11/27/2009
We did our small bit today. It felt good. I thought I'd tell you about it.
We went over to the Feed My Starving Children warehouse. I have mentioned them to you before. I know the Christian trappings of such an organization can alienate some folks, but as you work, they play loud rock and roll music and everybody shouts. So it's not sombre or "holy." You can check them out at www.fmsc.org.
We took our kids, of curse, and the visiting aunt Sue and her 13 year old boys. You work for two hours packaging a scientifically balanced package of food: vegetarian "chicken" powder with flavor & 20 vitamins, freeze-dried veggies, soy, and rice. Each pack contains several meals, and they are measured and weighed carefully as you work. The training takes, oh, 20 minutes.
Fewer bthan 100 strangers gathered, trained and worked. How many meals did we prepare for third world kids? (Haiti, Africa, etc.) By the end of two hours, we had packed 23,544 meals. The value of the food was $4,000.
23,544 meals! In two hours! This means, if you look at it long-term, that 65 children will eat for an entire year. Or hundres will eat for a month. Or thousands for a week. But children will eat.
Check it out. It's fun. It's two hours. And you can keep 23,000 children alive for another day.
They also sell handicrafts, jewelry and art by the women of these villages. Once the women are earning enough money, they can get off the program and feed their kids themselves. The organization does not abandon clients until they are asked to stop once the clients can handle their own needs. So buy a bracelet, or a purse, or some art, or a t-shirt. Or buy the FMSC M&M tube. Once you eat the M&M's, you fill it with quarters and send it back. The tubes pays for 88 meals!
Look, two hours and a mouthful of chocolate can save the world.
There are no small steps.
I'll fill you in on the next event on our Save The World Tour 2010 (we're getting an early jump on it).
I feel good--I knew that I would.
The Hardest Working Man in the Book Business,
The Amazing Mr. Please Please Himself,
The Oddfather of Soul,
Luigi
Giving Thanks
We went over to the Feed My Starving Children warehouse. I have mentioned them to you before. I know the Christian trappings of such an organization can alienate some folks, but as you work, they play loud rock and roll music and everybody shouts. So it's not sombre or "holy." You can check them out at www.fmsc.org.
We took our kids, of curse, and the visiting aunt Sue and her 13 year old boys. You work for two hours packaging a scientifically balanced package of food: vegetarian "chicken" powder with flavor & 20 vitamins, freeze-dried veggies, soy, and rice. Each pack contains several meals, and they are measured and weighed carefully as you work. The training takes, oh, 20 minutes.
Fewer bthan 100 strangers gathered, trained and worked. How many meals did we prepare for third world kids? (Haiti, Africa, etc.) By the end of two hours, we had packed 23,544 meals. The value of the food was $4,000.
23,544 meals! In two hours! This means, if you look at it long-term, that 65 children will eat for an entire year. Or hundres will eat for a month. Or thousands for a week. But children will eat.
Check it out. It's fun. It's two hours. And you can keep 23,000 children alive for another day.
They also sell handicrafts, jewelry and art by the women of these villages. Once the women are earning enough money, they can get off the program and feed their kids themselves. The organization does not abandon clients until they are asked to stop once the clients can handle their own needs. So buy a bracelet, or a purse, or some art, or a t-shirt. Or buy the FMSC M&M tube. Once you eat the M&M's, you fill it with quarters and send it back. The tubes pays for 88 meals!
Look, two hours and a mouthful of chocolate can save the world.
There are no small steps.
I'll fill you in on the next event on our Save The World Tour 2010 (we're getting an early jump on it).
I feel good--I knew that I would.
The Hardest Working Man in the Book Business,
The Amazing Mr. Please Please Himself,
The Oddfather of Soul,
Luigi
11/26/2009
I woke up with a headache, a sore and stiff neck, and raging allergies. Feeling thankful on this day, in spite of it. There were many mornings not that long ago when I was not sure I would wake up, or wanted to wake up. And now look.
True, all the Best Books of 2009 lists are coming out, and my book isn't on 'em. Hey! I always prided myself on my odd tastes and underground proclivities -- the gals used to complain about how awful my record collection was. Ha ha! And I see now that the books I write that I love are the more obscure ones. How does that work? I'm not sure. But I'm thankful, because I know I have only put out work I am proud of. And every book ends up getting its champions and lovers. INTO THE BEAUTIFUL NORTH has led to amazing days of travel and friendship, lots of mail, good strong sales, and cool swag! Yes! I like presents, y'all.
As you know, this season begins my new phase of the Save the World Perpetual Book Tour. I have been amazed at the strong responses from readers of this blog or Twitter who have been excited by our family policy of changing the world, even in small ways. Because small ways are holy. And here we go!
I have been blessed to have taken aprt in a bunch of small stuff this past year. Raised $ here, sent food there, gave succor to prisoners and beds to wandering writers. It's so good, we're doing it big-time in 2010. Starting now. I won't berate it -- the post is in the archive, below. You know where my heart is. But I will say that tomorrow, we take our kids and our visiting relatives to Feed My Starving Children, where we will pack and ship hundreds of meals for hundreds of hungry third world children. It's a good start.
Soon, I will post a small selection of places you can join us in supporting. Small gifts add up; small efforts, when organized, build a wave. I think we give thanks by giving, period. Sometimes, all you have to give is your soul. That works.
Cinderella came up with a new project...as if we lack projects. It became a bit of a Twitter sensation...for a day. You know how Twitter is. But we were moved by our friend Stephen Elliott's house-to-house guerilla book tour. No publisher support, which is a common thing now. So he has been sleeping over at pals' houses and doing reading for their friends. We thought we'd formalize this and start up the Writer Railroad. Beds and meals and readings/house parties for writers. Cool, eh? Let me know here if you're in. We're organizing our thoughts and plans right now.
Speaking of Stephen--I have to say I am thankful to be in the community of writers. Every eyar I am amazed and humbled that I can visit with heroes and role models, and sometimes I even count them as friends. I know some blog-responders see red when I mention anmes of my colleagues, as if I am accruing points. Screw that. I am giving thanks. Among the many writers I have hung out with, saw again, or met this year were: Chimamanda Adichie, Sherman Alexie, Michael Anania, Jimmy Santiago Baca, Dave Barry, Josh Bazell, Ishmael Beah, Robert Boswell, Chuck Bowden, Ron Carlson, Vikram Chandra, Denise Chavez, Alexander Chee, Ted Conover, Jennine Crucet, Debra Dean, Frank Delaney, David Durham, Stephen Elliott, Debra Magpie Earling, Gary Ferguson, Kathi Kamen Goldmark, Jane Hamilton, Ed Hirsch, Craig Johnston, Tayari Jones, Aryn Kyle, Nam Le, Barry Lopez (only on the phone), Thomas Mallon, C.M. Mayo, Colum McCann, Alice McDermott, Ana Menendez, Manuel Munoz, Gina Nahai, Antonya Nelson, Nnedi Okorofor, Daniel Olivas, Sara Paretsky, Francine Prose, Margo Rabb, Richard Russo, Benjamin Alire Saenz, Tom Sleigh, Arthur Sze, Amy Tan, Natasha Tretheway, Calvin Trillin, Scott Turow, Thrity Umrigar, Abe Verghese, Ken Wheaton, Colson Whitehead, C.K. Williams. F'r example. What a blessed, holy year!
Today, I am slugging away with mighty swings to far left field on HUMMINGBIRD'S DAUGHTER II. I am getting my graphic novel out soon w/ Christopher Cardinale, MR. MENDOZA'S PAINTBRUSH. I redid the intro to ACROSS THE WIRE for a 2010 re-issue. Have a young adult novel hiding in my drawer. Two volumes of poetry. Have stories in PHOENIX NOIR and in LONE STATE NOIR (that one written with David Corbett). Finishing the intro to David Taylor's epic volume of Border Patrol photos. And then my top-secret love/war/family epic I am drooling over right now! Along with, God willing, movies and movie money so I can launch my press and more Save the World projects.
See what I'm saying?
As Bono sang in "Mysterious Ways": on your knees, boy!
We are well. We are safe. We are healthy. I get to tour. I get to meet hundreds of people a month. My marriage is sound. My kids are happy. My soul is sullied and full of dirty secrets, just like yours. But I feel washed clean.
It's cold outside, but in here, it's warm and smells like pumpkin pie.
I'm thinking of you, sending you what small blessings I have. But mostly, holding you close when my head hits the restless pillow. Do the same for me, won't you?
National Book Award Y Que
True, all the Best Books of 2009 lists are coming out, and my book isn't on 'em. Hey! I always prided myself on my odd tastes and underground proclivities -- the gals used to complain about how awful my record collection was. Ha ha! And I see now that the books I write that I love are the more obscure ones. How does that work? I'm not sure. But I'm thankful, because I know I have only put out work I am proud of. And every book ends up getting its champions and lovers. INTO THE BEAUTIFUL NORTH has led to amazing days of travel and friendship, lots of mail, good strong sales, and cool swag! Yes! I like presents, y'all.
As you know, this season begins my new phase of the Save the World Perpetual Book Tour. I have been amazed at the strong responses from readers of this blog or Twitter who have been excited by our family policy of changing the world, even in small ways. Because small ways are holy. And here we go!
I have been blessed to have taken aprt in a bunch of small stuff this past year. Raised $ here, sent food there, gave succor to prisoners and beds to wandering writers. It's so good, we're doing it big-time in 2010. Starting now. I won't berate it -- the post is in the archive, below. You know where my heart is. But I will say that tomorrow, we take our kids and our visiting relatives to Feed My Starving Children, where we will pack and ship hundreds of meals for hundreds of hungry third world children. It's a good start.
Soon, I will post a small selection of places you can join us in supporting. Small gifts add up; small efforts, when organized, build a wave. I think we give thanks by giving, period. Sometimes, all you have to give is your soul. That works.
Cinderella came up with a new project...as if we lack projects. It became a bit of a Twitter sensation...for a day. You know how Twitter is. But we were moved by our friend Stephen Elliott's house-to-house guerilla book tour. No publisher support, which is a common thing now. So he has been sleeping over at pals' houses and doing reading for their friends. We thought we'd formalize this and start up the Writer Railroad. Beds and meals and readings/house parties for writers. Cool, eh? Let me know here if you're in. We're organizing our thoughts and plans right now.
Speaking of Stephen--I have to say I am thankful to be in the community of writers. Every eyar I am amazed and humbled that I can visit with heroes and role models, and sometimes I even count them as friends. I know some blog-responders see red when I mention anmes of my colleagues, as if I am accruing points. Screw that. I am giving thanks. Among the many writers I have hung out with, saw again, or met this year were: Chimamanda Adichie, Sherman Alexie, Michael Anania, Jimmy Santiago Baca, Dave Barry, Josh Bazell, Ishmael Beah, Robert Boswell, Chuck Bowden, Ron Carlson, Vikram Chandra, Denise Chavez, Alexander Chee, Ted Conover, Jennine Crucet, Debra Dean, Frank Delaney, David Durham, Stephen Elliott, Debra Magpie Earling, Gary Ferguson, Kathi Kamen Goldmark, Jane Hamilton, Ed Hirsch, Craig Johnston, Tayari Jones, Aryn Kyle, Nam Le, Barry Lopez (only on the phone), Thomas Mallon, C.M. Mayo, Colum McCann, Alice McDermott, Ana Menendez, Manuel Munoz, Gina Nahai, Antonya Nelson, Nnedi Okorofor, Daniel Olivas, Sara Paretsky, Francine Prose, Margo Rabb, Richard Russo, Benjamin Alire Saenz, Tom Sleigh, Arthur Sze, Amy Tan, Natasha Tretheway, Calvin Trillin, Scott Turow, Thrity Umrigar, Abe Verghese, Ken Wheaton, Colson Whitehead, C.K. Williams. F'r example. What a blessed, holy year!
Today, I am slugging away with mighty swings to far left field on HUMMINGBIRD'S DAUGHTER II. I am getting my graphic novel out soon w/ Christopher Cardinale, MR. MENDOZA'S PAINTBRUSH. I redid the intro to ACROSS THE WIRE for a 2010 re-issue. Have a young adult novel hiding in my drawer. Two volumes of poetry. Have stories in PHOENIX NOIR and in LONE STATE NOIR (that one written with David Corbett). Finishing the intro to David Taylor's epic volume of Border Patrol photos. And then my top-secret love/war/family epic I am drooling over right now! Along with, God willing, movies and movie money so I can launch my press and more Save the World projects.
See what I'm saying?
As Bono sang in "Mysterious Ways": on your knees, boy!
We are well. We are safe. We are healthy. I get to tour. I get to meet hundreds of people a month. My marriage is sound. My kids are happy. My soul is sullied and full of dirty secrets, just like yours. But I feel washed clean.
It's cold outside, but in here, it's warm and smells like pumpkin pie.
I'm thinking of you, sending you what small blessings I have. But mostly, holding you close when my head hits the restless pillow. Do the same for me, won't you?
11/19/2009
Ah, another round of the wonderful National Book Award has come and gone. I was lucky enough to be a judge in the year Timothy Egan won for non-fiction. We judges got 750 books each--so many books, my little one built a fort with them. Yeah, I was a judge, but I've never been nominated.
No! Nope--no sour grapes. I might not have merited a nomination, let's face it. But not everybody gets in the running. For example, Latinos. They don't.
Oops. Did I say that? Did I say that NBA could mean "No Beaners Allowed"? (I can say "beaner," see, 'cause I was born in Tijuana.) Cinderella and I caused a minor fluff-up of feathers and attitudes over on Twitter when we noted this trend. But I thought it would be instructive to take a look at it. (People say, "But Junot was a judge this year!" Yeah, and neither Drown NOR Oscar Wao, everybody's favorite books, was a finalist in its year.)
This is in no way meant to take anything away from the winners this year. Colum McCann. Dude! One of my favorite people, and if you followed the Aspen "Wastelander" writings (in the blog archive), you know he's a swell and hilarious guy as well as a handsome lad and a fine writer. My most cherished Colum moment in Aspen was at 7:00 in the morning. He came walking through the trees with his trademark scarf, a bottle of wine, a bottle of whiskey, and a bag of chocolates. When I started laughing, he said, "What?"
Rock star all the way.
However, if you look up the NBA lists--not of winners, mind you, just of finalists-- you'll see what I'm talking about. NOT A SINGLE LATINA OR LATINO FINALIST IN FICTION SINCE 1995. And only three Latina/o nominees in fiction over the last 20 years: Rosario Ferre for The House on the Lagoon (1995), Cristina Garcia for Dreaming in Cuban (1992) and Felipe Alfau for Chromos (1990). Uh, hmm.
That means no Latina/o writer was worthy between 1994 (the prize covers the previous year) and 2009. Really? No, I mean, really? Seriously?
I am not going to say all Latina/o writing is great. I am not even going to say it is all good. I don't like many of the books. I don't particularly like a few of the authors. However, if you take a quick look at the overlooked writers (just some of them) since 1994, you can reach your own conclusions. I don't know what it means. I just find it curious. Good for a conversation over a beer or during half-time or after the next episode of GLEE.
Yeah, what the hell--I'll throw my own name in there. I ain't proud. Check it:
Kathleen Alcala,
Julia Alvarez,
Rudolfo Anaya,
Oscar Casares,
Ana Castillo,
Denise Chavez,
Daniel Chacon,
Sandra Cisneros,
Junot Diaz,
Guy Garcia,
Dagoberto Gilb,
Francisco Goldman,
Ray Gonzalez,
Ana Menendez,
Manuel Munoz,
Daniel Olivas,
Benjamin Alire Saenz,
Virgil Suarez,
Ludwig Aethelbert Urias,
Alfredo Vea,
Victor Villasenor,
Helena Maria Viramontes,
Rich Yanez.
You could play all night. Now, obscurity is not the problem--the NBA is proud of its obscure choices. Success isn't the prob--several of these writers/books have done quite well. Do the judges think these are not Americans? (Oh, wait--my man Colum is Irish.) Quality, perhaps? (Alvarez? Cisneros? Gilb? Goldman? Viramontes? Et al?) No, I doubt it.
What, then?
One thing's for sure: every year somebody's going to complain about the NBA. If it isn't the choices selected, it's the meal at the banquet. Ours was rubber chicken with melted library paste--but the tuxes looked sweet. So, Lord knows, I won't criticize.
Matthew Alexander in London
No! Nope--no sour grapes. I might not have merited a nomination, let's face it. But not everybody gets in the running. For example, Latinos. They don't.
Oops. Did I say that? Did I say that NBA could mean "No Beaners Allowed"? (I can say "beaner," see, 'cause I was born in Tijuana.) Cinderella and I caused a minor fluff-up of feathers and attitudes over on Twitter when we noted this trend. But I thought it would be instructive to take a look at it. (People say, "But Junot was a judge this year!" Yeah, and neither Drown NOR Oscar Wao, everybody's favorite books, was a finalist in its year.)
This is in no way meant to take anything away from the winners this year. Colum McCann. Dude! One of my favorite people, and if you followed the Aspen "Wastelander" writings (in the blog archive), you know he's a swell and hilarious guy as well as a handsome lad and a fine writer. My most cherished Colum moment in Aspen was at 7:00 in the morning. He came walking through the trees with his trademark scarf, a bottle of wine, a bottle of whiskey, and a bag of chocolates. When I started laughing, he said, "What?"
Rock star all the way.
However, if you look up the NBA lists--not of winners, mind you, just of finalists-- you'll see what I'm talking about. NOT A SINGLE LATINA OR LATINO FINALIST IN FICTION SINCE 1995. And only three Latina/o nominees in fiction over the last 20 years: Rosario Ferre for The House on the Lagoon (1995), Cristina Garcia for Dreaming in Cuban (1992) and Felipe Alfau for Chromos (1990). Uh, hmm.
That means no Latina/o writer was worthy between 1994 (the prize covers the previous year) and 2009. Really? No, I mean, really? Seriously?
I am not going to say all Latina/o writing is great. I am not even going to say it is all good. I don't like many of the books. I don't particularly like a few of the authors. However, if you take a quick look at the overlooked writers (just some of them) since 1994, you can reach your own conclusions. I don't know what it means. I just find it curious. Good for a conversation over a beer or during half-time or after the next episode of GLEE.
Yeah, what the hell--I'll throw my own name in there. I ain't proud. Check it:
Kathleen Alcala,
Julia Alvarez,
Rudolfo Anaya,
Oscar Casares,
Ana Castillo,
Denise Chavez,
Daniel Chacon,
Sandra Cisneros,
Junot Diaz,
Guy Garcia,
Dagoberto Gilb,
Francisco Goldman,
Ray Gonzalez,
Ana Menendez,
Manuel Munoz,
Daniel Olivas,
Benjamin Alire Saenz,
Virgil Suarez,
Ludwig Aethelbert Urias,
Alfredo Vea,
Victor Villasenor,
Helena Maria Viramontes,
Rich Yanez.
You could play all night. Now, obscurity is not the problem--the NBA is proud of its obscure choices. Success isn't the prob--several of these writers/books have done quite well. Do the judges think these are not Americans? (Oh, wait--my man Colum is Irish.) Quality, perhaps? (Alvarez? Cisneros? Gilb? Goldman? Viramontes? Et al?) No, I doubt it.
What, then?
One thing's for sure: every year somebody's going to complain about the NBA. If it isn't the choices selected, it's the meal at the banquet. Ours was rubber chicken with melted library paste--but the tuxes looked sweet. So, Lord knows, I won't criticize.
11/18/2009
This is a message to Matthew in drama school in London--thanks for posting a comment on the blog! I am thrilled you are performing my poem. And yes, of course, I'll answer any questions you have. But you didn't give me any contact info! So send me a note w/ your email. I'll be in London with my family in July, by the way. See you then?
Journey's End
11/13/2009
Ugh. A little sick. Too much travel, too many hands shaken, too much bad airplane air. But, since my torture sessions, I mean work-outs, with The Body Editor N. Anderson, my superhuman physique refuses to let little hideous viruses knock me out. They're just wingin' me.
Thanks to all the people who wrote me about my "Holy Lift-Offs" rant in the last post. A joyous outcome of unexpected grace was that a bunch of folks e-mailed me promising to do some small thing to save somebody this year. I was happy about that!
As soon as my juicy Boston paycheck arrives, we will begin the joyous work of slicing it up into useful love-bombs, droppin' hope across the globe. Yes, it's small. So what? Dig this: one year, we were so poor, my mom gave me a simple Christmas present--she wrapped some postage stamps in Christmas paper. That was it. Why? So I could submit one more poem or story in the hopes that someone would publish me.
No, it didn't work. But that act that tiny gift did. If you want to weep over poor ol' Ma, weep over those stamps, over that balogna sandwich she made you that you forgot on the bus--the last balogna in the house. I think a small token of faith, hope, comfort or grace can sometimes sneak through the din and panic. It did for me. Over and over.
When I prayed to die, there would be a cat. Or a poem. Or a song. Or a kiss. All right, 100 kisses. I appreciated and accepted all the kisses that I could get. So we'll see what the filthy lucre does as we unleash its mojo. A big pile of $$$ to Pastor Von: step one. Chickens and milk goats for third world villages. Meals in Chicagoland. School supplies. The loading of meals for our African and other children out there requires no money--just time and sweat. We are down with that. Maybe, if there are a few dollars left of this check, we can invest in a small business or two via kiva.com. Every penny will go out there.
All right. So! I had a lovely visit in Boston this week. Yes, I have been to Boston three times in the last six weeks. I did Maria Hinojosa's "One on One" TV show for PBS. Um. Look. I'm not that good at self-promotion, so I forgot to ask when the show airs. Oops. Twitter people have been mocking me about it.
But, honestly, I don't intend to watch it! But I know Cinderella will figure it out and we'll post it here. You can watch it. It was amazing. I can say that much: Maria and I had a fantastic interview. I just don't want to see myself. I'm like Jack Palance--he never saw one of his own films.
Also, thanks to the many folks who have written about the Playboy story. I thought El Pasoans who didn't get the love-letter aspect of the piece would holler at me, but loads of people have been very kind and enthusiastic. That's great. (Even though some of the best parts were cut out--like Papaburger!) Now, go to El Paso and spend your dollars there. Buy Chico's Tacos. Attend a Radio La Chusma show. Buy Cinco Puntos books at the Cinco Puntos building. Eat at Papaburger! Get a tan. Maybe...just maybe...think twice about going over to Juarez right now.
One last trip to go. Miami. Leaving tomorrow. Trying to get un-sick. If you're there, I will be taking part in the last event on the last day (Sunday). Easy to find.
I will be recuperating and writing for the next two months. Then, I'm going to hit the road HARD in 2010. I've declared it the Save The World Tour. We're going to figure things out, you and I. We're going to plant little mustard seeds of hope and healing everywhere we go. So start thinking.
See you in FLA.
Luigi
Holy Lift-Off: What Do You Do?
Thanks to all the people who wrote me about my "Holy Lift-Offs" rant in the last post. A joyous outcome of unexpected grace was that a bunch of folks e-mailed me promising to do some small thing to save somebody this year. I was happy about that!
As soon as my juicy Boston paycheck arrives, we will begin the joyous work of slicing it up into useful love-bombs, droppin' hope across the globe. Yes, it's small. So what? Dig this: one year, we were so poor, my mom gave me a simple Christmas present--she wrapped some postage stamps in Christmas paper. That was it. Why? So I could submit one more poem or story in the hopes that someone would publish me.
No, it didn't work. But that act that tiny gift did. If you want to weep over poor ol' Ma, weep over those stamps, over that balogna sandwich she made you that you forgot on the bus--the last balogna in the house. I think a small token of faith, hope, comfort or grace can sometimes sneak through the din and panic. It did for me. Over and over.
When I prayed to die, there would be a cat. Or a poem. Or a song. Or a kiss. All right, 100 kisses. I appreciated and accepted all the kisses that I could get. So we'll see what the filthy lucre does as we unleash its mojo. A big pile of $$$ to Pastor Von: step one. Chickens and milk goats for third world villages. Meals in Chicagoland. School supplies. The loading of meals for our African and other children out there requires no money--just time and sweat. We are down with that. Maybe, if there are a few dollars left of this check, we can invest in a small business or two via kiva.com. Every penny will go out there.
All right. So! I had a lovely visit in Boston this week. Yes, I have been to Boston three times in the last six weeks. I did Maria Hinojosa's "One on One" TV show for PBS. Um. Look. I'm not that good at self-promotion, so I forgot to ask when the show airs. Oops. Twitter people have been mocking me about it.
But, honestly, I don't intend to watch it! But I know Cinderella will figure it out and we'll post it here. You can watch it. It was amazing. I can say that much: Maria and I had a fantastic interview. I just don't want to see myself. I'm like Jack Palance--he never saw one of his own films.
Also, thanks to the many folks who have written about the Playboy story. I thought El Pasoans who didn't get the love-letter aspect of the piece would holler at me, but loads of people have been very kind and enthusiastic. That's great. (Even though some of the best parts were cut out--like Papaburger!) Now, go to El Paso and spend your dollars there. Buy Chico's Tacos. Attend a Radio La Chusma show. Buy Cinco Puntos books at the Cinco Puntos building. Eat at Papaburger! Get a tan. Maybe...just maybe...think twice about going over to Juarez right now.
One last trip to go. Miami. Leaving tomorrow. Trying to get un-sick. If you're there, I will be taking part in the last event on the last day (Sunday). Easy to find.
I will be recuperating and writing for the next two months. Then, I'm going to hit the road HARD in 2010. I've declared it the Save The World Tour. We're going to figure things out, you and I. We're going to plant little mustard seeds of hope and healing everywhere we go. So start thinking.
See you in FLA.
Luigi
11/07/2009
I had a young un ask me, in that snarky collegaite fashion they have, if I had ever given anything back since I'd gotten "rich and famous" talking about the poor. 2,000 people looked on, waiting for my confession. I smiled. You don't have me on that one, son. I was able to say, "Yes."
I may not have the reach of real stars like Oprah, or Bono. I can't change the world, as Bono himself once sang, but I can change the world in me. Nah. I can change the world. I do change the world. And so do you. You see, the secret that OPrah and Bono both know about fame is profound. And absolutely true. Fame is a pastoral position.
That's right. What little bit of renown we manage to scrape together for ourselves is sacred in a strange way. We are to use it to minister to the world. Give back, y'all. Lend comfort. Find the forgotten and remember; find the voiceless and sing their songs; find the hopeless and provide hope; find the loveless and, if not love, then give 'em a damned cheese sandwish and some laughs.
The writers I teach and workshop know this about me. Luis, Closet Mystic. But I know what I'm saying is true.
How do I give back? That is what the kid was asking. Thinking he was tripping me up. He was smirking, the li'l shit. I loved him because I was once that kid, wanting to deflate the fat arrogant liars and hypocrites I saw all around me.
Well, you start by writing to the furthest edge of your ability. You start by never publishing a book you are not proud of. If you have written crap, then put it aside and write better. And you do it by using your real name, your uncommercial weird Mexican border-rat name that editors told you to change so they could sell you better. Yes, back in 1993 I was advised to become more Anglo. Funny, if you know me--I am pretty stinkin' Anglo. I just have the Big Beaner name. Stand! Sly Stone tol' you that a long time ago. STAND.
And you go out there and remember that you started your career as a mission-to-the-poor person. I begane on my knees in the Tijuana garbage dump washing the feet of the poor. Yes. Graduated to killing lice, then putting medicine on tight foreskins so they didn't fester. Real glamor.
Remember that and remember them and treat everyone in the crowd as if they had come to you with cracked, bleeding feet, no hope, no money, no comfort. And they had put their trust in you. Kathi Kamen Goldmark, of the Rock Bottom Remainders, told me at the start: "Always be a gentleman, even if there is only one person in the audience." Give love because you have books, plane tickets, TV interviews, maybe even money--you have what feels like love in this pop culture. Give it.
You give it away. You do high schools and jails and prisons and hospitals for free. You do all local things for free. Or you find out if they have grant money then charge them the maximum and use their money to buy books for their kids. Bam. World-change 101. This year, I wrangled 50 hardcovers out of my publisher for incarecated girls in a California institution.
You use your art. I was able to raise severeal hundred dollars this year by selling off my artworkk. Lots of you know I cartoon a lot. I sold books of art at auction, framed art at other auctions. I am killing myself trying to get the books done in time for Christmas, but I am gonna do it!
You support other writers--you give them blurbs, or you try to help them connect with agents and editors, or you create secret websites for them to workshop in cyber-safety. (Yeah, I did. And no, you can't.) AND YOU TEACH, and you teach like a mo-fo: you teach your heart out.
Then, you give. Give money. That's so easy. We pay for people to have Christmas supper here in Illinois. Last year we paiud for 22 families. This year we plan to provide for 220 families. We pay for school supplies for a few hundred kids: we're going larger this year. We do hands-on work for an org that makes scientifically measured food packets for third world kids, esp in Africa. Our team made 1300 meals last year. Our bigger team is going to destroy that number on the day after Thanksgiving. And you remember your roots: Pastor Von, of Across the Wire, is getting a whopper (for me, like I said, I ain't Oprah or Bono...YET) check this year so the forgotten kids of my Tijuana home town will have Christmas.
That's a start. I could go on. But this isn't a ploy to be recognized as St. Luis. What I want to say is that the Holy Lift-Off is easy. Even a small thing is something. Love isn't a feeling, it's an action. Love is a VERB, peeps. We go out an do it.
We can go to Kiva on the internet, or Heifer International, and we can invest in a small business, or we can send chickens of milk goats to a Congolese village. We can click on any number of websites and support a hungry child for less than it's cost to get TV Guide every week.
But for me, it starts with...the word.
I'm thinking of you. L
Thank You, Austin
I may not have the reach of real stars like Oprah, or Bono. I can't change the world, as Bono himself once sang, but I can change the world in me. Nah. I can change the world. I do change the world. And so do you. You see, the secret that OPrah and Bono both know about fame is profound. And absolutely true. Fame is a pastoral position.
That's right. What little bit of renown we manage to scrape together for ourselves is sacred in a strange way. We are to use it to minister to the world. Give back, y'all. Lend comfort. Find the forgotten and remember; find the voiceless and sing their songs; find the hopeless and provide hope; find the loveless and, if not love, then give 'em a damned cheese sandwish and some laughs.
The writers I teach and workshop know this about me. Luis, Closet Mystic. But I know what I'm saying is true.
How do I give back? That is what the kid was asking. Thinking he was tripping me up. He was smirking, the li'l shit. I loved him because I was once that kid, wanting to deflate the fat arrogant liars and hypocrites I saw all around me.
Well, you start by writing to the furthest edge of your ability. You start by never publishing a book you are not proud of. If you have written crap, then put it aside and write better. And you do it by using your real name, your uncommercial weird Mexican border-rat name that editors told you to change so they could sell you better. Yes, back in 1993 I was advised to become more Anglo. Funny, if you know me--I am pretty stinkin' Anglo. I just have the Big Beaner name. Stand! Sly Stone tol' you that a long time ago. STAND.
And you go out there and remember that you started your career as a mission-to-the-poor person. I begane on my knees in the Tijuana garbage dump washing the feet of the poor. Yes. Graduated to killing lice, then putting medicine on tight foreskins so they didn't fester. Real glamor.
Remember that and remember them and treat everyone in the crowd as if they had come to you with cracked, bleeding feet, no hope, no money, no comfort. And they had put their trust in you. Kathi Kamen Goldmark, of the Rock Bottom Remainders, told me at the start: "Always be a gentleman, even if there is only one person in the audience." Give love because you have books, plane tickets, TV interviews, maybe even money--you have what feels like love in this pop culture. Give it.
You give it away. You do high schools and jails and prisons and hospitals for free. You do all local things for free. Or you find out if they have grant money then charge them the maximum and use their money to buy books for their kids. Bam. World-change 101. This year, I wrangled 50 hardcovers out of my publisher for incarecated girls in a California institution.
You use your art. I was able to raise severeal hundred dollars this year by selling off my artworkk. Lots of you know I cartoon a lot. I sold books of art at auction, framed art at other auctions. I am killing myself trying to get the books done in time for Christmas, but I am gonna do it!
You support other writers--you give them blurbs, or you try to help them connect with agents and editors, or you create secret websites for them to workshop in cyber-safety. (Yeah, I did. And no, you can't.) AND YOU TEACH, and you teach like a mo-fo: you teach your heart out.
Then, you give. Give money. That's so easy. We pay for people to have Christmas supper here in Illinois. Last year we paiud for 22 families. This year we plan to provide for 220 families. We pay for school supplies for a few hundred kids: we're going larger this year. We do hands-on work for an org that makes scientifically measured food packets for third world kids, esp in Africa. Our team made 1300 meals last year. Our bigger team is going to destroy that number on the day after Thanksgiving. And you remember your roots: Pastor Von, of Across the Wire, is getting a whopper (for me, like I said, I ain't Oprah or Bono...YET) check this year so the forgotten kids of my Tijuana home town will have Christmas.
That's a start. I could go on. But this isn't a ploy to be recognized as St. Luis. What I want to say is that the Holy Lift-Off is easy. Even a small thing is something. Love isn't a feeling, it's an action. Love is a VERB, peeps. We go out an do it.
We can go to Kiva on the internet, or Heifer International, and we can invest in a small business, or we can send chickens of milk goats to a Congolese village. We can click on any number of websites and support a hungry child for less than it's cost to get TV Guide every week.
But for me, it starts with...the word.
I'm thinking of you. L
11/03/2009
Got back from Texas Sunday night late. Had to get up and teach the next day. The schedule has been like that for the last few months. I feel bad because I am in such a galloping mode that as soon as I leave a place, I am either preparing a class or rushing to the next place...and I forget the details of the place I've just been! Sometimes, I don't remember where I've just been. And I certainly never know where I'm going.
But Austin was great. Clay and his gang have pulled off yet another wonderful book festival. I was delighted to speak with Barbara Renaud G. and C.M. Mayo and that Vato Loco Jimmy Santiago Baca in the capitol rotunda. Lots of love and goodwill in the room, even though some El Pasoans were there and didn't know if they were happy or mad I'd written my Playboy piece. Dude--it's a LOVE LETTER! Ha ha. Actually, a lot of goodwill all around.
I met some new Urrea cousins there, and cousin Dave Duty (of the Tomas Urrea and Gabriela Cantua family)hung out with me. And Michael Anania, great American poet and the father of our writing program at UIC showed up. That was great. I told them I thought I'd only have three or four books to sign, but I signed books at the tent for over an hour. It was like a surprise party.
Got too much work to do! I'm finishing two art projects for charity, writing the intro for David Taylor, doing a review, doing my class, oh and the eternal Hummingbird II. Got the great good news in TX, though, that I have a story in Ray Gonzalez's new Norton anthology, and I didn't even know it.
I think you get so busy with life that you miss life. It's a conundrum.
OK--on to Miami. After that, I think it's over except for local stuff. We're having fam come for Thanksgiving, and we're making them bundle a million meals for third world children, but they don't know that yet. And when Christmas comes, we are turning off the cell, the computer, the twitter, and getting on a boat and sailing down to mysterious pyramids in dark jungles.
I'll write in my notebooks, though.
But Austin was great. Clay and his gang have pulled off yet another wonderful book festival. I was delighted to speak with Barbara Renaud G. and C.M. Mayo and that Vato Loco Jimmy Santiago Baca in the capitol rotunda. Lots of love and goodwill in the room, even though some El Pasoans were there and didn't know if they were happy or mad I'd written my Playboy piece. Dude--it's a LOVE LETTER! Ha ha. Actually, a lot of goodwill all around.
I met some new Urrea cousins there, and cousin Dave Duty (of the Tomas Urrea and Gabriela Cantua family)hung out with me. And Michael Anania, great American poet and the father of our writing program at UIC showed up. That was great. I told them I thought I'd only have three or four books to sign, but I signed books at the tent for over an hour. It was like a surprise party.
Got too much work to do! I'm finishing two art projects for charity, writing the intro for David Taylor, doing a review, doing my class, oh and the eternal Hummingbird II. Got the great good news in TX, though, that I have a story in Ray Gonzalez's new Norton anthology, and I didn't even know it.
I think you get so busy with life that you miss life. It's a conundrum.
OK--on to Miami. After that, I think it's over except for local stuff. We're having fam come for Thanksgiving, and we're making them bundle a million meals for third world children, but they don't know that yet. And when Christmas comes, we are turning off the cell, the computer, the twitter, and getting on a boat and sailing down to mysterious pyramids in dark jungles.
I'll write in my notebooks, though.
Subscribe to Posts [Atom]