January 2011 Archives
Psyched!!!
AWP is almost here! It's like a non-stop party for writers, and I'm completely geeked out with excitement, like I get every time. Parties and cocktails and old friends and fascinating panels--and a big fresh fluffy hotel bed to crash into every night. (Aaahhh. I'm just old enough to love that moment for itself.)
This year, I'm really proud to be chairing a panel that's been forever in the making: "Memoir and Latinidad," about the intersections between the genre of memoir and Latin@ issues. If you'll be there, please come! If you know a memoirist, or a Latin@, or a Latin@ memoirist who'll be there--or someone who teaches memoir and wants to amp up his or her knowledge about how ethnicity inflects it--please send them to
Thurgood Marshall East
10:30-11:45 a.m. on Thursday, February 3.
Here are my crazily major panelists (it's going to take me my whole 12 minutes just to read out their awards):
Rigoberto González, lookin' mighty fine . . .
Gustavo Pérez Firmat, also lookin' fine--and also shockingly friendly and approachable for someone who's todo brilliant and prolific . . .

Luis J. Rodriguez, lookin' all rugged and thoughtful . . .
. . . and Stephanie Elizondo Griest, lookin' all smart and beautiful.
These are all awesome, awesome people, and--since I've gotten sneak previews of their papers--I'm dead serious when I tell you that they have some really fascinating and surprising things to say. Seriously. If you teach and/or write memoir, you're gonna wanna know this stuff.
I'm also happy to be reading a brand-new essay on a panel hosted by Lorraine López called Reverent Irreverence: Women Writing Spirituality. One of my favorite writers--and one of the funniest I know, too--will be on the panel, too: Heather Sellers. I can't wait to hear everyone read.
As a teaser, here's the first line of mine:
Believe me: strange things. And I ain't just a-kiddin', as we used to say in West Virginia.
So that panel is in Thurgood Marshall West, on Friday the 4th at noon.
About both of these panels, I'm ridiculously excited. I have to confide, though: I'm also excited about getting to debut my pretty new coat. (If you happen to see me with it on--and that will be easily accomplished, since I may not take it off, at all, ever--please do spare a moment to drink it in.)
Hope to see you there! If you're a reader of the blog but we haven't met yet, do come up and introduce yourself!
This year, I'm really proud to be chairing a panel that's been forever in the making: "Memoir and Latinidad," about the intersections between the genre of memoir and Latin@ issues. If you'll be there, please come! If you know a memoirist, or a Latin@, or a Latin@ memoirist who'll be there--or someone who teaches memoir and wants to amp up his or her knowledge about how ethnicity inflects it--please send them to
Thurgood Marshall East
10:30-11:45 a.m. on Thursday, February 3.
Here are my crazily major panelists (it's going to take me my whole 12 minutes just to read out their awards):
Gustavo Pérez Firmat, also lookin' fine--and also shockingly friendly and approachable for someone who's todo brilliant and prolific . . .
. . . and Stephanie Elizondo Griest, lookin' all smart and beautiful.
These are all awesome, awesome people, and--since I've gotten sneak previews of their papers--I'm dead serious when I tell you that they have some really fascinating and surprising things to say. Seriously. If you teach and/or write memoir, you're gonna wanna know this stuff.
I'm also happy to be reading a brand-new essay on a panel hosted by Lorraine López called Reverent Irreverence: Women Writing Spirituality. One of my favorite writers--and one of the funniest I know, too--will be on the panel, too: Heather Sellers. I can't wait to hear everyone read.
As a teaser, here's the first line of mine:
Mired in the culty weirdness of my upbringing, I imagined strange things as a child.
Believe me: strange things. And I ain't just a-kiddin', as we used to say in West Virginia.
So that panel is in Thurgood Marshall West, on Friday the 4th at noon.
About both of these panels, I'm ridiculously excited. I have to confide, though: I'm also excited about getting to debut my pretty new coat. (If you happen to see me with it on--and that will be easily accomplished, since I may not take it off, at all, ever--please do spare a moment to drink it in.)
Hope to see you there! If you're a reader of the blog but we haven't met yet, do come up and introduce yourself!
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Nebraska = The New Arizona?
Seriously? Really? Were some Nebraskans not awake during the shootings?
Not only has anti-immigrant legislation comparable to Arizona's been introduced this session (Governor Dave Heineman ran on that promise), but so has legislation eliminating multicultural education in the schools--again, similar to Arizona's, but tucked inconspicuously in among a bunch of educational budget issues (clever: using the budget woes to fight the culture wars). My rockin' boss Amelia Montes, the Director of the Institute for Ethnic Studies, will be testifying on Monday down at the Capitol against LB333.
Banning such education makes a sinister kind of sense, though. Education has always gone hand in hand with power. Strip away people's chance to gain knowledge of their history, struggles, and the hands-on specifics of how change got accomplished, and they'll be rendered conveniently mute, subservient. They won't know the successful strategies of their predecessors or have the chance to be inspired by their courage and perseverance. They'll internalize the racism that's thrown at them every day, and they'll feel shame. They'll work hard, keep their heads down, feel fearful.
But only for a while. Oppression never lasts. Truth always wins out in the end, and people always, always rise up, driven by a deep sense of worth, justice, and equality.
But it takes work and struggle. If you're in Nebraska and want to protest the imposition of Arizona-style laws onto our lives, you can attend the Rally for the Good Life on January 27th. Meet on the west side of the Capitol, by the statue of Lincoln, at noon. If you want to learn more about immigration, my favorite local bookstore is hosting a film & discussion series this spring. Indigo Bridge is one of the coziest places in downtown Lincoln, so come drink coffee, bring a friend, and talk with strangers about a situation that affects us all. The series is called Beyond Rhetoric: An Open Discussion on Immigration, and four documentaries will be screened, starting next Thursday, the 27th, and ending in March.
As I teach Chicana & Chicano Literature to my lovely, bright undergraduate students this semester, I feel weirdly aware of being in the middle of history: history being made, contested, hammered out. We're reading the speeches of César Chávez right now, and his words from the 1960s (!) couldn't be more timely and pertinent.
These are strange days, people. Interesting times (as in the classic curse). In way too many ways.
It's curious. I teach with the awareness that some of my fellow Nebraskans feel hostile toward what I do every day in the classroom. Sometimes this awareness of teaching at the center of a storm energizes and invigorates me, giving my work a strengthened sense of urgency and purpose. Sometimes it's just an ordinary day. Sometimes I feel sad, or weary, or vulnerable.
But no matter how vulnerable I feel, I will not--despite the new legislation State Senator Mark Christensen has introduced, LB516--be toting a gun. Híjole. Sometimes you gotta laugh to keep from crying.
I'll end with some words from César Chávez himself: "When people are involved in something constructive, trying to bring about change, they tend to be less violent than those who are not engaged in rebuilding or in anything creative." Published in 1969; still ringing true.
Chávez called violence "the shortcut." In contrast, positive change-makers are patient. We're in it for the long haul.
Not only has anti-immigrant legislation comparable to Arizona's been introduced this session (Governor Dave Heineman ran on that promise), but so has legislation eliminating multicultural education in the schools--again, similar to Arizona's, but tucked inconspicuously in among a bunch of educational budget issues (clever: using the budget woes to fight the culture wars). My rockin' boss Amelia Montes, the Director of the Institute for Ethnic Studies, will be testifying on Monday down at the Capitol against LB333.
Banning such education makes a sinister kind of sense, though. Education has always gone hand in hand with power. Strip away people's chance to gain knowledge of their history, struggles, and the hands-on specifics of how change got accomplished, and they'll be rendered conveniently mute, subservient. They won't know the successful strategies of their predecessors or have the chance to be inspired by their courage and perseverance. They'll internalize the racism that's thrown at them every day, and they'll feel shame. They'll work hard, keep their heads down, feel fearful.
But only for a while. Oppression never lasts. Truth always wins out in the end, and people always, always rise up, driven by a deep sense of worth, justice, and equality.
But it takes work and struggle. If you're in Nebraska and want to protest the imposition of Arizona-style laws onto our lives, you can attend the Rally for the Good Life on January 27th. Meet on the west side of the Capitol, by the statue of Lincoln, at noon. If you want to learn more about immigration, my favorite local bookstore is hosting a film & discussion series this spring. Indigo Bridge is one of the coziest places in downtown Lincoln, so come drink coffee, bring a friend, and talk with strangers about a situation that affects us all. The series is called Beyond Rhetoric: An Open Discussion on Immigration, and four documentaries will be screened, starting next Thursday, the 27th, and ending in March.
As I teach Chicana & Chicano Literature to my lovely, bright undergraduate students this semester, I feel weirdly aware of being in the middle of history: history being made, contested, hammered out. We're reading the speeches of César Chávez right now, and his words from the 1960s (!) couldn't be more timely and pertinent.
These are strange days, people. Interesting times (as in the classic curse). In way too many ways. It's curious. I teach with the awareness that some of my fellow Nebraskans feel hostile toward what I do every day in the classroom. Sometimes this awareness of teaching at the center of a storm energizes and invigorates me, giving my work a strengthened sense of urgency and purpose. Sometimes it's just an ordinary day. Sometimes I feel sad, or weary, or vulnerable.
But no matter how vulnerable I feel, I will not--despite the new legislation State Senator Mark Christensen has introduced, LB516--be toting a gun. Híjole. Sometimes you gotta laugh to keep from crying.
I'll end with some words from César Chávez himself: "When people are involved in something constructive, trying to bring about change, they tend to be less violent than those who are not engaged in rebuilding or in anything creative." Published in 1969; still ringing true.
Chávez called violence "the shortcut." In contrast, positive change-makers are patient. We're in it for the long haul.
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"The River" + 3
Oh, the weather outside is frightful, but my news is so delightful: I'm happy to be a featured writer over at Platte Valley Review online, together with such great folks as LeAnne Howe, Fred Arroyo, and others. Many thanks to the beautiful writer Allison Hedge Coke, the editor there, for inviting me to submit--and then, to my surprise, publishing not only 3 poems but also a story! It's my North Dakota story, "The River," which I really love. (I kind of wrote it for my husband's father, who was born and raised in North Dakota, and who's having serious surgery today down in Louisiana. Best of luck, Douglas dear.)
Many thanks, too, to the lovely Laure-Anne Bosselaar, who encouraged me so nicely about the amuse-bouche "Chicken Sandwich, Alone, Café." (Relax, my veggie friends; it's a persona poem.)
If you should be so kind as to go read any of it, please be forewarned that the margins are a little hinky. The folks at Platte Valley are still working out the bugs. (It's all much easier to read if you print it out.)
I'm hosting the talented poet James Harms for lunch today and so need to haul myself away from my desk. He's here as a candidate for the Prairie Schooner editorship. (Wistful sigh. Hilda, no one can ever replace you.)
Many thanks, too, to the lovely Laure-Anne Bosselaar, who encouraged me so nicely about the amuse-bouche "Chicken Sandwich, Alone, Café." (Relax, my veggie friends; it's a persona poem.)
If you should be so kind as to go read any of it, please be forewarned that the margins are a little hinky. The folks at Platte Valley are still working out the bugs. (It's all much easier to read if you print it out.)
I'm hosting the talented poet James Harms for lunch today and so need to haul myself away from my desk. He's here as a candidate for the Prairie Schooner editorship. (Wistful sigh. Hilda, no one can ever replace you.)
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A Wrecked Shell of a Woman
Stalwart, loyal, trusty readers, thank you for checking back! I did not perish in the snow, and I hope you didn't either.
Let me ease back into blogging with a book recommendation for you.
How good is Anna Monardo's novel Falling in Love with Natassia? Let me put it this way. I came home tired last night and thought I'd sit down and read a chapter or two after supper.
400+ pages and many hours later, when the night was turning gray outside my windows, I turned the last page and fell into a dazed, dazzled sleep. I was just unable to put it down.
Any reader of serious literary fiction will be intrigued by the novel: its thickly developed, surprising characters, the unobtrusive poetry of its language, the hard, beautiful truth of its themes. After not very long at all, I didn't feel like I was reading; I felt like I was inside a world, watching real lives.
I especially recommend it to readers who were or are or visit therapists. (You know who you are.) While some fiction mocks therapists, taking cheap shots where it can, Falling in Love with Natassia includes two therapist-characters who are pivotally important (one profoundly ambivalent therapist is a main character), and it manages to make a therapy session (only briefly, I promise!) the stuff of serious drama.
Today, of course, I'm practically useless due to my self-imposed sleep deprivation, a wrecked shell of a woman with dark hollows under her eyes and a dreamy smile on her lips. And I have you, Anna Monardo, to thank.
Let me ease back into blogging with a book recommendation for you.
How good is Anna Monardo's novel Falling in Love with Natassia? Let me put it this way. I came home tired last night and thought I'd sit down and read a chapter or two after supper. 400+ pages and many hours later, when the night was turning gray outside my windows, I turned the last page and fell into a dazed, dazzled sleep. I was just unable to put it down.
Any reader of serious literary fiction will be intrigued by the novel: its thickly developed, surprising characters, the unobtrusive poetry of its language, the hard, beautiful truth of its themes. After not very long at all, I didn't feel like I was reading; I felt like I was inside a world, watching real lives.
I especially recommend it to readers who were or are or visit therapists. (You know who you are.) While some fiction mocks therapists, taking cheap shots where it can, Falling in Love with Natassia includes two therapist-characters who are pivotally important (one profoundly ambivalent therapist is a main character), and it manages to make a therapy session (only briefly, I promise!) the stuff of serious drama.
Today, of course, I'm practically useless due to my self-imposed sleep deprivation, a wrecked shell of a woman with dark hollows under her eyes and a dreamy smile on her lips. And I have you, Anna Monardo, to thank.
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