Fiction by Americans of color.

So this is kind of a post about writing, although it's mostly about the state of the publishing industry, and I am probably the wrong person to be making these comments. But here we go anyway!

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I recently finished reading Shutter by Ramona Emerson. Let me say upfront that I liked it a lot. It's a police procedural/mystery/thriller with a side of woo-woo. I don't read a lot of police procedurals, but as alert hearth/myth readers know, I do enjoy the woo-woo. (Also, it was recommended to me by a former co-worker whose brother attended the Institute of American Indian Arts with the author.)

The main character is Rita Todacheene, a young Navajo woman who works as a forensic photographer for the Albuquerque Police Department. She gets sent out to take photos of crime scenes, including those of fatal accidents and murders. The Navajo are superstitious about death; do the wrong thing and you can attract the attention of a ghost, which then can attach itself to you and make your life a living hell. Unfortunately, Rita is sensitive to seeing dead people, and during the course of the novel, several ghosts attach themselves to her, insisting that she find justice for them. The most obnoxious is Erma; her death is ruled a suicide by the detective on the scene, but Erma insists that she was murdered and that Rita needs to find her killer. That search gets Rita involved with a drug cartel and nearly causes her to lose her job, because anyone who claims to see ghosts is crazy, right? On top of that, her grandmother is frightened of what all this exposure to evil is doing to Rita. She wants Rita to quit her job and come home to the reservation. But Rita decides to see it through. 

Emerson is Diné, which is what the Navajo call themselves. The book was longlisted for the 2022 National Book Award in fiction. I didn't know how the awards work, so I looked it up: ten books in each award category are longlisted each year, five of those are named finalists, and then one is named the winner. Being named to a top-ten list like that, out of all the books published in one year, is significant.

As I said, I liked it a lot. But the writing is kind of pedestrian, and if it hadn't had the Native American cultural angle, I think it would have been received a lot like any other thriller.

That brought to mind the movie American Fiction, which I reviewed when it came out a couple of years ago. The film's main character is a Black academic from an upper-middle-class family who is on the verge of losing his professorship because his books aren't selling. To prove a point, and because he needs the money, he writes a novel with all the tropes of Black fiction that the White publishing world considers hard-hitting and real -- drug deals, poverty in the ghetto, and all the rest. He gets a huge advance and book award nominations, of course. It's complicated (and funny) in his case by his agent's insistence that he pretend to be a murderer who's on the lam, but it still frustrates him that White publishers are only interested in celebrating one view of minority life.

Of course, that's because the gritty stuff is what sells. And the publishing game is all about the money.

I'm not saying Shutter won recognition solely because its author is Diné. It's a good book, and I'm going to read the sequel. It just made me go "hmm", that's all.

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And yeah, I'm going to shut up about it now.

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Until the next time, probably.

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These moments of going-hmm blogginess have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell. Stay safe!

Plotting backwards.

As you've probably noticed, I haven't been in the head space to talk much about writing lately. Other than holiday ficlets, I haven't written anything new since The Atherton Vampire books.

But this weekend, I attended a couple of writing workshops at Bubonicon in Albuquerque: one on marketing for indie authors and the other one on plotting a novel. The plot workshop was supposed to be run by Connie Willis, an author of terrific fantasy novels. But she was sick and couldn't attend, so Michael A. Stackpole, who writes science fiction and other stuff, pinch-hit for her. 

nupix | Deposit Photos

I've discussed plotting and pantsing here on the blog before. To summarize: Plotting involves writing an outline (or something vaguely resembling an outline); pantsing involves writing without a plan -- just seeing where the story leads you.

I'm a plotter, as I've said before. A plot doesn't have to be the kind of numbered outline or set of bullet points that you learned to do in middle school; my method for novels (I'm more of a pantser for short stories) evolved over time into something resembling a story-beats outline (the classic how-to book on the method is Save the Cat!). 

I liked Mike's description yesterday about plotting a novel: you're not writing the story twice, as some writers fear; instead, the plot is the road map, and the writing is actually taking the journey.

We went through an exercise that I wasn't invested in -- the book we were supposedly plotting was a YA story about a boy who needed to learn how to hit a curve ball -- but I could see how the general principles would translate to a book in any genre. The framework he used is sometimes called the Hero's Journey. If you've read enough fiction or watched enough movies, you almost don't need to read up on it: the protagonist -- we'll call him Spike -- is called to the quest; Spike has a team to help him; Spike needs a Mentor, who helps him begin the transformation; something happens to bring Spike to his lowest point ever; he strives to overcome that adversity; and at last, he makes the final transformation to victory. Team trophy, pizza party, Mentor marries Spike's mom, everybody lives happily ever after.

But then Mike said something intriguing. Both plotters and pantsers start with an idea, or what's labeled in the Hero's Journey as the "call to adventure". But presumably even pantsers have some idea of where they see the story ending up. I mean, if the kid starts out wanting to learn how to hit a curve ball, then he needs to hit that curve ball by the end of the book, right? So you could actually start at the end of the journey and build your plot backward.

I'm not sure I personally would ever write a plot outline backward, but if you know where you're starting and where you're going, it's a technique to try if you're stuck.

This next bit of advice is from me: Keep in mind is that any plot you develop at the beginning of a project is never set in stone. That's what I like about the graphic at the top of this post. The letters are just clipped to the clothesline. You could move them around or add more letters and come up with a completely different way to get from P to T. If your characters hate what you're planning for them to do at plot point L, you can improvise with something they would rather do but that would still get them to plot point O. I've had to do that a number of times. As long as you eventually get to T, and as long as the story hangs together, it's all good.

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I'm still mulling over the marketing session. I'll keep you posted.

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These moments of bloggy plotting have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell. Save the cat!

Break free of the color recession!

 

Milkos | Deposit Photos

Why is this woman sad? I'd guess it's because she's wearing neutral-toned clothing in a neutral-toned room. But maybe that's just me.

Alert hearth/myth readers know I've complained about the neutralization of our interiors many times over the years. (I won't bore you with links. Trust me when I say there are a lot of them.) I've blamed it on HGTV, but it's not just me -- and it's not just interiors. I was chatting with a friend about textiles today. We talked about how in times long past, the rich and powerful dressed in purple and red because the dyes were so expensive. Clothing in saturated colors conveyed status; poor folks wore neutral colors. But nowadays, it's flipped: the wealthy are wearing black, grays and tans, and colorful clothes are for lesser folks.

Cars, too, have become endlessly neutral. An article in The Atlantic this week (that should be a gift link) quotes a study that tracks new car colors. In 2004, the share of new cars manufactured in greyscale colors was 60 percent; in 2023, it was 80 percent. Wonder why nearly every car you see on the road is some variation of black, gray, or white? Now you know.

The homogenization of the American color palette began around the end of World War II, according to The Atlantic article, when developers needed to build new housing stock fast for returning veterans. Limiting the housing styles in a subdivision and the colors of those new houses was a way to meet demand quickly. Then HOAs decreed that uniformity was best. (And doesn't it just figure that HOAs would be part of the problem?)

As for boring car colors, the article puts part of the blame on federal environmental legislation passed in the 1970s, including the Clean Air Act of 1970. Lacquer paints didn't meet the new pollution standards, and more ecologically acceptable paints were more expensive, so manufacturers began limiting the colors that cars came in. 

We've been convinced over the years that neutral colors are better for resale value for both cars and houses, but surveys have shown that colorful finishes actually sell better. Yet here we are, stuck in grayland, even though it could be taking a toll on our mental health. From the article: "A review last year of more than 100 studies of the effect of color on emotion found that gray consistently triggered fatigue, boredom, or sadness." 

This neutralization of our world has been going on for decades now. Color experts, according to the article, think the myths about bland colors being best have become self-fulfilling. They don't believe bright colors will be coming back to our environments anytime soon. 

My friends, you know what to do.

As for me, once my leaky solar windows are fixed next year and the damage from the leaks is repaired, I am drenching my living room in this specific shade of turquoise blue. I mean it.

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These moments of color-drenched blogginess have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell. No more gray!

Why I haven't been collecting Navajo rugs.

I don't mean to turn this into a fiber arts blog, but here we are. I'll try to find something else to talk about next week.

This is the 36th year that the Museum of New Mexico Foundation has run a Navajo rug auction as a fundraiser. It's always in the courtyard between the Palace of the Governors and the New Mexico History Museum (except for during COVID, when they did it virtually). This year's took place yesterday. 

I would love to own a Navajo rug. However, they are out of my budget. How far out, you ask? Well, I went to the preview yesterday morning to give you a taste. And also for the eye candy.

Lynne Cantwell 2026

I'm kind of looking for a new rug for my living room to replace the 8' by 10' polypropolene rug I have now. That blue one at the top of the rack could work, although it would be a little small at 52" by 72". Navajo rugs come in a number of different regional styles. This one is Moki (or Moqui) style, and the weaver is Deanna Begay. The price they estimated was between $6,000 and $9,000.

That's actually not bad for a rug that size. Here's a bigger one -- 56" by 100" -- that I liked a lot. It's Teec Nos Pos style. The tag shows the weaver, Elsie Begay, with the full rug.

Lynne Cantwell 2026

The cost? Between $20,000 and $30,000. But it's huge. And look at the work she put into it! It must have taken her forever to weave. Keep in mind that all of these rugs are handwoven.

I can do stripes. I can do solid colors. I'd go mad doing something like that one.

Or like this one. It's Chinle style. The colors aren't the same as more traditional rugs, but it's still beautiful, right? The weaver is Sylvia Baldwin, I think the tag says; the rug is not quite 2' by 3', and the estimated price is between $1,300 and $1,900. 

Lynne Cantwell 2026

All those little diamonds, yeesh. Totally worth the money.

Here are a couple of pictorial rugs. The bottom one features yei, or Navajo gods/spirits; the top one shows yeibichai, or humans acting as yei during a ceremony. The tag on the yeibichai rug says it's 17" by 38" and was priced between $700 and $1,300. I could almost afford that, if the auction price didn't go much higher. 

Lynne Cantwell 2026

There were so many beautiful rugs. The last one I'll share is this black, tan and blue one. I really liked it. Like, really liked it. It's Sanostee style, which Mama Google tells me is similar to Two Grey Hills, and it's 32" by 48". The weaver is Bessie Dan. That's her in the photo on the tag, holding up this rug. It's priced between $1,600 and $2,400.

Lynne Cantwell 2026

So maybe if I saved up for a year or two. Or in the case of something like that Teec Nos Pos rug, a lifetime or two.

After my tour of the auction preview, I checked out the history museum gift shop. At least they had stuff in my price range.

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If I were serious about getting a Navajo rug, there's a community auction every month in Crownpoint, NM, near Gallup, that I would probably check out. You buy directly from the weavers there.

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Navajo rugs are all wool. They are meant to be walked on, although the pictorials are often hung on a wall.

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These moments of beautiful but expensive blogginess have been brought to you, as a public service, by Lynne Cantwell. Just appreciate the beauty; don't think about the price...