Canción del jinete


Córdoba.
Lejana y sola.
Jaca negra, luna grande,
y aceitunas en mi alforja.
Aunque sepa los caminos,
yo nunca llegaré a Córdoba.
Por el llano, por el viento,
jaca negra, luna roja.
La muerte me está mirando
desde las torres de Córdoba.
¡Ay que camino tan largo!
¡Ay mi jaca valerosa!
¡Ay que la muerte me espera,
antes de llegar a Córdoba!
Córdoba.
Lejana y sola.
- Federico García Lorca

Satire is not stupid humor. Despite what Happy Madison Production thinks, satire is humor aimed to expose human folly and vice. It is usually subtle, intelligent and politically charged. Take for instance, the Native American poet and author Sherman Alexie in many of his works. A quick example is How to Write the Great American Indian Novel (quoted above), which understands and parades the Dominant narratives written about the eroticism of Natives in books.

Many Native writers and comedians utilize satirical comedy to overturn the Dominant narrative, which makes sense, since for centuries they've had to deal with the "Native Story" being told about/for them. Colonialist America wrote the story of the dangerous savage. The American Romantic period wrote the story of  the noble, stoic Indian warrior whose eventual death was regretful but imminent (Thomas King, The Truth About Stories). Contemporary America is torn between writing Native people as fuel for erotica or as silly caricatures.

Happy Madison seems to be leaning towards the caricature, so we aren't even trampling upon new, untouched offensiveness. It's all the same dull humor that pervades the Dominant narrative about what it means to be "Indian." So, if it's nothing new, business as usual, why are Native people suddenly all up in arms over a couple of ignorant jokes?  Why, wonder the producers of Adam Sandler's new movie, do they have to be so sensitive?  Here's why: Native people are getting fed up with the shit narratives the majority culture is writing for them. They have their own stories. And as Anishinaabe theorist and writer Gerald Vizenor and author Thomas King claim, "The truth about stories is that's all we are." 

 If the narratives I experience are all I am, then I want the stories (the movies, the poetry, the spirituality, the music, the news sources, the comedy) with which I fill my mind to paint something more complex, more human, more interesting than what Mr. Sandler has, thus far, come up with in his history of "comedy."

 As a mother to two beautiful nəxʷqi̕t nəxʷsƛa̕y̕em̕ children and wife to a nəxʷqi̕t nəxʷsƛa̕y̕em̕ Native lawyer, these things matter to me. I don't want my children growing up with the stories about minority culture I was raised on (cough, cough Pocahontas). I grew up on stories of Indian victimization, noble warriors, death and eroticism. When I met my husband and admitted to a coworker that I was interested in him she told me, "Be careful. Indian men only want sex. They're horny bastards." I said, "Really? All of them?" (Read sarcasm because she didn't). She answered, "All of them." 

The Dominant narrative is being called into question in a lot of areas these days: rape culture, gender and sexual orientation and minority rights. It's uncomfortable to realize that your entire life you've been programmed to think racist, sexist and erroneous things about almost every minority in our fair country. But that's how it is. Brushing it off and calling those who are upset by ignorant comedy "too sensitive" is lazy.

 It's 100% okay that many Native people, including my students at the Northwest Indian College, were offended, enraged and shocked that Native representation is so stilted, stuck in John Wayne Western stereotypes. Allison Young, a Navajo film student working on the Sandler film, expressed this frustration perfectly when she told Indian Country Today, "Nothing has changed. We are still just Hollywood Indians.”

Is it any wonder that actors  who were assured that they would be treated respectfully walked away from ugly, sterile representations of Comanche people? Hasn't there been enough of that? Can't we find a better way to be funny? I know we can. See the above clip from Smoke Signals, or just watch the actually satirical video by the hilarious1491s  below, if you don't believe me. 

If you're still having a hard time understanding what's so offensive about calling a Comanche elder "Beaver's Breath" or disrespecting and misrepresenting tribal differences and ceremonies, maybe you won't get the joke the 1491s are telling in their "I'm An Indian Too" video or their "Smiling Indians" video or a number of their other videos, but that's okay. Not everyone understands satire. Clearly Happy Madison never has, but this most recent atrocity is more than enough proof for me. 

“There were about a dozen of us who walked off the set,” said Anthony, who told ICTMN he had initially refused to do the movie. He then agreed to take the job when producers informed him they had hired a cultural consultant and efforts would be made for tasteful representation of Natives." Indian Country Today

It's widely known that women's bodies have been considered a topic of public debate throughout history. I understand this phenomena to stem from the fact that men thought of females as property rather than humans throughout most of history. I'd like to think that's changed, but I don't. Especially when I walk past the many magazines targeted at women (namely, mothers) in the check out stands preaching about the newest trend in "health" for women. We all know what "health" means, ladies. And it's not about BMI.

There are an abundance of ads on the side of my facebook and search engine screens screaming at me: lose weight, look less haggard, have a firmer butt...I guess it makes sense that a 30 year old lady would be a target market, especially one with kids, and I do sign up for healthy newsletters and track my run apps, but those ads just drive me crazy. And here's why: They keep me from being content. 

And that's what advertisers, companies want, right? To make you feel like you need their product, or could benefit from it. And many people do benefit or are happy they tried this or that product. I'm not trying to make those of you who use products to help you reach your goals feel bad. But here's the thing: I don't need those things, and I can't really afford them. I lost weight when I realized I was obese by eating better, working out daily and drinking water. I don't need your shit; I just need basic self control because I'm a marginally healthy young woman. 


I won't lie, somedays (when I'm on a depressive cycle, especially) I don't have the willpower to keep from chocolate. Take this last month. I was house-bound from a health issue. I couldn't run, couldn't workout and was depressed. Donuts may not have helped the situation, as delicious as they were. I found myself tempted to click on those ads. Maybe those expensive supplements will help me maintain my weight since I can't work out. I quickly closed my computer. 

Those things never work for me because I like food. Love it. Depend on chocolate. The ONLY thing that works for me is activity. It keeps me at a healthy weight, keeps my energy stablized and keeps my moods close to neutral. And that's a huge deal for someone who has Bipolar Disorder. Living as an active person makes me more sane, and I love that. 

But I don't click on those adds because I want to be more sane or even more healthy. I click on them because I'm bogged down by the desire to be "younger," "sexier," "skinny," and "tone."  Where does this desire come from? My husband thinks I'm beautiful, desireable and sexy. He tells me that all the time. Who else matters, really? My entire childhood life, I was chubby. Was I unhappy? Not when I was in a normal state of mind, no. Because I stopped caring what people thought about me the first time a boy called me a fat ogre. If he  was the type of person who was interested in hanging out with a "skinny" version of me, then the hell with it. I didn't want people like that around. I'm happy that was my outlook. I know not everyone is lucky, and some have a harder time with criticism.
 But, lately, I haven't been that person, either. Now that I've maintained an average weight, I suddenly have the urge to care about what people like that think of my body, my shell. People see the 60 pound lighter version of me and they say, "You look great." They are being nice. Friends, family, strangers, don't think I'm angry about your compliments. I treasure the support. I feel great, so thanks. I'm not mad about the people who notice that I feel better, get around better, have an easier time with my Bipolar Disorder. Their compliments stem from pride and love.

Here's what I don't like: I don't like the ads that show up on my social network because I sign up for 5ks. I don't like the messages from the masagonist assholes who say, "Wow, you're hott. U wanna meet up, girl?" I don't want to be the person getting healthy for the sake of other people. I want my daughter and son to understand that they are beautiful in every way, no matter what. And the only thing that should motivate a change in their diet and exercise is their well being. Period. 

I am not your product, people. And masagonist a-holes, I am not interested in your praise. My body is none of your business, and I do not seek your approval or disapproval.  I certainly don't seek disgusting commentary. Again my body is not your business. So stop making a business model from the forced desires pushed  into women's phyches. I can walk up the stairs and not be in pain. I can play with my kids, race them, lift them and take them on hikes, and that's what I want to be proud of. I wish I could make the ads stop. I wish that this post would shoo the perverts away, but that's not going to happen.

I can only control the actions of one person, and that person is me. That person is fully recovered from her injury and is gonna go on a nice jog. And I'm gonna do it because I love the sound of my feet against gravel, the steady pumping of blood sounding in my ears  and the pride I feel when I push past the burn. I'm going to close the computer and put the ads to sleep, so I can work on me. I hope all you lovely women and men have a wonderful, healthy life. And I hope that you are healthy for the pure joy of it, for your benefit and not for the benefit of others. 

A compilation of some of my favorite  traditional, self and indie published books. You'll find young adult, poetry, fantasy, classics, literary ficiton, sci-fi, minority fiction, women's fiction, trauma and recovery, and graphic novels in this list. A little something for all types of readers. Each book has it's own clickable link, so explore some of these wonderful words, worlds, and lives. Some of these are fun, some are uncanny, some are heartfelt, all are a great example of the imagination of authors past and present. Happy World Book Day.

The Masters of Time present pre-orders for their sci-fi anthology! Join us in imaging what it would be like to have control over time. Stories by Samantha LeFantasie, Alesha Escobar, Alice Marks, H.M. Jones, Devorah Fox and Timothy C. Ward. 

Ben will do anything to impress the girl-next-door, Gina. Even if that means flying into an electrical display to test a bogus geek theory on time travel. What Ben doesn't know is that Gina isn't interested in traveling back in time to increase her chances of getting into an Ivy League school. She has a much more noble task in mind, one she is ready to die for. A time travel tale of love and loss, this short story asks the question: If you were given the chance to change anything in your span of life, what would you change? The answer presented in this story will resonate with those who have lost someone they love.

Many of us have suffered stress nightmares. If you're a waitress, you're tossing and turning as tables pile up, every customer with an impossible order or a complaint. If you're a student, you wake in a sweat, unable to shake the feeling you didn't study for a test or forgot to write a paper, until you remember it's Spring Break.

If you're a manager, you're re-writing a never ending work schedule, your employees switching, quitting and taking vacations all at the same time. If you're a teacher, your class won't quiet and you have no power to calm their riots.

I've played some of these roles and intimately understand the anxiety dreams that come with them, but I've never, until this week, had a writer's stress dream.  So, for the amusement of all the fellow stress dream survivors, I captured a re-enacted representation of what my very low action horror dream looked like, I call it "1,500 that's! Are You F'n Kidding me!" (above). And for you're further amusement, I wrote a macro horror story entitled "Highlighting Hell." Enjoy.

The little red house was a cloaked in darkness, every square inch put to rest. Except the Writer's desk. It's fake Ikea shabby chic green was bathed in light from the open monitor humming on it's surface. The fan from the computer whirred noisily, echoing against the slumbering walls of the still house. The Writer hit its keys with ferocity in her fingers, each tap a nail on the coffin of her dirge. Okay, she was writing a contemporary fantasy, not a dirge, but she had every reason to lament, having stayed up with her manuscript until the midnight hour. Ctrl F: "that," she typed into the word search function of her writing program. This was it, the last word search she was to run, to edit to perfection, before sending the manuscript back to her editor, a champion of concise. 
But her monitor had the nasty habit of highlighting the words she searched for. Oh, it was handy, sure, but the results were truly terrifying. It was not a rainy night, nor was the wind particularly riled. It was all utter stillness and silence.
Her only companion, her only light was her faithful, lagging lap top. Or was it? She tapped the enter key, certain her line editing would soon be at an end, when she gasped. Her monitor was crissed and crossed by urine yellow highlighting. Her word search ticker taunted her, painting her "that"s up like brazen whores. Suddenly, it came to it's final resting place at 2,000. The Writer screamed in terror, her dreams of finishing the edits before the weekend trashed by word search ticker.
Lights flickered on, the little red house came awake. When the sleepers found the writer, her head lay on the keypad of her faithful laptop, surrounded by a sticky pool. She'd fallen asleep and was known to drool. Her neglected spouse was haunted by the words on her screen. Or, more accurately, by the highlighted word on her screen. Her entire year's work was, he backed away in horror, twenty thousand times
THAT. 

Your story is wonderful, suspenseful, sexy, smart, unique, honest...or whatever adjective your story really is to you, your family, friends, and your potential readers. But your book, if unedited, is redundant. It's unnecessary. It's repetitive. Okay, I'll stop. It was the obvious joke to make. 

How dare you! I spent hours, months, years (insert amount of time spent) on my manuscript! It's as near perfection as humanly possible! First, no need to yell. Second, I'm speaking to myself as much as anyone else, so please relax. Third, I realize that no one is actually yelling, but I like to give the impression of riotous upheaval as it creates a false sense importance. I.E. It makes me feel like people are actually reading my blog when I make up nay saying voices. Fourth, no it's not. Your manuscript needs an editor. And here is why:

Ooops! How'd that shot at 5o Shades get into my post about editing? Oh, that's right, because it's ON POINT, ya'll. Here's the thing, you can't live in a digital world, use the same word 300 to 700 times in one book and not have someone point it out. And they should. Lazy workmanship reflects poorly on us as authors, journalists, poets, etc. The example above reminds me, sadly enough, of myself. I've been through hell, readers, and I have my editor to thank for this (don't feel bad, C.R., it's all my fault). Rather, I have my love of redundancy to thank for it. 

You see, I'm editing a manuscript for publication with Booktrope and I'm in the beginning stages of it all. My very intelligent and lovely editor (hey, it never hurts to suck up to your editor, folks) made the suggestion that I run a search on my manuscript for the following words: "look," "turn," "had," "would," "sigh," "smile," "that" and a few others. Before you run off to check your manuscript, keep reading. You'll need to laugh if your search goes anything like mine. The words "look," "turn," "would," and "had" were highlighted over 400 times, with "had" taking the cup at 569 uses. Every time I run one of these words searches (and I'm so obsessive that I go through one word search fix at a time, until I am under 90 uses) I cringe. I have read and re-read, edited, tweaked and drastically altered my manuscript countless times (a labor of three years) and I missed all of the above instances of redundancy. 

WHY? Because I was the only one editing the book. And here is something you want to remember, so write it down, make it your cute mantra you paste  as an instant footer to all your emails, or just file it in the ol' memory box:

You will never catch your own mistakes because your manuscript reads exactly as you intended when you read it to yourself. Because you're caught up in your own story. Because you're proud of what you've accomplished in getting a book together, and you damn well should be. I teach writing courses, I have an M.A. and B.A. in English Literature, but I still made the mistake of assuming I could do without an editor for a long time. And....ick this is the part I hate....I was wrong.
I'm constantly finding the awkward sentences, the over-used phrases and the misspellings of my students, but I could not, even over a three year span, catch the small mistakes I repeatedly made in my own writing.  Editors are necessary because we need another set of eyes to catch what we will inevitably miss in our work. 


Even now, I cringe before hitting the "post submit" button because I know how flawed this blog is. But at least, thanks to my magnanimous editor, I am aware. Look, we all want what we write to be a positive representation. And we write because we have a story that aches to be heard, felt and read. An editor is not an enemy censor (okay, some might be but most aren't); he/she is a helping pair of trained eyes. So before you ask yourself "Is it really worth the money to pay an editor?" do a word search. After wading through the "woulds" of self-imperfection, I think you'll agree that an edit is a not a bad call.