Blogueras Forever: Alvarado Reviews Cardinal. Living Room Floricanto Vincent Cooper.

Wonder Woman is Puerto Rican or Ann Dávila Cardinal has a new novel!!!
Lisa Alvarado

*Editor's Note. La Bloga welcomes former weekly columnists Lisa Alvarado and Ann Dávila Cardinal to today's pages.

Ann Dávila Cardinal is a force of nature.  I met her when I was trying to harass then Vermont College's admissions to let me finish my B.A. at the ripe old age of 38. I remember sitting in her office, feeling all at once at home. She got me. And more importantly I got her - her grit, talent, dedication as a writer.  I got my degree and was lucky enough to stay in touch after graduation.

But wait! There's more! Through Ann's keen eyes and ears she contacted me and Jane Alberdeston  Coralin about a call for Latinx YA. Through that we wrote Sister Chicas together and once again, Ann's broad reach helped us find an agent and publisher.

I remember a conversation we had back in the day where Ann put it to the universe that she wanted to write a novel... and folks, this is one amazing read from an uber-talented hermana, whose grace, literary chops, and other worldly work ethic has born more fruit. Below is a brief description from her publisher and our conversation about the acclaimed new novel.

From the Publisher: 

   

Five Midnights by Ann Dávila Cardinal is a modern take on the El Cuco myth that is bound to be loved by many. With a narrative that’s well-paced and intriguing, the author builds a world that utilizes a story passed down through generations since the Spanish Colonization of Puerto Rico and Latin America.

Javier Utierre and Lupe Dávila are trying to find out who (or what) killed two boys in San Juan, and along the way uncover an old magic based on the aforementioned myth. As Lupe and Javier become embroiled in the chase for the murderer, their adventure grows more nebulous. The mystery introduces us to some colorful side-characters who give us pieces of the ultimate puzzle, such as Papi Gringo, one of Javier’s childhood friends who’s become a sort-of Bad Bunny personality, and Izzy, another one of Javier’s friends but also Lupe’s elusive cousin. All the characters add to the story’s sense that everyone knows or is connected to each other, which is essential when writing about Puerto Rico; there’s always a feeling like you know somebody who knows somebody within Puerto Rican culture.

What would you like to say to La Bloga’s readers about Five Midnights?

You mean beyond that I hope they will read it? 😊 I guess that I’ve always been fascinated with the legend of El Cuco, and how the threat of supernatural forces is used to try and get children to behave. And that though he is called different things, a version of him appears in pretty much every Latin culture, which tells me either this tactic has worked for generations, or that parents resort to desperate supernatural threats when feeling powerless (yes!). My hope is that I captured the spirit of this myth, and the spirit of Puerto Rico.

Briefly describe your protagonists and what you see as the point of connection for readers.

Lupe Dávila is a sixteen-year-old Gringa-Rican from Vermont whose mother took off when she was little, and she is left struggling with life with an alcoholic father. This particular summer, her father ships her off to his brother’s home in Puerto Rico for the entire season, where she gets in involved in a mysterious murder case. Lupe is a fighter who takes zero shit from anyone but doesn’t let anyone close either. Being of mixed ethnicities and from a broken, drunken home, she struggles with fitting-in in either place, something which I think will connect with many readers.

Javier Utierre is a smart and kind almost-eighteen-year-old from a middle-class city near San Juan that has been badly affected by the economic issues on the island. As people left his neighborhood, drugs moved in, and he found himself caught in the net of addiction. But thanks to a priest he connected with, he’s been in recovery for two years. But when a childhood friend is brutally murdered, he is forced to face his past and the hand he had in creating the darkness he has been running from. Javier is a young man facing some bad choices he made, something most of us must face at one point or another in our lives.

Usually, there is more than one message in a novel. What is the major message in Five Midnights? What are the other takeaways you would hope for readers?

What I hope is that it helps shine light on certain issues, the major one being addiction, specifically that though most of what we hear are stories of drugs affecting certain socio-economic classes, in reality it affects us all. And that though it is mostly a love letter to Puerto Rico, I strove to show la isla in a realistic light (I mean, other than mythic monsters traipsing around). The beauty and the struggles as it was written pre-Maria when the island was already suffering. And finally, that if you don’t fit into one neat little box on a census, you still fit in with the community you make.

Talk about your own evolution as a novelist -from being co-author in Sister Chicas to your current book. Describe the ways you found helping hands, as well as what barriers you had to address.

Helping hands? Like, I didn’t know how to write a metaphor until you and Jane Alberdeston Coralin taught me? 😊 I learned so much working with you two on Sister Chicas, especially since you both are poets. Such beautiful language. Then I earned my MFA at Vermont College of Fine Arts, and my craft deepened and deepened thanks to my faculty advisors. But we knew so little of the business then, we were flying blind. We did well despite that, but since then I’ve built a community of writers who are at different points in their careers so I can draw on their knowledge, and then pass that on to younger writers. The first time we got an editorial letter, we felt as if we’d done something wrong. Now I know that those letters are what brings out the best in the book, that you should hope for at least two so you are certain the work is where it should be. I’m a dreamer, so there was also a thickening of skin, a tether to expectations. The work is still joyous, but I’m more realistic about the outcomes.

What is the importance of YA literature from your point of view as a writer and a member of academia? How does what you do for a living impact your life as a writer?

Oh, it is through my job that I fell in love with young adult literature. Years back, I sat in on a lecture in our MFA in Writing for Children & Young Adults (WCYA) program by Sundee Frazier—brilliant writer, lovely human being—who talked of craft and representation, and I remember my blood pulsing faster and faster through my body, it was all I could do not to jump to my feet and cheer. I’d never heard someone talk about craft like that, with an eye always on the reader, on the responsibility of shaping young minds. It adds an entire level to the craft of writing, an additional depth of meaning. And my job of counseling writers into VCFA’s programs only feeds my hunger. I get paid to talk to writers all day long, it doesn’t get much better than that! And each conversation inspires me. Truly.

In working with you on Sister Chicas, the idea of representation was central. How is representation on the micro and macro level an element in Five Midnights?

In Five Midnights I tried to represent my own story, and those of my family. Though Lupe has a lot of me in her, so does Javier, and Marisol. In this novel my frustration and anger at how Puerto Rico has been treated came out in the character of Marisol. And the intense bond of island family. As someone who did not have the best situation at home, the caretaking of my family in Puerto Rico was invaluable. It made me who I am today. And my love for my uncle Esteban, who always made me feel cared for, something a child of an alcoholic/addict thirsts for. So in addition to representing my own experience teetering between the two worlds, I hope I captured what being una Boricua means to me.

Particularly at this historic juncture, what is the significance of Puerto Rican literature and visibility? Who influenced you? Who continues to influence you?

Oh, this one made me tear up. I have lived on a steady diet of Latinx literature most of my life, studied Puerto Rican literature at Columbia, read everything I could get my hands on from Manuel Alonso’s El Jibaro (written in 1845) to Yolanda Arroyo Pizarro’s recent work. And the Dávilas have produced a number of writers, from my great-great uncle Virgilio Dávila to my cousin Tere Dávila who manages to write award-winning books while running an advertising agency. I feel…not the pressure of this legacy, but rather the buoying. Does that make sense? Can buoying even be a verb? But it is my wish that more work of the island is translated and released via traditional academic and commercial publishing venues on the mainland. There are so many brilliant mainland writers of Puerto Rican heritage, but not much work of the island-based writers coming this way. I’d love to see a bridge built, so all these brilliant works can go both ways.

Talk about literary fiction and genre fiction. How do you see the categories? Are the distinctions useful? What’s your observation about the intersection of literary fiction/YA/Latinx fiction?

Oh, girl! Now you know I’m pulling out my soapbox now! You know this is a passionate subject for me. I was going to get a t-shirt made for AWP that read “Genre is not a four-letter word!” But these days I’m beginning to realize that this division and judgement is dated. Younger generations of writers just don’t have these prejudices anymore, I mean, Colson Whitehead wrote a zombie novel, and George Saunders…well, that’s all I need to say: George Saunders. Victor LaValle, Carmen Machado…these are all literary writers who write speculative fiction. I predict that this classist perception of genre as “less than” is going away. And really, as far as I can tell that bias hardly ever existed in YA literature. Almost all our WCYA faculty have written some genre work, and there just isn’t that judgement when you’re writing for young people. There is so much depth that can be carried along with a magical storyline. If you don’t believe me, read All of us With Wings by Michelle Ruiz Keil, or The Storm Runner by J.C. Cervantes. Gorgeous, elegant work, with so many layers.

Tell us something not in the bio.

From the age of four to about six or seven, I slept with the sheets wrapped tight about my neck to prevent a vampire biting me in my sleep. I am the youngest of five children, a span of sixteen years between my oldest sibling and me, and so I was dragged to all kinds of movies. My mother also had a huge crush on Bela Lugosi (never did get that one) and so I saw Dracula at about four years old. I loved horror but had so many nightmares that I had to take preventative measures. Must have worked since I never did get bitten. 😉

Living Room Floricanto At Casa Sedano Welcomes SanAnto's Vincent Cooper
Michael Sedano

A few years back I actively coupled a goal of taking the perfect public speaker photograph with another goal of photographing every raza and allied poet on the Eastside reading their own stuff. That's almost the same foto, que no?

Public speaking--I call it Oracy--is equivalent to Literacy and Numeracy as fundamental competencies of a civilized person. I think in Aristotelian terms. The third century pagan held it would be unthinkable in his 'hood for someone to be unable to defend themselves with a sword. Equally unthinkable, Aristotle said, that a person would be unable to defend themselves with their words. And when people started agreeing with that notion, people became civilized.

Aristotle was thinking the courts and the agora, but the point applies to one's writing. An effective reading is the writer's way of honoring not just the composition but the labor of creation. Don't do a crummy reading but give your words the respect all that work earned it. In short, it's not enough to write it, fulfill the process by reading it aloud well.

The Living Room Floricanto, and its al fresco variant, the Backyard Floricanto, is a way to celebrate Oracy, take fotos, and bring poets to the pad, since Barbara and I don't get around much any more. It's much more, of course. The Living Room Floricanto is fun. My gosh, as today's fotos show, we did an open mic then enjoyed our featured guest. After that, a hootenanny broke out.

As the Emcee, Michael Sedano leads off the Open Mic with two minutes of creative  non-fiction. Sedano introduced the guest with the second-longest drive, Santa Barbara-NOLA's Melinda Palacio.

Melinda introduced Steve Beisner, wearing orange marking his opposition to gun violence.

Steve, a La Bloga Guest Columnist in the past, introduced Viktoria Valenzuela, Vincent's poet-wife.

foto:Concepcíon Valadez

Viktoria had the pleasure of introducing Living Room Floricanto At Casa Sedano's special guest,  fellow Veteran, San Antonio's Vincent Cooper reading from his recent publication, Zarzamora.

Melinda brought her Fender Montecito model Ukelele, a beautifully crafted instrument with mother-of-pearl inlay and mirrored finish. And what a tone! In the fotos, I have a great posture because I'm leaning back to hear those plunking chords and get into the beat.

Steve is a professional musician. I appreciate his tolerance with my poorly-disciplined fingers. We played some Irving Berlin, Lennon-McCartney, Sabor a Mi. The most wondrous event happened when guest Angel Guerrero sang a capella in a clear powerful contralto.

A Mystery Bigger Than Big: A Mickey Rangel Mystery / Un misterio mas grande que grandisimo: Coleccion Mickey Rangel, Detective Privado

By René Saldaña Jr.

             

• Paperback: 64 pages
• Publisher: Pinata Books; Bilingual edition (May 30, 2016)
• Language: English/ Spanish
• ISBN-10: 1558858245
• ISBN-13: 978-1558858244

Rumors are flying about Natalia, the new girl in school. She's so quiet that everyone is sure she's hiding something. Was her father a drug lord in Mexico, killed by rival gangs? Or were her parents Russian spies, caught doing what spies do? Maybe she's the sole survivor of a plane crash?!?

Mickey Rangel, detective extraordinaire, knows all of the stories going around are bogus. But when his arch rival, Bucho, challenges him for the answer, Mickey vows to crack the case of the new girl. He'll prove once and for all that he's the real deal, a private detective!

Natalia is peculiar. She's very skinny, and eats her lunch so quickly that Mickey wonders if she got something more appetizing than he did. She never talks, and her shoes and clothing are worn and shabby. But his efforts to discover the girl's secret come up empty, until he overhears a conversation. Is Natalia really one of those undocumented children he has heard about on the news? Did she really travel all the way from Guatemala by herself? Why would she leave her family? And why would her parents let her go?

In this fourth installment of the bilingual Mickey Rangel Mystery series, acclaimed author and educator Rene Saldana, Jr. writes a thought-provoking novel for intermediate readers that explores the contemporary issue of immigration from a young person's perspective. And in this case, Mickey learns some hard truths about being a detective and a good person, ultimately realizing that some mysteries are best left unsolved.

Look Both Ways in the Barrio Blanco

By Judith Robbins Rose

Illustrations by Sara Palacios 

• Hardcover: 352 pages
• Publisher: Candlewick (September 8, 2015)
• Language: English
• ISBN-10: 0763672351
• ISBN-13: 978-0763672355

With humor and sensitivity, a debut novelist explores the coming of age of a girl caught between two cultures as she finds the courage to forge a new destiny.

"Miss, will you be my Amiga?" 

Amiga means "friend" in Spanish, but at the youth center, it meant a lady to take you places. 

I never asked myself if two people as different as Miss and me could ever really be amigas. 

When Jacinta Juarez is paired with a rich, famous mentor, she is swept away from the diapers and dishes of her own daily life into a world of new experiences. But crossing la linea into Miss’s world is scary. Half of Jacinta aches for the comfort of Mamá and the familiar safety of the barrio, while the other half longs to embrace a future that offers more than cleaning stuff for white people. When her family is torn apart, Jacinta needs to bring the two halves of herself together to win back everything she's lost. Can she channel the power she’s gained from her mentor and the strength she’s inherited from Mamá to save her shattered home life?

Reviews

Rose presents characters in crisis, whose stories are personal, rather than broadly representative, and the book is better for it. Ultimately, this is a story about code switching, and about the different skill sets and assumptions required for complex cross-cultural and cross-class situations. An interesting first novel that treats its complex characters with unusual dignity.

—School Library Journal

Rose convincingly depicts Jacinta’s struggles as she explores aspects of upper-middle-class culture—French and gymnastics lessons, theater and ballet performances—while coping with the instability and grimness of barrio life and desperately missing her mother...A moving portrayal of a girl’s effort to embrace both her Mexican roots and the possibilities of American life, as well as an affecting look at an important contemporary issue.

—Publishers Weekly

This smart debut is a poignant exploration of cultural variations and family ties through the eyes of a lovable and funny narrator. Timely in its look at the plight of undocumented immigrants and their American-born children, it is a story of empowerment against the shadows of life in the barrio.

—Booklist

Jacinta’s story gives readers insight into the world of immigrant families and their difficult lives: the fear of discovery, the poverty, distrust of anyone who is not Mexican.

—VOYA

Socially conscious kids will love discussing the moral and political issues raised here, but this book is so much more than a conversation-starter. It's a great tale about a great girl.

—Chicago Tribune

A valiant effort that wrestles with important, complex themes.

—Kirkus Reviews

The opening to The Closet of Discarded Dreams

by Rudy Ch. Garcia

Ever have one of those mornings when you realize--what? That you shouldn't have done something last night. That you don't remember what you did. That you don't know where the chingaus you are or how you got wherever the chingada you are. And maybe you're even scared to turn around? Well, that's how my fantasy novel The Closet of Discarded Dreams begins. Then everything gets worse.

Today I'll probably receive the first copies of the book. It might be like all the Xmases ever, all combined into the opening of one gift, from a publisher, but nevertheless as latent with emotion as anything I probably ever received from Santa.

In a week, on Sept. 16th at Su Teatro's Denver Civic Theater I will do the premier reading and wonder and wonder how it will be received. In preparation for that and to commemorate holding a copy in my hands in a few hours, below is part of the first chapter, the opening to the novel. In the Denver Metro area, I'd encourage people to request the book from Tattered Cover Bookstore, since it only became available to stores in the last couple of days.

If you like what you read here and want to read more, spread the word, twitter and friend and like away to your networks, family and co-workers. Given logistical problems of not getting the book earlier, I assume it won't make the Colorado bestseller list. We'll just have to see.

Chapter One - Entrada

When I opened my eyes I immediately realized I wasn’t in my bedroom, or in anyone else’s for that matter. From about twenty feet up, a seemingly endless ceiling overshadowed me, sparkling all star-like. It reminded me of a colossal version of an old Westside San Anto bowling-alley-turned-Mexican-dance hall, except no salsa blared here, nor did any banda play. Drunk like a borracho on a titanic waterbed, I floundered atop a never-ending loose collection of gear, goods, and possessions amassed in all directions.

My muscles not responding well, I must’ve looked like a stupid action figure in some messy kid’s closet. The ocean of stuff glutted my vision, overwhelming my mind. These sensations and images flashed through me like a dream—no, a nightmare—yet I felt conscious. In which case, what was all this chingadera and where in Gringolandia had I landed?

As I struggled to sit up, on my left I toppled over the heavy gold pieces of a nine-foot-square chessboard—of ebony and ivory? On the other side I squished an opened box of chocolates that reeked of liqueur. I wiped my hand on the mink coat lying there and smelled my palm—definitely Amaretto and Kahlua. Strange since I’d never had a sense of smell in a dream. I wiped the stuff off on my jeans and shook my head to try to get straight. Then I gave myself a cachetada hard enough to sting my cheek, and rubbed and stretched it. Nada of the surroundings changed. No, this felt nothing like a dream.

Facing me, as well as to my right, the distant horizon shimmered. I’d somehow awoken in a humongously long box, unfathomable miles across in two directions. Everywhere between me and the distance, piles of goods rose like a consumer society’s ultimate graveyard, leaving but ten feet of suffocating space overhead.

Now I felt like a forsaken knick-knack in some hoarding giant’s garage, stacked almost ceiling-high. In my mind, the stunted headroom choked off the horizontal boundlessness, threatened to crush me with claustrophobia. I wanted to puke, heave hard and bad, but forced it back down and swallowed. The nausea went away.

I followed the twinkling, pale ceiling to where it ran into a more exposed, orange wall behind me and a yellow one to the left. My eyes and brain couldn’t accept that the planes met at right angles, like this enclosure might be hexagonal or something. I shook my head again and squinted but the angles fluctuated worse. To boot, the disorientation wasn’t only in my head. My skin, my bare feet, my gut, didn’t feel normal. A hangover from an exotic drug I should never have tried? I couldn’t remember doing such a thing.

Fact was I couldn’t remember anything I’d recently done—last night, yesterday, the past week and for much longer. Maybe I’d been drugged with something that had wiped out my memory. So besides being lost, I had some kind of amnesia? And where the chingaus had my socks and shoes gone to? Had I gotten rolled? I checked for a wallet and found nothing, or anything in the other pockets.

Worried that if I stood I’d lose my footing on the stuff, I stayed crouched, scanning for someone or something familiar. I made out a third wall miles away but just barely, like this hazy place was gargantuan enough to have several climates, with fog in front of me and what looked to be a mirage to the far right. Between me and those distant walls, perpendicular shafts of darkness regularly sundered the background, pillars of black light rising out of the ground as if to keep the flat canopy from collapsing. I could have used a pillar myself, to keep my balance.

I shook off the vertigo and inspected the Flooring, as I’d learn they called it. It was impossible to believe. No wood floor, carpet, tile or linoleum anywhere. No ground, no dirt. Just thousands—no, it must have been tens of thousands of…things sat on I couldn’t imagine how many millions of others. In that sense, the place resembled a humongous junkyard, but most items appeared to be whole, useable, many even new. Any man-made object of value seemed like it would be here somewhere. I tore my eyes from staring too long because it confused me—like speeding through a liquidation sale of valuables from mankind’s every era. Besides, I was in no shopping mood for anything, except information, something to get my bearings or understand what had happened and where the chingada in Aztlán I could be.

Subdued noises came at me from every direction, like my ears were partially plugged…but I didn’t think my hearing was the problem.

From fifty yards in front echoed the steady clicking of roller coaster wheels. The contraption hadn’t been there a minute before, I felt certain of that. It stretched for possibly miles on prairie-like slopes of goods, bearing but one screamer riding with his arms raised. Further back stood a short oil derrick with its gushes splashing the ceiling or gurgling oil that seeped into the underlying goods. A couple of men in black-drenched overalls whooped it up. At least those people acted like they knew where they were. Yet, I hesitated running to seek their help.

Sprinkled throughout as far as I could see, larger groups were involved in different activities. There looked to be parties, a tamalada, a videogame tournament or quieter mundane events, like some kind of business meeting and a wedding ceremony. Plus more—a courtroom trial, a monster truck rally, a team of fresco painters frenziedly at work, and further out a score of naked people obviously involved in an orgy. At the limits of my vision, the eclectic mix of goings-on melded into grayed blurs.

publicity photo

More odd than all these oddities, was that the participants seemed totally involved in their own special thing, paying no attention to groups near them. As if they didn’t know they had neighbors. It was like I’d Google-mapped in real-time and max-zoomed on a world of suburban barbecues. A place where each backyard gathering pretended it existed in its own private mini world, despite the nearby competing commotion. Except, these people needed no eight-foot fences to aid the illusion and suburbia had never looked this loco. . .

Rudy Ch. Garcia will autograph and sign The Closet of Discarded Dreams at 

Su Teatro's Denver Civic Theater

on Sunday, Sept. 16th

at 5:00pm, 721 Santa Fe Drive

A free event with refreshments and suavísimo door prizes.

Debut novel – The Closet of Discarded Dreams

by Rudy Ch. Garcia


[Note: The "Spic vs. spec: Chicanos/latinos & sci-fi lit" series has run its course, for the time being. We will begin a series on Chicanos/latinos & fantasy in August.]

Damnation Books will release my first novel on Sept. 1! It's not to believe, yet. The idea that one of my major works will be hold-able in my own hands hasn't sunk in, but I know it will. Check out the cover and let me know what you think.


The Closet of Discarded Dreams is the best thing since sliced white bread. [Why do they call it white if it's brown on the outside? If you send a kid to the store for white bread and he comes back empty-handed, don't blame him if he said he didn't see any; blame it on society's color-bias.]


No, The Closet is better than white bread, it's as good as mamá's homemade tortillas de maiz, hot, dripping with butter melting down the sides and smelling freshly tostitas. Okay, enuf with the culinary analogies. This is not a review of the book; I'm leaving that to Sedano or Olivas or Ramos to review for you; they'll be much more reliable. Consider this just a preview.


In the vein of our "Spic vs spec" series, the novel speculates: What happens to your dreams, your aspirations after you abandon them? Did you hope to marry your high school love, but life turned out differently? Have your shelved that blockbuster movie idea you thought would win you an Oscar? Or, to go deeper into your psyche's yearnings-and-desires category, did your shrink convince you to drive out those "other" thoughts from your mind?


Guess what. All of humankind's discarded dreams don't disappear; they transport to an alternate world--the entire dream, the players, the scenario, and whatever stuff is in your dream. When I explained this to one reader, she responded, "It's a world of dreams. So, it's a happy place?" Maybe not.


Here's where "Spic vs. spec" comes in. I took a gamble. Big risk. I could have written a "mainstream" spec novel with an Anglo protagonist and probably increased significantly its potential audience and market. But, I didn't. The Closet's hero is a young Chicano with issues. If you're whatever kind of latino, you know the issues, like being waited on in a restaurant AFTER the Anglo couple who came in after you.


But the worst issue our hero has is he's totally not going to put up with being condemned to The Closet of Discarded Dreams. He doesn't belong there, he won't accept a dream-role, he will find a way to escape. If this sounds like the historic situation that many gente grew up in, resenting second-class citizenship, the onerous lack of opportunities, poverty, the burdens of the barrio and the longing that, "One day, I will make it out of here," well, all this author can say is, quién sabe?


Some readers and reviewers will label The Closet a fantasy story. That's fine, so long as it comes from a read about a world crazier than our own. Crazy? This book's got Che and Marilyn Monroe homesteading a 9/11 monument and flirting for eternity, a midget Godzilla frustrated by and tormented for his size, VN vets who fragged their best-buddy lieutenant, 3 Chicanos condemned to a poker-playing and beer-guzzling marathon, it's got a lynched Black leper, a robotic spider that traps miniature bombers to eat the little-people crew, vampire and zombie jazz/salsa lovers, nude volleyball marathons, Nazis, gurus, y quién-sabe-qué-más cosas. It's also got catastrophe, revolution, salvation and the ultimate discovery. And more. The ending could "blow your mind," as we used to say.


In the coming weeks, I'll be availing myself of La Bloga to give you insights that may be of use to those laboring with their first novel MS or hoping to get their first one published. And there'll be weekly contests for autographed copies, leading up to the first author-signing in Denver. Also, a new website for the book is under construction.

I'll be traveling this month through parts of Aztlan to set up signings, appearances, interviews, etc. Chingaus!--I'll wash cars for free if it'll get me in front of an audience. New Mexico, Arizona, southern California, Nevada, Utah, hopefully Tejas, as well.


If you're on my route, please let me know the possibilities and contact me. I could definitely use and appreciate the help of La Bloga readers in this endeavor.


This painting, "Man's Disharmony," was done by Robert Maestas and is used with his permission. It depicts what I may look like when The Closet of Discarded Dreams in my hands. Or what I'll feel like on the insides at my first signing. Hope you get to see how accurate it proves. Below are some advance reviews by spec fiction authors you might recognize.


Es todo, hoy,
RudyG


"The Closet of Discarded Dreams is a cornucopia of image and incident – a Dantean journey through a land where everyone's dreams coexist. The book is an amazing gothic ziggurat, replete with eyeball kicks and well-powered by Rudy Ch. Garcia's hypnotic stew of spanglo slanguage, wry, funny, and with mordant takes on Chicano life amidst the Anglos of these United States. At a metalevel, you might also say the book is about the author's quest to dream it up. Spicy and satisfying. – Rudy Rucker, author of The Ware Tetralogy, Philip K. Dick Award winner, a cyberpunk founder.


“A Chicano in Wonderland. Garcia stuffs pop culture and consumerism into his comic blender and hits the purée button.” – Mario Acevedo, best-selling author of the Felix Gomez series, Nymphos of Rocky Flats, & the graphic novel Killing the Cobra.


"Garcia's incredible leap of imagination takes us to an entertainingly bizarre world of dream people before tapping into something innately human. The search for meaning." – Warren Hammond, author of KOP Killer.


Go here for more info on my writings.

What I've Learned at the Santa Barbara Writers Conference

Melinda Palacio

The cover of my soon-to-be-published first novel, Ocotillo Dreams.

The rebirth of the Santa Barbara Writers Conference begins next week, June 18-23, under the new ownership of Monte Schulz and Nicole Starczak. The conference has been on hold for two years. For many local Santa Barbara authors, the SBWC is where we got our start.

In 2001, I attended my first conference. I was timid and shy and didn’t know anyone because I had moved to town the previous month. I arrived at the conference, clutching a hand-written critique by Barnaby Conrad of my manuscript. The submission was the opening scene of a novel-in-progress (for which there have been many) titled, Immigrant Souls, featuring two characters, Malloy and Isola. Maloy was a real-estate agent and Isola was convinced she needed to fix up the house in order to sell it. The scene may have be true and perhaps acceptable if I were writing copy for a Home Depot ad, but I had in mind a much more dramatic novel. I knew I needed help and was glad I had found a home at the SBWC.

The following year, I decided to take smaller steps and forget about writing a novel. I took on shorter forms of fiction and poetry. I quickly realized that a short story or poem could offer the type of instant satisfaction that a novel could not. As a journalist, I was used to deadlines and short non-fiction pieces. If I sat down, I could draft a short story or a poem in one sitting. In 2003, I won first place in poetry at the conference and in 2005, I won an honorable mention in the fiction contest for “The Last Time,” a story now published in Latinos in Lotusland: An Anthology of Contemporary Southern California Literature, edited by La Bloga’s Daniel Olivas. The awards ceremony at the end of the week is always a favorite event for conference attendees.

Perie Longo was my first poetry teacher and I’m grateful I discovered her at the conference and later at her annual sbpoetryworkshop.com Santa Barbara Poetry Workshop. Of my poetry, Perie Longo told me: “I recollect your poems told wonderful stories, each poem like a short, short novel. I loved your voice.”

After two conferences, I also had the great idea to approach conference co-founder, Mary Conrad, for a volunteer position. Volunteering under Mary was a job made in heaven. She asked me to hand out registration packets (I quickly learned many faces and names). I was also in charge of making the coffee for Shelly’s pirate workshop which begins at 9pm and goes until there is no one left standing, sometimes until the wee hours of the morning (and no we do not dress or talk like pirates, although there was one confused student who showed up in her finest pirate garb). The pirate workshops are for those who just can’t get enough of the conference during the morning, afternoon, and evening speakers. According to legend or Shelly Lowenkopf, the pirate workshops are a safe place to gather with other writers and workshop your material. Sometimes workshops are so popular, a student might not be able to get feedback on their material. Shelly keeps the magic of the SBWC going year round with his writers' group, once known as the Lions Den because he co-hosted the group with Leonard Tourney (another favorite SBWC instructor). Today, Shelly calls his group the Luna-Tics Writers Groups because they meet Saturday mornings from 9:30 am to noon at Cafe Luna in Summerland.

In my first few years, someone once told me a secret, ‘If you want to read in Catherine Ryan Hyde’s workshop, get there early to sign your name on the sign-up sheet. Some students cheated and had a friend sign their name while they read the same story in another workshop.

Catherine Ryan Hyde was a favorite instructor who began her conference years as a volunteer. Who wouldn’t want to emulate the author of Pay It Forward and 16 other novels, her latest, Jumpstart the World? I went on to follow Ryan Hyde in other workshops she led around town because listening to her critic of other writers was invaluable, regardless of whether I had the chance to read. Catherine is not at all surprised that I’ve gone on to publish short stories, poetry, and now, my new novel, Ocotillo Dreams. Of my work, Catherine says:

“Melinda Palacio is just about the perfect example of the SBWC student who "comes up through the ranks" and becomes a published author. I doubt it's much of a surprise to anyone. Many of us have heard her read prize-winning poetry that stuns, character-driven scenes of fiction that rope the reader in and don't let go. Nice to see the publishing industry acknowledge what we've known all along.”

This year’s conference is limited in space, due to the conference’s new location at the hotel Mar Monte, facing Santa Barbara’s East Beach; no need to elbow your way to feedback this year. Over my seven years as a SBWC student, I've learned from almost all of the workshop leaders. My first two years, I did make the mistake of trying to do everything. What's lack of sleep for one week?

While the Santa Barbara Writers Conference happens one week every summer, success depends on a willingness to write year round and accept the awards and publications along with the countless rejections. In 2006, I published my first poem. In 2007, I was admitted to the PEN Emerging Voices Fellowship. PEN is currently accepting Emerging Voices applications. In 2008, I won a scholarship to the 2008 Squaw Valley Community of Writers poetry week. By then I had published dozens of poems and some short stories. In 2009, I won the Kulupi Press Sense of Place competition for my poetry chapbook Folsom Lockdown, and that same year Gary Keller at Bilingual Press accepted my novel manuscript for publication. Review copies of Ocotillo Dreams have been sent out and I’ve set up a few readings and started working on a second novel.

Support your local bookstores and order Ocotillo Dreams. More info on my book signings and readings on my website.

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Question of the day: What do cemeteries and literature have in common?

Find out on Sunday. Rose Hills hosts a lively panel discussion on immigration. Rose Hills Memorial Park & Mortuary will host a panel discussion and book signing event entitled, The Different Faces of Immigration: Exploring the Immigrant Experience Through Literature, Film, & Theater, Sunday, June 12, from 2 p.m. through 4 p.m., at SkyRose Chapel, located inside Gate I. Featured authors include Reyna Grande, Ligiah Villalobos, Sonia Nazario, Josefina Lopez, Laila Lalami and moderator Zulmara Cline.