Tag Chicano literature
Several months ago, the estate of my publisher emailed me tjhat my publisher died. His name was Jim Mafchir and he gave me my first shot in the publishing world. His press. Western Edge, carried my book, Butterfly Warrior, and… Continue Reading →
At the end of 2016, my last book won an award. When my publicist at the time called to inform me, I felt unstoppable, like I had climbed mount everest with nothing more than my hiking boots and some twine…. Continue Reading →
Writing a book is really hard. I’ve written a few, but it never gets easier. I remember someone saying at a writing group in which I used to participate that a writer knows when they’re writing her truth when she… Continue Reading →
I consider myself a good writer and teacher. At the heart of both is the hope and the belief that I can share information in such a way that can ignite the good, strong, and beautiful in those whom I… Continue Reading →
Today’s the first official day of my venture into the “Book in a Month” system. According to the program, I should write a one sentence summary and fill out what’s called a Story Idea Map, as well as, write the… Continue Reading →
I’ve begun writing a new book that I am entitling, The Teacher. This book is a transformation story in which the protagonist “finds” his truth amidst great struggle and grief. Now, I haven’t gotten very far, but to aid me… Continue Reading →
in the barrio, we called ourselves, Chicanos. I always believed that was what I was: A Chicano kid. I had no idea growing up that there isn’t any real such thing as a Chicano. I came to learn that in… Continue Reading →
I wanted to share some praise I’ve received for Journey to Aztlan. As a writer, it’s quite fulfilling to receive these types of comments. If you haven’t read it yet, do yourself a favor and read Journey to Aztlan. It… Continue Reading →
There are certain days in which I actually feel myself resonating with the Earth’s good juju. I’m neither a rich man nor am I anything other than another average person making his way through time and space. Yet, my life… Continue Reading →
In the barrio where I grew up, we called ourselves, Chicanos. I always believed that was what I was: A Chicano kid. I had no idea growing up that there isn’t any real such thing as a Chicano. I came… Continue Reading →
