Poetry Connection: Connecting with SBWC Attendees and Open Mic Poets

  Melinda Palacio, Santa Barbara Poet Laureate 2023-2025

The Santa Barbara Writers Conference returned after a one year hiatus. Last year, there was a mini-conference that was valiantly upheld by SBWC director Grace Rachow and a handful of workshop leaders who opened their homes to attendees. Many who attended were grateful for the impromptu camaraderie, but also expressed how much they enjoyed the cohesiveness of the conference being in one location. Grace has done an incredible job at keeping the fifty-two year old institution going. The Mar Monte Hotel has become the ideal venue with its larger rooms for panels and speakers and the final banquet, smaller hotel rooms for crafting workshops, and a pool for the cocktail party. This year there were so many smiling faces you would think every hopeful author had received a six-figure book deal. In my twenty-plus years attending the conference, I’ve seen many a drama at the conference for writers. Founder Barnaby Conrad used to tell the story about the an attendee who had packed her bags after only one day at the conference and was terribly upset because she hadn’t found an agent to publish her book. Last week, one of the poets accompanied an attendee who ended up in the Emergency Room with a head wound due to a fall; see her poem splat.

I had a very busy week beginning with Sunday’s registration, where I helped check people in to the conference. As noon approached, I changed into my flamenco costume as the festivities for solstice were not over. Saturday, was the city’s big solstice parade and I marched with the Blue Wave, the city officials, along side councilwoman Kristen Sneddon. Sunday, my solstice fun continued with a flamenco dance performance at Alameda park with Rosal Ortega Flamenco. After the performance, there was no time to linger and thank friends who showed up to see me dance. I had to rush back to the conference in order to be on the Poets Laureate panel, the first panel of the conference. It was nice to see the same friends who were at the park show up to the writers conference panel. Another change this year is that all the panels were free to the public.

Monday, I co-taught my publicity seminar with author Lida Sideris. Tuesday was agents day, where writers signed up to pitch their books to an agent. I spent the entire morning and afternoon helping with agent appointments. In the evening, I read poetry with Paul Willis. I was a little nervous because TC Boyle was in the audience, waiting to hear the evening keynote, Jess Walter. Wednesday and Thursday I facilitated the poetry open mic. The two days of hearing from poets was fun. Poet Laureate Emerita Perie Longo says the open mic is her favorite part of the conference and she did not disappoint. She also had several teaching and judging duties as the conference is made possible by its many volunteers and faculty. I’ve included two diverse voices from last week’s poetry open mic. Friday was the last day of the conference. I was a guest in Perie Longo’s poetry workshop and my last panel was the 4pm Author Platform panel with Lisa Angle, Rachel Sarah Thurston, Stephanie Barbé Hammer, Rick Shaw and moderator Nancy Klann-Moren. I wish everyone who attended the conference or thought about attending, a happy and productive writing season, until next year writers conference friends.

This week’s poetry connection poems come from two poets who live in Santa Barbara and attended the SBWC open mic longtime attendee Toni Bixby and newcomer, Uche Iheanacho.

Let me Count the Ways

For Ned

by Toni Bixby

The first time you came to my house,

you alphabetized the spices,

the next time you rearranged the silverware,

the third time, the rest of the cupboards.

Then the dog beds started disappearing.

So far, the dogs are still here.

I love you more than

fried cheese curds

at the Minnesota State Fair,

crunchy, crispy bites of hot fried Cheddar.

I would rescue you

if Santa Barbara had a 7.0 earthquake,

our house exploded,

an oak tree fell on you,

I had to dig you out.

We are best friends and lovers.

My friends adore you.

If we broke-up, my family would keep you.

Until death do us part, and

our ashes become one with the sea—

or we’re buried in the back yard,

and the dogs dig us up.

Toni Bixby is a Santa Barbara writer, poet and retired lawyer.  She has been published in The Santa Barbara Independent, Community of Voices Anthologies, Sage Trail Poetry Magazine, Luna Review and Writing Through The Apocalypse.  Her poetry often reflects her current circumstances and her work as an attorney for Child Welfare Services.

splat 

Uchechi Iheanacho 

Hot, syrupy blood melted down the old woman’s face seeping under her fingernails and 

coating sugar spun hair 

Her vanilla skin turned strawberry pink 

In her haste she’d tripped on rocky road and like a three-tall scoop on a 

sweltering summer’s day 

went splat 

Her cone cracked with a dull thunk 

milky fat flesh spilling across sun-baked pavement It took five stitches to piece her back together. If only I didn’t ask her to get ice cream.

Ogbanje

Uchechi Iheanacho

Situated between rhyme and reason,

She was a nightmare of a child.

She knows this,

because her mother told her so.

Ogbanje.

Ogbanje.

on the days she felt most abandoned by god

the child would close her eyes

and send her thoughts to

the medicine man in Igboland

like the axe that cut down the ngwu tree

isi adighi ya mma

the young voice would whip across the canopy

she is mentally unwell

and upon impact the words would burst forth

at the medicine man’s feet

“Dibia, biko, ewela iwe. Nyere m aka.”

Medicine man, please don’t be mad with me. Help me.

Situated between rhyme and reason,

She was a nightmare of a child.

She knows this,

because her mother told her so.

Ogbanje.

Ogbanje.

Uchechi Iheanacho is a Nigerian-American poet and artist based in Santa Barbara, California. A daughter of two Nigerian immigrants, her poetry often explores themes of culture and identity. When she isn’t crafting, Uchechi can probably be found dancing in her living room or making new friends around town. This is her first publication. Her poem splat was written after attending her first Santa Barbara Writers Conference in 2026. 

 

*an earlier version of this column was published in the Independent

Corona Virus: Not for the faint-hearted or Germaphobes

Melinda Palacio

Carefree in the Big Easy

This year, I decided to sit out the big writers love fest that is AWP (Association of Writers & Writing Programs), a conference for writers and academic types. At its the best, the conference is a great place to meet up with other writers, promote your book, learn about new books, learn new tricks of the trade and craft, and exhaust yourself trying to make the events of everyone you know. One of the highlights of AWP is the Book fair, where presses small and large hold signings and readings. If you have a manuscript that is looking for a home, the book fair can help make that personal contact. For various reasons, I have't been to the conference since it was held in Los Angeles four years ago and I was still working on my poetry manuscript for Bird Forgiveness. I missed the conference in Portland the year my book was published. At this year's conference in San Antonio, I was supposed to have a reading and be on a panel titled, Writing the Difficult with Fabulist Elements in Women's Poetry, along with other contributors to the Anthology Fiolet & Wing: An Anthology of Domestic Fabulist Poetry. I bowed out of all that opportunity, but so did a whole lot of other AWP registered people who chose not to attend due to the Mayor of San Antonio declaring a public health emergency over the Corona or Covid-19 Virus. AWP decided to go ahead with the conference, but urged attendees not to shake hands or hug. Is this the end of hugs and hand shakes? I look forward to seeing videos of the creative ways in which writers will greet each other. AWP will honor refunds and credits towards next year's conference in Kansas City.

Footsie for starters instead of a hug?

The virus seems to be heralding the End Times with whole cities around the world shutting down schools, not to mention the stock markets plunging everyday. I was slightly on the germaphobe spectrum before this panic and pandemic. Now, I don't want to leave the house and I am somewhat envious of friends who have their groceries delivered to them. I'm trying not to buy into the fear and panic. There's basic hygiene and there's those of us who take extra precautions. I know I've seen plenty of people in public bathrooms at gas stations and restaurants emerge from a toilet stall and put their hand on the door knob and leave facility without washing their hands. Some look around to see if they are being watched and no amount of pointing to the sink that keep them from slinking away. Others simply dart out quickly and I wonder why they feel they don't have to wash their hands. So I have become that person that uses the towel I've dried my hands with to touch the doorknob before exiting the ladies' room.

jazz hands for greeting new people

What I find frightening about Covid-19 is the dormant quality to the virus. This is a deadly virus that some people might not know they have for over a week. In Italy, not only are school children being kept home, but sporting events are being played with no audience, no fans, no cheering section, only the players.

The trusty fist bump

Living in two port cities means big cruise ships stop and let hundreds of people in town. Santa Barbara is all in a panic as the cruise ship Amadea, carrying 600 passengers and 280 crew, anchored. California reported its first death associated with a cruise ship on Wednesday. Cruise ships always seem like a hot bed for disaster, disease, and tons of waste and pollution. I may have made a decision not to attend a conference that might endanger my health by spreading disease, but how do I control things when a potential disease harborer, such as a cruise ship comes to me? I suppose I have to trust that the precautions being made will be met with professionalism and genuine care that will not be met with shortcuts. In the meantime, I choose to lean more on love and less on fear. I may not go to a large conference or amusement park, but I still plan on attending local events. If you are in Santa Barbara, Sunday, March 8 at 2:30, Juan Felipe Herrera visits the Museum of Art and will discuss Writing Love in the Face of Disaster.

Try the elbow greet instead of shaking hands

Over in New Orleans, another port city with even bigger cruise ships on the Mississippi than the Amadea in Santa Barbara, panic over Covid-19 has yet to reach the Big Easy. The city just ended the biggest party and although Mardi Gras seemed cursed with two deaths and injuries to float riders, the city continues to host big festivals. And there hasn't been a suggested ban on public handshakes or hugs yet. Will see how the big spring festivals fare, especially Jazz Fest in April, which draws large international crowds over two weeks. Yesterday, I was writing this blog post at the Starbucks on Magazine in New Orleans and I saw two friends hug and three men end a meeting with handshakes all around. However, the barista at Starbucks would not take my favorite cup, citing it is no longer refilling reusable cups due to the virus; thus more waste and (we hope) recyclables.

To show that I'm not holed up, waiting for End Times, I went out to see Walter Wolfman Washington.

I can only hope that the world is able to get a handle on this virus and allow us to get back to life. In the meantime, the New York Times featured a woman, Lynx Vilden, who is teaching people how to return to the time of Stone Age. Let’s hope we are not going that far backwards. Wash your hands. Live long and prosper (a popular handsfree Vulcan greeting), but don't shake my hand, hug me, or dare kiss me.

Anthony demonstrates the handsfree Vulcan greeting.

Stereotypes, tropes, dignifying Latino fiction

Writing fiction about Latinos brings up questions about stereotyping, even for this Chicano author. Will this fictional family be poor, working class, or prosperous? Are the parents' careers working class or professional? What about secondary characters, the house your characters live in and the roles they play in the household?

I'll give examples from a just-completed, middle-grade fantasy story of mine. Examples where I try to avoid stereotyping, with the intention of enriching the Chicano characters in a novel. Whether I made the best choices is not as important as deliberately attempting to dignify the portrayals. If you're an aspiring writer, perhaps my explanations will give you ideas for presenting your stories in a different light, one more realistic, but also innovative. These are examples from A Cradle for Abuelo:

• The nagual spirit enjoyed running alongside the bulldog while they both barked at the mail woman.

I might've automatically written, the mailman. But my mail is sometimes delivered by a female, and my sister-in-law also delivers mail. This is the only mention of the mail woman, so it's almost insignificant. Still, it's a distinct point.

• "You'll think of something." she said, drying and hanging his skillet on a hook.

In this family, the husband is the cook, which is not highly unusual. When he's busy elsewhere, the wife warms up leftovers. I could've fallen into the wife being the cook and dishwasher, and I'm not off the hook for making her the dishwasher. I simply did what I could to not fall into the regular patriarchal family.

• "You helped so many kids when you taught elementary." He nodded toward the piano in her den.

The husband worked as a manual laborer, and the wife was a music teacher. Both are not uncommon ideas or careers in a Chicano family. We do have Latino teachers, just not enough great ones. I could've just made her a housewife, but in the story, music is important and she provided avenues for including it. Also note that the den is hers, a nice touch, I thought.

• "They would understand," he said, looking out the skylight.

The man is in his workshop making a neo-azteca cradle for his first grandkid. The story didn't need a skylight, but many homes have them. Even some that belong to Chicanos. We raza are not all stuck back in the 19th Century with simple adobe. Nor are all our homes plain old boxes.

• The nagual zoomed across the land until he spotted the house's solar panels.

Did I go too far with the tech? Possibly. But there are mexicanos, Chicanos, etc. that have solar. If I could afford installation, I would.

• The old couple could've bought almost anything for breakfast, but they were making their favorites--barbacoa tacos, fruit salad and fresh-squeezed orange juice.

There are more mentions in the story indicating this family is secure and can buy nearly anything they want or need. They just aren't into consumerism. My one concern is, did I make the family too well-off for many readers to identify with them.

Nutritional note: no foods were harmfully fried in the making of this story; only grilled, or served fresh.

• "We never found any good cocineras for the house. Their meals never tasted as deliciosos as ours." … The invisible nagual giggled because he'd played some tricks on those cooks, to make them quit.

Here I might agree I went too far in making the couple prosperous enough to hire a cook. However, I needed to introduce the mischievous nagual. At the same time, could a family with a hired cook serve as a role model of what saving money might mean in retirement? Possibly.

• "I wanted to give a gift more unique than a metal or plastic toy." [And later:] He rubbed in an oil made of juniper sap and the fruit-juice of nuts. He only used natural stains; toxic manmade chemicals would've harmed the grandkid's health.

Is this environmental preaching? Maybe, but I'm not the only woodworker who avoids nails and screw, to the extent I can. And there are millions of parents concerned about their children's environment.

• He peered at the white door where he kept his demon imprisoned.

The words liquor, alcohol and whiskey are never used; only the word, bottle. The man "had been born in another country and suffered from horrible memories that brought on his demon-sickness." The appropriateness of that sickness in a children's won't be discussed here. My example above concerns the color of the door holding the evil. I didn't go the lazy route of using classic black to denote bad. Instead, I used white. Like many of the evils in real life. The color of the door is a minor point, but how frequently do even Latino writers resort to the color black, when they don't need to?

• She had an idea, but she didn't like telling anybody what to do. Besides, pushy people made for lousy friends.

The wife is intelligent and often knows the answers to her husband's problems. But she's also confident enough to choose when to interfere. And for good reason. Is this anti-bullying propaganda? I don't know.

• "There's people outside driving by slowly." … "They admiring your beautiful landscaping and rosas, again?" … "Rosas, schmosas. They're pointing at the lawn furniture and at the artsy way you decorated la casa." … "Please don't run out and tell them anything," he said, winking. She could spend half an hour explaining his woodwork to strangers.

There's a lot here, but the passage primarily shows that this Chicano couple's home is not just a plain house. It's skillfully crafted and landscaped enough for strangers to slow down and look. Yes, in fact, some people of color have modest homes that are that attractive.

There are other examples in this story and in others, including in those written by other Latinos. And Latinas. Whatever your opinion of my attempts to diversify the story elements, I hope I at least provided material for thought about what you might do in your own stories. For that matter, experienced authors probably know more than me, and you can see in their writings other techniques for dignifying and raising the bar of how Latinos are portrayed.

Remember though, describing mexicanos, Chicanos, puertoriqueños, domicanos, etceteranos involves more than any literary tricks. It's about other worldviews, values, morals and beliefs. To know those, is to know our people.

Es todo, hoy,

RudyG, a.k.a. Chicano fantasy author, Rudy Ch. Garcia, holding a hot manuscript that's itching for a publisher.

Chat with author John Nichols. New Mario Acevedo novel.

Con workshop - writing characters outside your culture

This year's Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers' Colorado Gold Conference will be held Sept. 5-7, in Westminster [Denver]. Among other panels and workshops, author Mario Acevedo and I will be leading one [Sunday, 9:00am] called "Deep-six the Stereotypes: Writing Characters from Another Culture."

Its description: "How can writers diversify their fiction with vibrant characters from a different culture or background so their writing attracts 21st Century readers? Insights into what hooks / turns off agents when authors write outside their cultural experience."

We envision our audience largely being Anglos wanting to hear about writing non-Anglo characters. Not that I'm an expert, but why is this Chicano author willing to help Anglo writers write about Chicano, Latino, etc. characters? (I haven't asked Mario the same.) There are other questions that could be asked.

Do Chicano authors have a "responsibility" to help Anglo writers--already published more than we are--so that they can succeed even more? Can Anglo writers do a decent portrayal, from their non-PoC perspective and worldview? Questions could go on and on.

They remind me of two hours I spent in the Taos Plaza last month, during the Fiestas. I'd been there before, seen the sites, the festivities, the shops and artwork. That part of our--wife Carmen also went--trip was el mismo. The two hours were totally new.

 

I had a first edition of Milagro Beanfield War I'd wanted autographed and author John Nichols did that earlier this year. We exchanged surface-mail letters, I sent him my novel, he invited me down and I was to meet him in a café near the Moby Dickens Bookshop.

The Nichols website states, "As of July, I’m 73 years old, my heart is locked in permanent atrial fibrillation, congestive heart failure. I'm a walking time bomb ready to have a stroke." So, initially my intention was to do a La Bloga interview of the man who'd authored one of my favorite books about Chicanos, written by an Anglo. Maybe even his last interview.

When I was in the graphic/ad business, my company had produced the artwork for the movie's Denver premier, so besides a reader-author connection, I had remote connection to Nichols' work. The movie starred Rubén Blades, Sonia Braga, Melanie Griffith, Christopher Walken, et al; director Robert Redford; producers Moctesuma Esparza and Redford; Nichols did the screenplay.

If you've never seen the movie, you should. Not only for its humor and its background on New Mexican land/water struggles, but because it's good. For it's time, it was great. A major motion picture laced with Anglo/Latino talent.

After attempting to come up with insightful interview questions to ask Nichols, at some point I gave up. It felt artificial, irrelevant and not what I wanted to do. [Never even took a selfie of us.] I decided to simply meet the man who wrote the novel. Chat. Discuss, exchange stories, maybe laugh a little. Eat and drink (not that Nichols was/is in a condition to down traguitos with me).

At the appointed hour, I expected an old guy with a cane maybe made out of an agave stalk, hobbling or leaping like in the movie poster. The cane was simple and plastic. The man didn't jump around much. We ordered a bite, I'd have a couple of Negras, Nichols, some non-alcoholic drinks. And we began.

Another writer asked me, "What did you learn?" He meant, what great writing knowledge did I take away from the talk. I don't know that I have anything literary to answer to that and am not sure that I should.

In the two hours, I saw/experienced/shared in small ways several things. That Nichols, like on his website, holds family high on his list of achievements and experiences. That he holds Nature and being alone in Nature--something I've written about--high on his list of how we should spend our time on the planet, not only near the end of it.

Then there was his smile. And eyes. Nothing that you'd expect from a casi-muerto. What you'd expect from a twenty-year-old. What you'd expect from a kid starting out in life with crazy expectations and hopes and decades in front of him to accomplish anything he wanted.

I didn't expect his Spanish accent to be so gringoly obvious. My grammar is unschooled; his is in nascent stages of Span. 201, to be kind. But he was unashamed about using it. He didn't blush whenever his fluency fell or vocab was a bit off; he just talked on like a mexicano drinking unas, outside a Texas beer joint. I got over noticing it and just went with our exchange. Of course, I wonder what he heard in my Spanish that might've made him cringe.

If Nichols and I live long enough, perhaps there will be an interview, not necessarily his, or my, last. I don't know that that's that important. [yeah, 3 "that’s" and maybe English isn't my 1st language]

How does my short time with Nichols relate to our upcoming workshop? Mario and I could hope that out of it came some new awareness that in the future could produce the kind of gringos' share of the work that went into the Milagro movie. [No, I don't know what pinche petho developed during its production.] Or encourage a little of the multi-national, multi-talented camaraderie that this country direly needs, not only literarily. If Mario and I reach some in the audience who are/can be such gente, then we'll have done, no milagro, but at least a little progress in lifelike lit.

It took me two hours to shed the nervousness of being one-on-one with a great gringo writer. Should the two of us endure until another meet, I'll have reached the stage of bouncing some of my crazy ideas off him, especially, about death. And what it's probably not. Or story ideas. Or poor jokes. Or introduce my dog to him. Yeah, maybe a little interviewing, por pendejo.

More vampiros

From Mario Acevedo's website, about the upcoming book release of Rescue from Planet Pleasure:

"If you're a fan of Felix Gomez, you know he's got a lot hanging out there. For one, the most bodacious vampiress of all time, his buddy Carmen Arellano, was kidnapped by aliens and she's being held prisoner in deep space. And Phaedra, the ruthless bloodsucking ingenue--now with extra-superpowers--is making good on her threat to destroy the Araneum and take over the undead underworld.

"Felix is not alone in his quest to save Carmen and stop Phaedra. That red-headed whirlwind with a gun, Jolie, has got his back. Also appearing is everyone's favorite down-and-out trickster sage, Coyote, and he's brought along his mom...la Malinche...aka La Llorona! Here it comes, a big, hairy story bristling with action, intergalactic adventure, skin-walkers, Hopi magic...all told in tumescent PervoVision. Exactly what you'd expect from Felix Gomez. [La Bloga note: and what you'd expect from Mario]

Es todo, hoy,

RudyG, aka Chicano spec lit author, Rudy Ch. Garcia, Taos tourist and Nichols fan