Happy Birthday, Mom

I trekked down the street yesterday, lungs filled with mucus and chest cramping up. The cold air blew my coat opened. The sun was hot, but the air was cold. This confused my already sick body. But still, I had to trek on.

In the Valley, we have a handful of writers that actually get published by presses like Arte Publico, but there isn't any venue where you can go and buy their books. Save, the Museum of South Texas History's gift shop. It's not so far from where I live. A walk, no less. But I'm sick and moving isn't the best thing for me at the moment.

Couple that with sinus issues I have on windy days, I'm in a living hell. But I know I have to make to the gift shop and back before it's three because the book I'm buying is Chicken Foot Farm by Anne Estevis - a friend of mine - and is going to be a gift for my mother, whose birthday is today.

I'm going to be honest - aside from what was included in Valleysong, I've never read anything by Anne. I've heard several of her stories as she read them at different readings we've hand. Most notably, in this book, however, is a story that brought my mother to tears. This was the reason why I chose to buy this book for her. She's already working on it, while I'm looking for the next book to read.

Until then, happy huntin'.

Of Pollitos, Life, Swimming Holes & H.E.B.: The Echos of the Rio Grande Valley

The most important thing in any culture is stories, a history. Folklore that is passed from father to son across generations are essential. I don't know where I would be had it not been for the "camp fire" stories from my  grandfather, or those moralistic tales told by my grandmother. Valleysong is a collection of such stories, essays that remember the past of looking toward the future. 

And that is where my crux begins. How can both appreciate and frown upon a book? 

Both my grandparents and my mother taught me well. Let me start with the negative before I can sort out the positive.

Dr. Rob Johnson - English professor at the University of Texas, Pan American - once told us that several people were upset over a book he was an editor of - Fantasmas - because it set our culture back several decades, making us out to be naive and foolish. The collection of short stories revisited several folkloric tales that molded the thoughts of our parents and grandparents, which painted us in a manner of still believing the spooks that haunted our childhood. 

Off the bat, that is how I felt about Valleysong in the first few essays. Here we had outsiders looking inside our culture, describing us in a light that might be rather unflattering. Our way of life has altered so much over the generations that I felt the Mexican-Americans, los tejanos, the Hispanics, y Chicanos weren't represented well within the pages. I almost didn't get passed the first section. 

But the words of Emmy Perez - a creative writing professor at the University of Texas, Pan American - echoed in my head as I continued on: Who will tell our stories? 

With my grandfather's passing when I was just in third grade, the ghost stories came to an end. At least, for a couple of decades. When I started writing, I focused on the present. These days, I think about the past. Who was I? How did I come to this place?

I may not be a writer of the tortilla story. I may not be a writer who has lived in the age when the Valley was still young. And may never be able to write an authentic story of the yesteryear. What I am sure of is that the writers featured in Valleysong - my friends, my second family - are that voice.

So who will tell our stories? Who will record our histories? Pues, I'll tell you who: Siân Taylor Gonzalez, Ann Greenfield, Elizabeth Gearhart, Judith Bowen, Olga Valle-Herr, Audrey Engels, Euchay Ngozi Horsman, Richard Sanchez, James C.H. Evins, Virginia Villarreal Mann, Jan Seale, Barbara Barens Ertl, Anne Estevis, Peggy Snodgrass and B.J. Ewing

Valleysong, in the few days that I took to read it, has taught me more about the past of this melting pot than any history text. We are even better with it in our lives. Thank you.

Quick explanation of a Tortilla Story

In my last post, I mentioned Valleysong might be filled with tortilla stories and that felt like I was putting it down. And if that's how it felt to me, I can only imagine how it would make the writers feel like some of which I know for a fact are talented people.

A tortilla story gets its name from the cliche set up of a South Texas Chicano short story remembering abuelita making tortillas from scratch. It's a reminiscent story, recalling the good ol' days before things went south. A tortilla story doesn't always have to be about grandma making tortillas, though. As long as it follows the age of innocence format, it's pretty much a tortilla story, especially if it makes an attempt to cement our history in literature. They're not waste of time stories, except those that aren't imaginative enough - most of these can be found in creative writing classes.

So again, I wasn't making an attempt of insulting the brilliant writers of Valleysong or those who focus on our history. I was just saying how I, as a writer, don't fit into that world. 

Museum of South Texas History Book Hunt

It wasn't going to be a hunt. I kept telling myself I wouldn't look for books when we got there. See, Mother needed to find out some historical buildings - say in 100-year-old span, about as long as Edinburg, Texas has been a city (formerly known as Chapin when it first came to be). My mind was set to keep all other things out. No hunting books!

We get to the Museum of South Texas History, a tad out of breath from walking - we live close enough to walk, but we're extremely out of shape. She heads for the front desk and I zig zag toward the bookstore because all answers can be found within the pages of any book, right? Well, sort of. Barbara Stokes, the Senior Curator slash Archives lady wasn't in today. They had over her card and tell her that maybe the bookstore might have some information she's looking for. Already on it, amigos.

I turn up empty on my first try, mostly because I remember about an anthology that was recently released. Valleysong: An Anthology Echoing the Rhythm and Cadence of Life in the Rio Grande Valley compiled and written by the members of Texas Rio Writers. I'm not apart of the group and judging by the book's title, I probably wouldn't find a home within their world. While they focus on the everyday life, the good ol' tortilla-esque stories, I'm more of an in-your-face writer, one who loves to focus his attention on the depravity of the Rio Grande Valley. But what do you expect, right?

I find the book! Snag! $16.95 plus tax. Dang. My ad writing service hasn't paid me just yet, which means no money to afford it. Two of my friends are featured within the pages - Richard Sanchez and Anne Estevis, both of which I met through Amado Balderas who was the original gather of poets and short stories in Edinburg, Texas. I get the book anyway, because I have now added more money into my increasing debt - I'M A KEEPER!

Mother has no lucking finding any actual book on Edinburg history, indicating historical buildings that still stand erect or of major importance. There's always the original museum, but because the first one we thought of, we knew everyone jumped all over it. Fine. Moving on.

Because we weren't exactly sure how old the Southern Pacific Railroad Depot, she buys a few items of decoration just in case it's in our time line - it's not, by the way. While we were looking through the children's stuff, I saw from the corner of my eye, Chicken Foot Farm by Estevis. Where there's one book, there's the first, right? Indeed. I found a copy of Down Garrapata Road. Mother's been looking for it for some time and we can never find a decent copy to purchase. She doesn't pass it up. I don't attempt to talk her out of it, either.

We might not have accomplished the outing, but we did come home with two new books, which will be signed on 10 February 2010 at the Dustin Michael Sekula Memorial Library (also in Edinburg, Texas) for the year's first reading.

Until next time, happy huntin'!

Hunting in Hastings

I'm a good hunter. I pride myself with this. I always get my book for a reasonable price - even if it isn't always the cheapest. For me, book hunting isn't always about knowing what I'm looking for, but finding why I was driven to the bookstore in the first place. Call it intuition, I wouldn't.

Last Saturday, of course, was no different. I had an itch that I couldn't just scratch. I went to Hastings looking for something, possibly the fourth book in the Vampire Chronicles because I think I'm getting deeper into Anne Rice than I previous expected.  However, this novel wasn't found.

Moving on, I went to the new in used books shelf and skimmed. Found the book What Nietzsche Really Said, but that too seemed a tad wrong for me. I left it behind in the philosophy section for safe keeping if I should change my mind within the week.

Social Sciences and History sections later, I wound up in the the biography section to find the book Her Last Death by Susanna Sonnenberg. My eye had been on this book for a while, but that too was placed back. A certain defeating sensation came over me. I'm never wrong about this sort of thing. Never had I've been called to and come home empty handed.

I returned to the new in used shelf and skimmed the spines. Nothing. Almost. Wait! Viola Canales?! While The Tequila Worm isn't on the top of my Most Wanted list, but it has been a thorn in my spine since I took my first creative writing course five years ago. It's not an expensive book, it's just one I would probably never pay full price for. I flip it over. Do my eyes deceive me?! $3.20 for the first print hardback? Whoa! Is that an autograph on the title page?! Every book hunter's wet dream. The inscription reads: For Gabriela With friendship, Viola Canales. Why thank you Gabby (also written within the book) for the awesome find! I only hope that you didn't sell this book back because you needed the money badly or that you are no longer with us (I have many a book that came from a deceased English professor from UTPA).

While it is often pimped as Young Adult (which it just might be), I'm glad I came across this book. It shows that my skills are still burning in me, even though I don't have the cash flow to purchase books often. It's another trophy to "mount" on my wall. Next up in the YA list is Rene Saldana, Jr. book, Case of the Pen Gone Missing.

Happy Huntings!

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