder. This has left me almost totally disabled. I am right handed, and it's not just the arm that I cannot use but the shoulder, as well, so it's basically the whole upper right side of my body that cannot be used. You would be surprised how much you cannot do if you cannot use the upper right side of your body. Even hauling yourself out of the recliner you must spend most of your time in can be difficult—or impossible, in my case. (Luckily, I have a lift recliner chair arriving Tuesday, which should allow me more independence.)

My right arm and shoulder have been immobilized by the doctors. Because I'm on all the steroids and because I have lymphedema in that arm from my radical mastectomy for breast cancer, I am a really poor risk for surgery, even though that shoulder requires a complete shoulder replacement. We are, instead, trying to get the shoulder to heal in some jury-rigged way without surgery.

I have, after the first week, continued to do work on freelance writing and editing contracts and teach a large, intensive online class in writing a novel. The only way I am doing this is with voice recognition software, which is also how I am completing this blog. Because of all this, I will probably still be rather hit and miss with this blog for awhile here. Voice recognition software has not reached a great pinnacle of efficiency. It does save me a lot of time and a lot of work with my left hand, which is excellent, because my left shoulder and elbow have damage from lupus, and I don't need to injure them further. But after dictating, I must go over and correct multiple mistakes that the software puts into my text. Random capitalizations all over the place. Words that may have been mistaken for others. Typos. Egregious misspellings. It's quite time consuming. (So please forgive any typos I've missed.)

Just as I went down with the flu, my next book of poetry was published. Dark Sister is truly a book of my heart. It is a book of poems that are based in my family, in my heritage, and in my community. They deal with some of the things that are most important to me in the world. Unfortunately, I have not been able to do what I planned or would have wished to promote this book. I hope to be able to do more in the future. I would greatly appreciate anyone who is interested in buying or reviewing the book. Dark Sister is my 10th book to be published, rather a significant milestone that I would like to celebrate by promoting the book and helping it to find its readership. It had been seven years since my last book of poetry, Heart's Migration, which brought me awards and opportunities, but in those seven years, I published seven other books, including several anthologies of other poets' work.

I also had hoped to bring back my blog series, Books of Interest by Writers of Color. So many wonderful writers of color are publishing terrific books right now. This is a golden age for these books by diverse authors. Unfortunately, most of them are from very small houses without promotion and publicity budgets, and they get very little distribution and very little publicity. So I would really like to be once again promoting these books and letting readers, teachers, and librarians know about them with links to buy them. That will, unfortunately, have to wait until I am a little further along in recovery, I'm afraid. That's a big disappointment to me.

I do hope, however, to blog more regularly here, as I get better at using the voice recognition software and begin to heal and regain use of my right arm and shoulder little by little. So I hope to visit with you more often and begin my Books of Interest by Writers of Color series again soon. There are SOOOO many terrific books I want to tell you about!

What Great Fun!--Peregrine Falcons, Germans from Russia, and Tourists at Readings

Amelia Montes and me

I was invited to Lincoln, Nebraska, as a visiting writer by Amelia Montes, director of the Ethnic Studies Institute and professor of creative writing at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. The visit was scheduled to begin with a dinner with faculty members and graduate students. Ben and I were late arriving because of unexpected road construction delays, so we parked at the hotel, checked in, and ran across the street to the restaurant with Amelia, who was patiently waiting for us.

Even with such an inauspicious beginning, the evening was a stimulating experience—brilliant company and conversation that ranged from crimes of passion in Mexico City to Russian Orthodox monasteries. Professors Joy Castro, James Garza, and Jennifer Garza, and Ph.D. candidate Bernice Olivas joined Amelia, Ben, and me for that very best kind of wide-ranging intellectual conversation that lasted late into the night.

Ben at the Museum of Germans from Russia

The next day, Saturday, was packed with activities. We woke early and were joined at breakfast by our dear friends, Allison and Travis Hedge Coke, who had driven two hours from the University of Nebraska-Kearney where Allison holds the Reynolds Chair of Creative Writing and coordinates the incredible Sandhill Crane Migration Literary Retreat and Festival. Travis was on his way to the airport, and Allison intended to join us for the day’s activities and my reading that evening. As always, it was so much fun to see them and talk with them, even if it was just for a short while with Travis.

Amelia arrived to interview me for a chapter in her book, Corazon y Tierra:  Latinas Writing on the Midwest, Amelia’s critical book on contemporary writing by Latina authors who are writing either about or from the Midwest. I’m honored to be in this book, which is such a fascinating exploration of different kinds of Latina identity. Amelia’s questions were probing and perceptive, and she was massively prepared for the two-hour interview.

While Amelia interviewed me, Allison and Ben went exploring in Lincoln, visiting the Museum of Germans from Russia and the university campus, which has been beautifully landscaped with native plants, always a strong interest of Ben’s and mine.

The old Senate chamber at Nebraska Capitol

We had lunch with a discussion of some of the initiatives both women were working on at their respective universities and the newest work of other writers with which we are all familiar. After lunch, Amelia had a special treat for us—a guided tour through the Nebraska State Capitol. It so happens Ben and I love to visit places like state capitols, but even those who don’t would have enjoyed this tour. Nebraska’s capitol building is a true original. All its components—from floors to ceiling—are pieces of art with symbolic meaning. Just wandering through it would be a delight because of the beauty, but the tour enhanced that with an understanding of the philosophical concepts behind everything. And our tour guide, Jameson, a student of history at the university, gave us such a dramatic rendering that it added to the pleasure.

The cap of our tour was a trip to the rotunda where a soldier’s poignant wedding was taking place. He and his best man were in uniform, and I’ve never seen such a starry-eyed groom. When the couple finished their vows to each other, the groom made his own vows to her three young children that left not only the kids wiping their eyes. We kept hoping he was not scheduled to leave for duty in Iraq or Afghanistan. 

Breathtaking beauty in flight

The balcony section outside the rotunda offered an incredible view of the whole city. But even better, it offered… peregrine falcons! They nest on the top of the building, and during our whole time out there, the parents flew back and forth, bringing food to their constantly crying children. Of course, this was a great treat for me since I’m such a lover of raptors.

As the tour ended, Amelia announced my reading that evening to the rest of the people in our tour group. This is exactly what I would have done in her place, so it’s interesting being on the other end and feeling embarrassed about the fuss. She was right to do it, though, and one lady said she intended to attend. After all of this, we went back to the hotel to rest and prepare for the reading and book signing.

Reading from Every Last Secret

I was excited about the bookstore where I would read. Indigo Bridge Bookstore is a bookstore, a coffee shop, and a nonprofit community development organization, all in one. This is quite unusual for a bookstore, and I was interested to see how well it worked. Located in the historic Hay Market district, Indigo Bridge Bookstore is cheerful and bright with plenty of customers, so I think it’s working quite well.

Since some people had come for the mystery and some for the poetry, I mixed them in the reading, which worked well—I think because many of the same subjects and obsessions inform both areas of my work. I spoke about Every Last Secret and read from it briefly. Then I read a couple of poems from Heart’s Migration and a few more from my newest manuscript, Dark Sister. We had a lovely audience for the reading, including fellow writers Allison Hedge Coke and Joy Castro, students from the university, and townspeople. The woman from the Capitol tour showed up halfway through the reading, having wandered downtown Lincoln lost and missed the mystery part when that was what she came for, but she liked the poetry so much that she bought both books. It turns out she was a tourist from Iowa. And another woman of obvious maturity declared it was her very first reading, as she bought a book, and she thought she'd make them a regular thing from now on. So I felt I'd done my part for literature that night!

Joy Castro, me, Amelia Montes, Allison Hedge Coke, Ben

After the reading, we went out for a late meal and good conversation with other writers until midnight. So we wandered up to our hotel room, sleepy and happy.

The University of Nebraska has been wise to hire gifted writers, scholars, and teachers, such as Amelia Montes, Joy Castro, and Allison Hedge Coke. Somehow, after having seen the state's quirky but beautiful Capitol building, I'm not surprised.

In other news, I am a weekly blogger for the group blog Writers Who Kill on Saturdays, as most of you know. I have now also joined the group blog, The Stiletto Gang. (Ben said, "You'll have to use a knife for your photo since you can't wear heels.") I will be blogging there on the fourth Friday of each month. I hope you'll come visit me at both places.

I want to bring this blog back to twice a week, alternating between my two series, Books of Interest by Writers of Color and Literary Mystery Novelists, with occasional posts in the series, Balancing Writing and book Marketing, and posts about my own work. It will be a little bumpy for the next couple of weeks trying to get back to that, but then I think I'll be back in the groove. Thanks for stopping by!

Updates & a Poem for National Poetry Month

Now, a poem for National Poetry Month--"Fire Is the Oldest Wild Thing"

FIRE IS THE OLDEST WILD THING

But watch the candles burn,
tamed and housebroken,
blossom-yellow flames shading into 
autumn’s orange and the open sky’s 
blue like festive streamers above the birthday cake.

In silence and solitude, however, 
you can see that the bright flickering 
colors surround and enclose a dark core 
at the point of burn, igniting 
the twisted wick’s transformation 
from fiber to fire. 
At the heart of every dancing flame, 
a piece of cold midnight.

Most people never see. 
They pass through accepting 
what flickers on the surface. 
You must observe intently 
to see and know 
the black seed of holocaust
in each gay dance of domesticated flame .

Published in Heart’s Migration (Tia Chucha Press, 2009)


And updates on Every Last Secret, as it's about to launch into the world. 

An interview for a weekly public radio show on KCUR-FM. 

A podcast of an interview for an online magazine, Author Magazine.  

Kirkus reviews Every Last Secret. 

Interview with British dark crime writer, Richard Godwin.

A Poem for National Poetry Month

For National Poetry Month, I thought I'd post one of my poems. And a photo of the very real mammal that inspired the poem.

 

THE AMAZON RIVER DOLPHIN

The sudden pink shape

surfacing in black-water lagoons

shocked explorers of the Amazon-River basin.

All dolphins share man’s thumb and fingerbones,

but these also wear his flesh.

When the river overflows

each rainy season and floods the varzea,

these dolphins travel miles from the channel

to splash in the shallows

amongst buttress-roots of giant

rainforest trees, never stranding themselves.

The waters abate, trapping fish,

dolphins never.

Local legends claim a lamp burning dolphin oil

blinds. At night

the pink-flesh contours melt and blur.

The flipper extends the hidden hand

to lift its woman’s torso

to the land. An Eve,

born each night from the black Amazon,

roams the dark banks for victims to draw

to the water and death.

Taboo to the Indians,

this pink daughter of the river’s magic

always looks, to explorers,

like she’s smiling.

Published in Heart’s Migration (Tia Chucha Press, 2009)

Also, there's news about Every Last Secret at these links--Barnes & Noble mystery must-reads for April, Book Bitch Book Blog thriller giveaway, La Bloga feature.

A Literary Festival in Iowa City and Two Poems

Last weekend, Ben and I drove up to Iowa City to set up a table at the book fair of a big music and literary festival they were having, Mission Creek Festival. The photo at left is of the coffee shop that shares space with the great independent bookstore, Prairie Lights. One of the things I love about Iowa City, home of the University of Iowa and the Iowa Writers Workshop, is that it's one of the most bookish towns you'll ever visit. Renowned poets and writers have their names engraved in the sidewalks downtown. You find people reading books in public everywhere you go.

We stopped at youngest son Joseph's apartment to spend the night, only to find he'd turned in his dissertation that afternoon. This called for celebration. Joseph's been battling the diss for a year and a half. His normally huge smile is back, and it's obvious a weight has been removed from his shoulders.

Next morning, we headed out to the book fair, and as soon as we had unloaded the boxes of books, catalogs, and subscription cards for New Letters and BkMk Press, Ben headed to Cedar Rapids to catch a plane for Boston. One of the books he'd published, We Are Taking Only What We Need (BkMk Press, 2011) by Stephanie Powell Watts, had been named a finalist for the Hemingway Foundation PEN Award, and the award ceremony would take place the next day.



Fortunately for me, almost-Dr. Joseph helped me at the book fair all day. That evening, I was scheduled to read at an event at Prairie Lights, and we scrambled to make it there in time. This was a reading in honor of New Letters, the award-winning literary magazine.


We had a large crowd show up for the reading with a number of people having to stand throughout. They were a wonderful, receptive audience, also. That's another of the things I like about Iowa City!

In honor of National Poetry Month, I thought I'd post two of the poems I read last weekend.

OKLAHOMA POEM

(for Jim Barnes)

In his first words, I can hear Oklahoma,

the hill country way back behind his talk

about teaching French literature in translation,

as if I have gone home, drifted back

through all the years to that childhood place I fled.

I have described it to others

as the armpit of the nation,

when I was young and not long free

of its windy roads and redbud trees and overgrown

hills, still hurt and bitter

about things Oklahoma had little to do with,

beyond being the last place to stand

for a people and the place where one of them

was born and the place where he left

his wife and kids. The last two events were

what ate at me, and they could have

happened anywhere.

Only the first was unique

to Oklahoma, the old Indian territory

where my ancestors limped off the Trail of Tears

to join other tribes forced from their homes

by other ancestors of mine,

founded the Cherokee Female Seminary

at Tahlequah and a newspaper

all over again,

were finally forced to give up their lands

so rich ranchers could take the best parts

of the reservation and leave the hilly, scrub lands

to my great-grandparents, great-aunts, grand-uncles,

and Grandma.

What does any of this have to do with me now

all these years and miles away?

Me, with the broad squaw face,

as my father, from whom it came, called it?

When I hear Jim say about Oklahoma

(as one refugee to another), “We both got out,

but it’s still inside—it settles in you,”

I know he’s right, Oklahoma in more than his voice,

in the way he makes light of misfortune,

in his penchant for poking fun

at pretensions, his own and others’.

Oklahoma’s settled in us both.

And through the echoes in his voice of its turtledoves

and winds and sky that could pull you off your feet

into infinity if you didn’t have troubles to weigh you down

to the earth, I make my peace with it

and come home.

Published in Heart’s Migration (Tia Chucha Press, 2009)

MEETING HECATE

How I fear the witch in me,

the one in touch

with power, the one who knows

without knowing

how, the secret

priestess, spirit-bearer, the ugly side

of woman, the crone—

and I remember the Cherokee

legend of Stoneskin, superhuman

cannibal, devouring whole

villages, how the People

set up a fortress of women

menstruating, how the sight

of each weakened Stoneskin

until he died and, dying, told them

all the secrets, ways

of power, conjure spells, ways

to do things. The Cherokee live

off the wisdom

of a dying monster and the power

of bleeding women, and they remember

this. There is a witch somewhere

in every woman.

Published in Heart’s Migration (Tia Chucha Press, 2009)