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La Bloga welcomes guest columnist John R. Guthrie. Lisa Alvarado returns to her regular Thursday column next week.


Santa Fe, New Mexico’s September festival is called Zozobra. Zozobra, “Old Man Gloom,” is present at the festival as a giant marionette. In the preceding weeks, anyone may write the source of their woes on slips of paper and deposit them in a sealed wooden box at the office of the Santa Fe Reporter. The gloom box is then placed like a votive offering at the feet of the effigy and burned as Zozobra himself is immolated.

In the poet/essayist/novelist Alma Luz Villanueva’s poem “Zozobra,” her life, like a favored garment, is held at arm’s length and considered;
….my filed divorce papers (my 20-year
marriage), or a copy anyway, old family
photos of me in the diaper business, the
Little League business, the track team and

the Planned Parenthood business, not to
mention the college scholarship and fund
business, then the “Who’s the perfect parent
I did my best, better than you, you walked

away with my heart” business—
No, I didn’t bring the paperwork to
be burned to healing ashes.
Two husbands, various lovers,
Four grown children, healthy and whole….

Villanueva’s poetry often is both intimate and personal. At her readings and recitations she connects with her audience well and they respond with appropriate enthusiasm. Her critical reviews are strong, though she has found the occasional critic. After a well attended reading followed by a standing ovation and a highly successful book signing at UC Davis a decade ago, one faculty wag from the English Department wrote that Villanueva did have an enthusiastic audience, but that “she might have a difficult time before a more critical audience.” Well, yes, Professor, had that highly literate audience thrown rocks instead of kudos and kisses, had they then fled in horror instead of rushing the stage to touch and speak to the reader, Villanueva would have had a much more difficult time.

Villanueva was born in Santa Barbara and grew up in San Francisco’s mission district. She was raised primarily by her Yaqui grandmother, her much loved Mexican-born “Mamacita,” Jesus Villanueva, with limited input from her mother, Lydia, and with assistance from an aunt, Ruth Villanueva. It was Mamacita, though, who read Spanish poetry to her, and taught her to recite Spanish poetry from memory for church. Lines from the poem, “to Jesus Villanueva, with love,” reveal much about the flinty subsistence of those early years:

You could never understand
the rules:
at clinics, welfare offices, schools,
any of it.
I did.
You lie, you push, you get.
I learned to do all this by the third clinic day….

My first acquaintance with the work of AlmaLuz Villanueva was through one of her earlier works, the collection of short stories, “Weeping Woman: La Llorona and Other Stories.” I was living a Boston suburb. I had recently retired from medical practice and was intent on moving to Southern California to write full time. I realized I had encountered a unique voice in “Weeping Woman,” and sought out and read others of her works.

Villanueva’s poetic life began when she was 12. Mamacita died, and in a very real sense that launched her grandaughter’s life as poet. Life further intervened; when Villanueva had her first child at age 15. The second was born at age 17. She was reduced to the harsh realities of existence on public assistance in San Francisca public housing, then subjected to further uncertainties of life with an abusive husband.

The expected ending for such a story doesn’t take a great deal of imagination. But somehow, it didn’t happen as one might expect. Showing grit and determination worthy of any soldier, children in tow, she finished high school, college, and completed a Master of Fine Arts.

In the 1970’s, her poetry began to publish. She won she won first place in poetry with the University of California at Irvine's Chicano Literary Prize. Her first three books of poetry were: Bloodroot, Mother May I?, Life Span and Planet (the latter won the Latin American Writers poetry prize, N.Y.). This writer found her volume of poetry, Desire to be particularly moving. It was selected for The Best American Poetry, 1996. Her Collection Vida has published more recently.

Her three novels are: The Ultraviolet Sky. (American Book Award. This work is also is listed in 500 Great Books by Women). Naked Ladies then won the PEN Oakland fiction award, and is anthologized in Caliente, The Best Erotic Latin American Writing. Villanueva also wrote Luna’s California Poppies and then another personal favorite, Weeping Woman, La Llorona and Other Stories, a collection of short stories. Her fiction and poetry has been widely anthologized in the USA and abroad, and is included in textbooks from grammar to university level.

The poet has held a number of graduate teaching positions, and for the last decade or so has been an instructor in the in the renowned Master of Fine Arts program of Antioch University Los Angeles. She also taught fiction/poetry at UC Santa Cruz, Cabrillo College, Naropa Institute (Boulder, Colorado)...Mesa College, UC San Diego, Stanford University and Pacific University, to name a few.

While Villanueva is often characterized as a Chicana poet, or as a Feminist poet, such characterizations can conceal more than they reveal. No matter her ancestry or gender, Villanueva is a poet of humankind’s indominatable spirit, a scribe of the vagaries of the human heart.

Soft Chaos
AlmaLuz Villanueva’s latest book of poetry.
Available at Amazon.com and other fine booksellers.
Bilingual Press. Tempe Arizona
ISBN: 978 1 931010 37 5
229 Pages Soft cover,
$18.00

Puerto Rican writer Marta Aponte Alsina visited Colorado State University in Fort Collins September 23, to talk about Puerto Rican literature, the writing process, and her latest novel, Sexto Sueño (published last November in Madrid by Veintisieteletras).

Sexto sueño features a trippy juxtaposition of historical figures with little-known connections to the island: first is Sammy Davis, Jr., whose mother was Puerto Rican and who used to say: "My mother was born in San Juan. So I'm Puerto Rican, Jewish, colored and married to a white woman. When I move into a neighborhood, people start running four ways at the same time." Then comes Nathan Leopold, of Leopold & Loeb fame, the wealthy, University of Chicago child-prodigy, who in 1924 murdered 14-year old Bobby Franks, just to prove he and his friend/lover could in fact commit "the perfect murder". It turns out that after receiving 2 life sentences and spending 3 decades in prison, Leopold was exiled to a territory of the US, located far away from the continental US... You guessed it! In Puerto Rico he studied birds, taught mathematics at the UPR, and worked as an x-ray technician in a hospital. He willed his body to the UPR for medical research, which sets the novel in motion.

The story is told by Dr. Violeta Cruz, an anatomist in her 70s, who dissects bodies at work and composes boleros in her spare time. The character is based on a real person, a Puerto Rican woman said to be equally at ease in front of a corpse or a guitar, and who is an espiritista to boot! And if this crew were not enough to guarantee the reader's attention, there's also the character of the Egyptian mummy (one of three mysteriously residing on the UPR campus) whom the writer names Irenaki.

Aponte Alsina, who started her talk by unearthing connections between the sugar cane industry in Ft. Collins and the island, said her novel emerged precisely from connections made possible by colonialism. She says such connections allow her to "claim Harlem" as her own and, along the way, "return the gaze to the other who's so accustomed to observing us." A fine concept!

When asked about the process of writing, she candidly confessed to having written a first draft, "a horrific copy of the worst of García Márquez, full of magical realism," which she abandoned shortly after meeting the real Dr. Violeta Cruz and recognizing her as the perfect narrator for her story.

Aponte Alsina published her first book at age 49, "because I did not want to publish it at 50," and reports having taken over six years to work on this novel. "For the next one, I'll work a little faster," she said. "I don't have much time left." Nonsense, I say. This woman is all energy, imagination, wisdom and courage; just the right ingredients to break out of the mold of recent Puerto Rican literature.

Lydia Gil (Puerto Rico) teaches Spanish and Latin American literature at the University of Denver. She reports on cultural and literary news for the Hispanic News Services of EFE, and is the author of Mimí's Parranda/La parranda de Mimí, a bilingual children's book
(Arte Público 2007).

And rascuache became gonzo

BY GREGG BARRIOS

Originally published 7/30/2008 at San Antonio Current

Nearly 40 years after an uneasy friendship between Hunter S. Thompson and Oscar Zeta Acosta created gonzo journalism, the urban legend that Thompson alone was its genesis persists while Acosta’s collaboration has been virtually whitewashed out of the picture.

Last month, on a program about the recently released documentary film Gonzo, Charlie Rose remarked: “Thompson was a maverick journalist. He is the creator of gonzo journalism — that made reporters not just witnesses but central figures of their stories.”

There is a telling moment in Gonzo that flies in the face of such assessments. It is a reenactment featuring the actual audiotapes that Acosta and Thompson made on the freewheeling road trips recounted in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

“We are looking for the American Dream, and we were told it was somewhere in this area,” Acosta says to a waitress at a roadside taco stand. Thompson then asks about the quality of the stand’s “5 for $1” tacos. Acosta’s retort is priceless: “Don’t judge a taco by its price.”

The late poet raúlrsalinas and Acosta were part of the first Floricanto Chicano Literary festival held at USC in 1973.

“Zeta was a very important person,” Salinas told an interviewer, “an optimist, a dreamer, always encouraging things to change. But the Anglo establishment exploited his talent. In his case it was Hunter Thompson. That guy stole Brown Buffalo’s gonzo style; he turned it into mass-produced merchandise.”

Oscar Z. Acosta, born a Tejano in 1935 in El Chuco, grew up in California. He later became a lawyer and part of the Chicano cultural and civil-rights movimiento in the late 1960s. He ran as a Raza Unida candidate for sheriff of Los Angeles County in 1970. Despite a minuscule campaign budget, he came in second with more than 100,000 votes. His platform: Abolish the police department.

Later that year he journeyed to Aspen to help Thompson campaign for sheriff in the Colorado town. One look at the respective campaign posters shows how Thompson appropriated the Chicano power symbol for a gonzo fist.

Shortly thereafter, Oscar approached Hunter for a favor. Would he write a piece on the death of Los Angeles Times columnist Ruben Salazar at the hands of an L.A. County Sheriff’s deputy and the cover-up by the L.A. police that had left the Chicano barrios in an uproar? “Strange Rumblings in Aztlán,” published in Rolling Stone in April 1971, was a groundbreaking piece. Acosta’s righteous Chicano flow and rascuache-influenced voice resonates passionately in Thompson’s prose. In the interaction between Zeta and Hunter, gonzo was born.

During Thompson and Acosta’s research for “Rumblings” and again after it was published, the two compadres undertook a road trip as Raoul Duke and Dr. Gonzo — the dope generation equivalents of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, el Gordo y el Flaco, or Jack Kerouac and Neal Cassady. The resultant narrative, “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas,” appeared as a two-part series in Rolling Stone with the byline Raoul Duke.

In its 25th-anniversary tribute to “Fear and Loathing,” Rolling Stone called it a “literary byproduct” and “a happenstance of artistic genius.”

Acosta felt Thompson had betrayed him. Later, in a letter to Playboy Forum, Acosta accused Thompson of appropriating all the credit for gonzo journalism. “My God! Hunter has stolen my soul,” he reportedly told his editor. “He has taken my best lines and used me.”

Acosta threatened to sue Rolling Stone and prevent the book version from being published. The magazine relented and forged a deal: Zeta would not receive credit as co-author of Fear and Loathing, but to validate his participation in the writing, a dated photo of Acosta and Thompson in Las Vegas would appear on the back cover.

In return, Rolling Stone’s Straight Arrow Books would publish two novels by Acosta. Additionally, Rolling Stone was required to refer to him in all print publicity as “a creator of Gonzo Journalism.”

Acosta published two major American novels in the gonzo style in less than two years: Autobiography of a Brown Buffalo in 1972 and The Revolt of the Cockroach People in 1973, his version of “Rumblings in Aztlán.” He was lauded as one of the first novelists of the Chicano literary renaissance. But, by the end of the following year, he vanished in Mazatlán. No one has discovered under what circumstances he died or if he is still alive.

Thompson later wrote a long, moving obituary, “The Banshee Screams for Buffalo Meat,” in which he wrote, “Zeta was too weird to live and to rare to die.”

Still, Hunter wasn’t about to wax poetic about his friend’s death and quickly sold “Banshee” to the movies. The result? Where the Buffalo Roam, a Dumb and Dumber type comedy with Bill Murray as Hunter. Oscar’s character, played by Peter Boyle, is no longer Samoan or Chicano, but a Rumanian attorney named Lazlo.

In 1997, I met Thompson at a book signing on the Sunset Strip in West Hollywood. He seemed genuinely touched when I mentioned my involvement in the Raza Unida Party in Crystal City. Afterward, he offered me a ride in his limo. I had parked near the infamous Viper Room off Sunset, then owned by Johnny Depp, who later portrayed Thompson in Terry Gilliam’s film version of Fear, with Benicio Del Toro as Acosta.

Inside the limo, Thompson adjusted a wrist splint and juggled to sign my books without spilling his drink. Finally, in disgust, he handed over a roll of signed bookplates. “Let’s see if these are worth more some day.”

I had brought a copy of the 25th-anniversary edition of Fear that Modern Library had published the previous year. The famous Vegas photo was on the cover, but Acosta had been cropped out and only the quizzical Thompson remained.

I was about to ask him why he had betrayed Oscar’s legacy by approving the change when we reached my car. As I drove away, I honked at Thompson, now standing outside the Viper on the exact spot where the young actor River Phoenix had died of a drug overdose.

Hunter did his best to stand at attention, then shouted into the neon night, “¡Qué viva la raza!” He then saluted and raised his clenched fist in a sign of Chicano Power, or perhaps his own gonzo fist.

“Is Zeta a hero? A myth?” Salinas told an Acosta biographer. “I guess it depends on whom you ask. The older Chicano generation has a deep affection for Brown Buffalo, but young people know very little, if anything, about him. Tú sabes? They know almost nothing about el movimiento.” •

---------------------------

Acosta gonzo

Oscar Z. Acosta’s most important work remains in print and on video. This list highlights the best.

His two gonzo novels The Autobiography of a Brown Buffalo and The Revolt of the Cockroach People (Vintage paperbacks) contain an introduction by Thompson and an afterward by Acosta’s son, Marco.

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson is required reading to see who influenced whom in this ultimate gonzo novel in search of the American Dream. The Modern Library edition also contains “Strange Rumblings in Aztlán,” the first time Zeta and Hunter appear together in print.

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas: The Criterion Collection DVD of Terry Gilliam’s film contains a supplementary disc that spotlights Acosta. Included are a short bio, photos, a 30-minute reading of Revolt by Acosta at the 1973 Floricanto Festival, and a recording of Thompson reading his gonzo obit for Acosta.

Acosta’s gonzo reading from Revolt is also available online at:
video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-4138728998208728904


— Gregg Barrios

---------------------------

Backgrounder: Rasquachismo

Chicano art critic Tomás Ybarra-Frausto defines rasquachi or rascuache as: “ ... a bawdy, spunky conciousness. To seek to subvert and turn ruling paradigms upside-down. It is a witty, irreverent, and impertinent posture that recodes and moves outside established boundaries. Rascuachismo is an underdog perspective.”

Current contributor and culture critic Pablo Miguel Martínez summed it up in last week’s profile of artist David Zamora Casas as “the art of making do with what you’ve got, no matter how meager, and turning it into something beautiful.”

Yolanda Broyles-Gonzáles, in her book Teatro Campesino, defined it thusly: “Rasquachismo, or the Rasquachi Aesthetic (all spellings are acceptable), encompasses a shared memory system of performance elements grounded in a working-class, underdog perspective.”

Photo captions:
Thompson and Acosta in Las Vegas in a photo dated April 16, 1971. The image appears on the back cover of the first edition of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

A 25th-anniversary Fear and Loathing (and other stories) features the same photo, sans Acosta.


La Bloga happily welcomes Gregg Barrios as our Saturday guest columnist. Thanks go to Gregg's editors at San Antonio Current for permission to reprint article and art from the July 30, 2008 issue. Click link in title to view the article at San Antonio Current. Please join La Bloga on Tuesday, August 12, 2008, for photos from the Festival de Flor Y Canto referred to in Gregg's article.

Today, La Bloga is happy to welcome Juanita Salazar Lamb sharing her experience reading and writing chicana mystery fiction. Great having you with us, Juanita!

One thing about me: I love reading mysteries, and as importantly, I form a bond with the main characters in the story. I’m in love—or maybe it’s just lust—with Jim Chee in Tony Hillerman’s books; I cast myself as the beautiful, rich, but oh-so-lonely female characters in the stories by Mary Higgins Clark. I’m as independent and resourceful as Sue Grafton’s Kinsey Milhone; and I dream of the day I can eat as many doughnuts and blow up as many cars as Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum. Over the years I’ve read hundreds of mysteries featuring Native Americans, Polish American nurses-turned investigators, Hungarian-Italian bounty hunters, WASP girls whose only connection with ethnicity is belonging to a Greek sorority, and even the occasional Latino investigator. Kudos to Rick Riordan for bringing us Tres Navarre, and to Rudolfo Anaya for Sonny Baca.

Another thing about me: I’m a Tejana. I spoke Spanish before I spoke English. My family went to visit the shrine of La Virgen de San Juan del Valle to pay our respects, and marveled at the bright costumes and soul-stirring beat of the drums as los matachines danced in homage of La Virgen. We made tamales for Kreesmas and ate buñuelos as we sipped té de canela on new year’s. On Easter Sunday everybody went to the park for a picnic and broke cascarones on each other’s heads. At the end of the day everybody—even my grandmother—would have a chipote on our heads and our hair was full of confete, harina and bits of broken colored eggshell. Growing up Tejana, I also ate pan de dulce (not pan dulce), crossed the bridge to Mexico for a day of shopping, and still know that Mexican Cokes taste better than Cokes bottled in the US.

So it’s only natural that when I started to write my own mystery series my main character would be a Tejana: Sara Garcia. Unlike Kinsey Milhone who was orphaned as a child and is now a loner by choice, Sara has strong family ties and a strong need to stay connected to her Mamá, Ernesta; and with her friend since high school, Sofía. Though Sara’s family is small—her father died a few years ago, and her sister lives in San Antonio—her familial ties extend beyond blood, which is how familias expand in the Latino community. Sara’s extended family includes Sofía and her husband Frank, and their daughter Mia. Sara’s downstairs neighbor, Annie, fills the role of older sister. Sara’s boyfriend, Bill, a fourth-generation Irish-American whose family still speaks with a brogue, provides Ernesta with hope that Sara will get married and give her muchos nietos.

But other things besides a Spanish last name set Sara García apart from all the other sleuths in the mystery genre, and this is one that I have trouble explaining to non-Hispanic editors and agents. Sara’s motivation for solving murder mysteries is not based on financial compensation or job responsibilities; after all as she is quick to point out she’s “an auditor, not an investigator.” Her commitment comes from her deep Latina roots. We Latinos are raised to help our family—and extension—friends of family. This training starts when we are very small children and our mothers remind us take our younger brother’s hand as we cross the street: “Agárrense de la manita,” my mother would call out to us. We are urged to walk together, not leaving anyone behind, because our mamás know there is strength in unity. When we have a party or family gathering, everyone is invited, not only the little school friend of the birthday boy, but the school friend’s entire familia. As we grow older those lessons learned so many years ago are transferred, and now we are the ones taking the hands of our abuelitos and abuelitas as they struggle with canes and walkers.

I live in Arkansas now, and I recently witnessed something I will never forget: On my way home from work, I drive past the rodeo arena. On a hot Friday evening in July, the rodeo was due to begin within the hour and traffic was heavy on the east-bound street. People attending the rodeo had to park their cars blocks away, cross a busy intersection and walk to the arena. One woman was walking with her mother...and I use the term “with” loosely. The younger woman was in her fifties, and her mother was in her seventies and using a walker. The older lady was struggling to maneuver the rough, uneven sidewalk as her daughter walked five to ten feet ahead of her. The noise of traffic and music coming from the arena would have drowned out the older lady’s voice if she’d fallen and cried to her daughter for help. I probably don’t have to add that they were not Hispanic.

It is with this sense of family and a need to help those in the family that Sara pursues her murder mysteries to conclusion. In the first book, Death at the Rock, Sara’s best friend, Sofía, asks her to solve the murder of her cousin’s girlfriend. Sara has met the cousin before, but remembers him slightly. It is Sara’s sense of duty and responsibility to family that drive her to find the real killer. As Sara sees it, if she does nothing and an innocent man is convicted can she forgive herself?

The relationship between Sara and her mother is not unlike most mother/daughter relationships, but with a Latina twist. The twist being that no matter how old a Latina daughter is, how many children of her own she might have, or how many college degrees she are on her office wall, her mamá will always be her mamá. She is the one Sara goes to when she needs someone to pray for her; when she needs caldo on a cold winter day, and when she needs some té to ease what ails her. Sara will dance with her mamá at Mia’s quinceañera, and will give her a heart full of chocolates for Valentine’s day, knowing her mother will insist on sharing.

In The Corpse Wore Red Lipstick, her second foray into solving murders, it is once again Sara’s sense of family responsibility and devotion to her mother that outweigh her arguments for not getting involved in another murder. When the granddaughter of her mother’s best friend is found murdered and the police have decided it’s the work of a serial killer, Sara’s mother Ernesta brings her in to find the real killer. To the non-Hispanic reader, Sara has no stake in this case. She met the granddaughter at a girls’ night out a few months earlier, but there had been no time to bond with the much-younger woman. But viewing the situation through the lens of Latino family relationships, Sara has a very high stake: her mother’s sense of duty to her friend; her mother’s pride in her daughter’s ability; and the family’s reputation that is firmly established in the barrio: if Sara refuses to help her mother’s friend, word will get around that Sara thinks she is too good for the old neighborhood.

In the third book of the series, Twisted Sister, Sara’s motivation is as old as humans themselves: self-preservation. When Sara is accused of being an accomplice in the armed robbery of a convenience store in her neighborhood, she must go underground until she can find the real perpetrator. In this story of twisted family relationships that reach back into Sara’s family’s past, she also confronts the discrimination and stereotyping that many Latinas face even today. Would Sara even be suspected of holding up a convenience store if she was blond, blue-eyed and her name was Tiffany or Barbie? Would the only eye-witness be so quick to claim that “you all look alike” if Sara were not Latina?

Through my writing, as well as through my own life, I confront the trials and tribulations of a successful, educated Latina living and working in a white, male-dominated world. But take some time out from your world and join Sara Garcia in hers, where it isn’t the guys with the white hats who win, but los nuestros.


Biographical information:
Juanita Salazar Lamb lives in Northwest Arkansas, where she still works as an auditor by day, and writes the Sara Garcia Mystery Series at every other time. She writes under the pen name Teresa Avila.

Click here to read Chapters 1, 2, 3 of Teresa Avila’s Sara Garcia mystery novel, Death at the Rock.


Blogmeister's Note: La Bloga welcomes your own contributions. Please click here, or leave a comment when the inspiration strikes, you catch fire, or something one of us writes moves you to seek an invitation to be our guest. La Bloga welcomes guests, as you note today.

La Bloga welcomes Corina Carrasco as our first guest columnist of 2008, sharing one of those captivating moments that last a lifetime.

"Every one of you has inside of you the power to catch fire. Right now, with your writing, you are simmering. But at some point in your life, at least one time, you will catch fire. My hope is that you will do it some time during this course."

We listened to his hushed, gentle, captivating voice as he spoke to us, becoming almost inaudible, when he spoke the words "catch fire." We had been brought together on that hot day in late September of 1975, in the basement of Casa Zapata, the Chicano theme house, to take a course in Chicano Writing from Arturo Islas, the first Chicano in the United States to earn a Ph.D. in English and who would, later that year, become the first tenured Chicano professor at Stanford University.

Arturo's teaching in the English Department was legendary and his Chicano Writing course was extremely popular. Students dreamed of getting in then feared that they'd fall short of Arturo's expectations once they got in. The class, taught only one quarter per year, had a maximum enrollment of ten students.

Professor Islas did not drown us in theory or lecture. He read excerpts of writing, published and unpublished, then led us in a discussion of the writing. What made it authentic? What grabbed our interest? What held the piece together? How did the point of view drive the piece? He would give us a premise to write about and challenge us to follow it; however we were always free to write what we wanted. Each week, Arturo sent us off and urged us to "catch fire." The following class meeting students would share their work, we would discuss it, and the writer would go away with ideas of how to improve the piece. Arturo's opinion of our writing was gospel. We revered him. We worked hard to make him happy – to "catch fire."

I was usually quiet in that class, more so than in other classes, because six of the other students were "heavy hitters" in our dorm. They thought they knew everything. They had the power to dictate who was in and who would be left on the periphery. They hadn't decided yet if I would be one of the favored ones or if they'd leave me out. This was important because their decision would be followed by the rest of the dorm who was, after all, my family and support at this time in my life. To make things more intimidating, they were all juniors and seniors. I was the only a sophomore that had been granted admission to this elite writing course.

One afternoon late in October, we sat in the basement riveted to the pieces of writing that Arturo was reading to us. He began a discussion about point of view, and then he assigned the week's writing challenge. We were to take a situation and portray it through the honest and unsentimental eyes of a child. He cautioned us that this would not be as easy as it sounded. We would have to reach way back and think of an event and our age at that time. Then we'd have to honestly portray the event in that child's voice. He challenged us to do it.

As we left the basement at the end of class, I overheard a couple of students say that they weren't going to try the assignment. They felt that it wasn't of benefit to them at this point in their writing. I thought about what a challenge it would be, and besides, I always tried the assignments Arturo gave us. I wanted to learn more about my passion – writing, and I would try every exercise I came across in an effort to learn my craft.

During the week that followed, I began to write about my childhood. At first, it was very difficult to break down the language into that of a child and still have it sound authentic. I kept working on it all week. The night before my writing class with Arturo, I finally had it. I had written the entire story. I liked it, but was afraid to like it. The next day, I arrived at class early and nervously waited for Professor Islas to arrive. When he arrived, I approached him and spoke to him.

"Arturo, I have a story that I wrote. It's the one about portraying an event through the innocent eyes of a child."

"Oh, good. I'm glad you chose to accept my challenge, Corina. Will you read the story for us this afternoon?"

"Well, that's the problem. I thought maybe you could read it first. I am not sure about this story. I think it's the best thing I have ever written but then again, it could be the worst. I'm nervous to read it in front of everyone. Could you please read it when you have time and let me know what you think?"

"You really should read it this afternoon." He looked at me and realized that I was shaking. His gentle look softened even more as he smiled and slowly nodded his head. "Alright, Corina. I'm sure it is fine, but if you really don't want to read it today, I will take it and return it to you next time."

Throughout the class I sat in agony, thinking that Arturo now had my story and would see the incredibly difficult job he had ahead of him if I was to become a writer. I waited all week to hear what he had to say. I couldn't concentrate on anything else. I had to know what Arturo thought of my writing. Finally the day of our class arrived. Arturo nodded at me in acknowledgment but gave me no hint of what he thought of my story. I became more nervous, convinced that he had hated it. He began class and one student read a short piece. During the discussion the others were quite harsh in their opinions of the work. I watched as the student squirmed, under attack. Once finished, Arturo asked for more volunteers. No hands went up.

"Corina has a story she wants to read." He handed me the paper with a smile and a nod. As I read, I heard only ringing in my ears. It was difficult to read, difficult to concentrate on my story, but I kept on reading. Finally, when I had finished, there was silence.

"Does anyone have any comments for Corina?" He searched the faces gathered around the long table. No hands went up. No heads nodded. No heads shook. Nothing.

In those few moments of silence, I knew that the story was the most horrible thing ever written in human history. I shrank in my seat, wanting to become invisible. Then Arturo bent toward me slightly, looked me in the eyes, smiled and whispered, "Corina, you caught fire!"

He went on to cite the ways in which I had done an extraordinary job and how I had captured the innocence of the child while staying away from becoming sentimental or judgmental. I missed most of what he said. My heart sang so loud that it rang in my ears, blocking out his words of praise. Then the others joined in. I sat, trying not to jump out of my body through my smile. I had not only caught fire, I had been the first one to do so that quarter.

More importantly, I knew for sure that I was a writer. I knew that I had it in me and that I should not ever stop writing. That day my writing caught fire and I was determined to not ever let the fire go out.

Throughout the years, when I feel like I cannot go on; like I cannot write; like I will not ever get anything published, I think back to that October afternoon so many years ago. I close my eyes and I listen to Arturo's voice as he says to me, "Corina, you caught fire!"

Corina Carrasco is a former public school teacher and a UCLA Writing Project Fellow. She has presented staff development to writing teachers in the public schools. A single mom, she has raised three children. The youngest child leaves for college this summer. Corina is looking forward to finally getting "her turn" and to concentrating on her writing and editing two novels. She currently enjoys blogging and writing.

A genuine pleasure to have Corina Carrasco as La Bloga's guest columnist today. Thank you, Corina. We're looking forward to welcoming you as a guest again, soon. Gente, La Bloga welcomes guest columnists. If you have an idea, or a finished piece, leave a comment or click here to discuss your invitation.

By Guest Writer John Saunders

Las hijas de Juan: Daughters Betrayed by Josie Mendez-Negrete. Duke University Press, 2006. 200 plus pages.

Josie Mendez-Negrete tells the story of her mother and her sisters as well as her own story. She tells her story in a straightforward and deep fashion. Total and complete sincerity. She hates her father for what he has done. Josie's mother married at fifteen and came to live in the United States. Josie's father was a tyrant. He was also a drunk. He was a figure who wanted total and complete control over the women in his family. He was repeatedly guilty of incest with his daughters. One of the daughters became pregnant and gave birth to her father's child. Josie's mother seems to have been in a state of denial. For Josie school was a place where she could escape from her father. A family friend alerted the authorities as to what was going on in the family and the authorities got involved. The facts came out at the trial. How Josie and her sisters managed to survive in this abusive incestuous situation is beyond my comprehension. The fact that Mendez-Negrete was able to share her story is a service to all of us. If there are other incest stories out there as sincere and believable as this one ---- I would like to read them. Mendez-Negrete's writing skills are excellent. The story flows! It really does. This book is one that alerts us to what goes on in all cultures, I would suppose. It is a story that deals with one Hispanic family. Yet the story has a universal dimension to it. For some reason ---- Holocaust stories come to mind. Josie and her sisters suffered inhumane treatment at the hands of their father. Everything in the book rings true -- in my opinion. I recommend this book for teachers and for the general public (adult public, that is). A story well told. A topic that all of us need to be aware of ---- no matter who we are. Josie Mendez-Negrete is Associate Professor of Mexican American Studies in the Division of Bicultural-Bilingual Studies at the University of Texas, San Antonio.


A Land So Strange: The Epic Journey of Cabeza de Vaca by Andres Resendez

This is an amazing book that is packed with information and told in a manner that would interest the general public. It tells the reader much about the resilience of four Spaniards and one Moorish slave who wound up on the west coast of Florida when they had expected to settle in Mexico. Cabeza de Vaca and the slave Estebanico are the two principal characters in the narrative. What amazes is the fact that Cabeza de Vaca had respect for the Indian tribes and wanted all Spaniards to live in harmony with the Indians --- and not see them only as slaves. Of course Cabeza de Vaca was never able to convince the political powers to see the potential benefit of equality for Indian tribes. Cabeza de Vaca comes across as an admirable individual with englightened views. The three Spaniards and Estebanico survived years among the Indian tribes because they were seen by the Indians as healers. As the fine historian that he is ---- Resendez is able to flesh out the viewpoint of Indians as well as those of the three Spaniards and their Moorish companion. What amazes me is the economy of the book. Resendez sticks to basics. He places this saga in perspective. This is one of the finest books I have read concerning a neglected episode in the history of North America. Resendez is such an amazing teller of stories. Throughout the two hundred pages of this book I felt that I was right there living this story with the three Spaniards and Estebanico. I highly recommend this book. My guess is that if you read it ---- you will continue until you reach the final page. Many helpful footnotes as well as recommended reading. Andres Resendez is truly a master at his craft. He has a degree from El Colegio de Mexico and a Ph.D. in history from the University of Chicago. He is a member of the faculty at History Department, University of California at Davis.

im sure you've all felt this way

Jim Dale, narrator of the US audio book editions of the Harry Potter novels, is the subject of two new articles now online. The first comes from the Minneapolis Star Tribune, where Mr. Dale is discusses the countless voices he... Read the rest of this post