Angel Luis Colón

Two months since I felt a need to blog. Feels like twenty fucking years, eh?

I hope everyone is doing well. I know it almost feels hollow to hear/read that since it’s a general and broad sentiment shared by maybe 98% of the population, but hey, I mean it.

Anyway, I don’t write things unless I have an intent and blogging is if anything, a soapbox, so I find myself with something to soapbox.

This, all of this? It was always broken. The systems, the infrastructure, the very essence of what we believe is a free society. All of it. Broken. People simply choose to ignore it in the hopes that it will go unnoticed; maybe even disappear.

Problem is, nothing broken goes away until you clean it up.

I understand we need hope, but I think the past three and a half years has at least opened many eyes to just how broken everything is and now with the realization that clean up might not be an overnight gig, some folks are retreating to the old ways–maintain eye contact to the horizon, keep walking, no looking down, etc.

That’s a problem.

I’ve found a lot of the fear that comes from the realization of level of effort is stemmed by trying to bring incremental improvement to my own life. And when I say incremental, I mean incremental.

I used to – ha, still do – have a worrying problem. Any decision that could possibly make ripples elsewhere, I break it down and try to imagine all the angles. I’ve realized it’s more a mix of fear and procrastination than it is actual caution, but it’s something that’s given me more agita than I ever really needed in life and was at one point in my life dulled by a little more chemical abuse.

Without that luxury, well, I sort of have to face things down.

And I realized what I was doing wrong when I broke my problems and decisions down: I always thought of myself last. I worked backwards and it was a really dumb way of breaking things down.

Now, I’m not a proponent of radical selfishness, but I do believe when we internalize we should start with us. We need to work from the inside out and while yes, duh, Angel, of course that’s how it should work; well, how often does it really work that way? How often do we make our decisions entirely around what others will think or based on what others could/would do for/to us? How often do we do this when we’re rarely on the minds of those we’re thinking of?

So why bother driving yourself insane? What good will that do to drive the improvement – to clean the mess that is you? Or do we use others as excuses to ignore our own shattered nonsense and are more willing to step on broken glass than we are to simply find the goddamn broom?

Not sure what the answer is there, but I think it starts with us. I think it starts with taking stock of ourselves, realizing what makes us happy, and being true to who we are. We’re surrounded by rubble but we have an opportunity to better ourselves in a way no generation has before. So why not give it a shot and why not do it on our own terms?

Shit, it’s not like anyone is literally next to us in the case it blows up in our faces.

Anyway, stay safe and healthy. Hope you’re all OK and finding ways to occupy yourselves and maybe make those incremental changes that help you to cope, breathe a little easier, and possibly improve things.

And if not? That’s fine too. Just holler if you need an ear.

I’ve been thinking about “jokes” and growth.

As a retired college edge-lord, I was once into dead baby jokes, Opie & Anthony, and pushing people’s buttons with low hanging fruit. Standard bullshit that most kids with privilege get away with. “No disrespect”, “Not for nothing”, and “I don’t mean to be fucked up” were the perennial qualifiers to shield me from accountability and valid critical feedback.

Obviously, I’ve grown older and I’ve (thankfully) taken a step back and learned to change my behavior. I’m not done, but I do think I’ve got a bead on maintaining a semi-decent human status in the real world. I simply try to think before I speak. No easy feat—seriously—we’re creatures of impulse and it is a struggle to fight against impulses both indoctrinated and natural. Humans prefer paths of least resistance and being a conscientious member of society is filled with resistance.

But going back to the “only joking” nonsense. Like I mentioned before, introspection and hindsight are a hell of a thing and even with my attempts to change my own behavior it took a very long time to realize that those qualifying statements were thornier than I ever realized.

Because the translation of those qualifiers is quite simple, “Allow me to make light of a person’s social circumstances in a way that is entirely devoid of thought, empathy, and good taste.” “Allow me to think so little of you that I would have the fucking nerve to classify this as a joke as opposed to what it truly is.”

That’s what I hear myself saying all those years ago.

Now, I also see how this is a slippery slope. I’m not a fan of alarmist silliness and extreme wokeness. That behavior strikes me as suspect (and for good reason, anyone who jumps on every slight tends to have something to hide) but I also see validity in trying to ensure that I take people seriously enough and with enough respect to navigate my interactions with them as well as I can. And what’s funny about that is how easy it’s been to form good habits out of this; from pronoun use to simple moments where a pause benefits the words that come out of my mouth next.

I don’t think we can begin to walk a more conscientious path without acknowledging our internal biases and our bad habit of preferring ease in our social interactions. Truthfully, I find these things out about me every day and I work to try to see where I can improve myself in a way that benefits my goals without stepping on anyone’s throat.

I constantly fuck up—micro-fuck ups, but still fuck ups. I think that’s OK too. Well, so long as the mistake isn’t fucking insane or littered with bullshit good intentions. There’s also a matter of balance. Too much thought isn’t good either—and it’s stressful. I’m not sure I’ve found the balance, but I feel sort of good that it’s even on my mind.

I guess as I get older, I’m finding that self-improvement is sort of the same as the golden rule. If I’m going to better myself, than I need to treat others better too, right?

I fucking hate the term “trunk novel”. I hate what it implies and how writers use it as an excuse for giving up.

I’ve had a few trunk novels.

And then I didn’t.

I’ve been pretty open about my writing career since I started being serious about this 6/7 years ago. I’ve talked about my path and how semi-meteoric it almost was.

And then it wasn’t.

Throughout the time I spent working on craft, I wrote a novel that could be classified as a trunk novel. It just didn’t gel. It was awkward and overwritten. It wasn’t so much my skill level was absent, but my brain was simply not wired for the story I was trying to tell. So, I gave up on the story.

This would clearly drive me crazy. I would land my first agent with another manuscript that inherited some of the spirit of that first novel. I’d write three more books after and lose my agent. I’d publish HELL CHOSE ME and then find myself rejected by nearly 200 agents on the other two projects. All the while, my ego was fucking beaten to hell, my mind still wandered over to that goddamn trunk novel. That damn failure of a book – the lost cause, so to speak.

I couldn’t stop thinking about so much, that I wrote it all over again. Then I wrote it from the ground up two more fucking times.

That book landed me my agent this month.

The trunk novel isn’t a lost cause. It’s more than that. It’s an opportunity to see where you are within your skill set. It’s a place to find out if you are ready for the next step. Sometimes, you’re not and guess what? That’s fine! But I don’t believe in the idea that the trunk has to remain locked up. The story is merely hibernating. Shedding the fat over the winter to emerge lean and fucking mean.

It took me a while to finally be ready for that book and let me tell you, the floodgates opened. I was very fortunate to get a response from this book. Really good responses too. But only one person seemed too get it. Which leads to my decision to go with my agent. They got the damn book. I can’t tell you how validating that feels. Utterly amazing, man. And that was the trunk novel, the “failure” novel!

What I’m saying here is none of your hard work is in vain. The effort you put into your writing and the stories you want to craft is all worth it and will lead to good things in the end. What counts is whether you’re prepared to fucking bleed for it because sometimes, you really need to carve down to the bone.

Be easy,

Angel

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you haven’t already, please listen to Latino USA’s recent coverage of the American Dirt scandal. Hands down some of the best interviewing on this subject I’ve heard. Kudos to Maria Hinojosa for laying down hard questions.

Oh, btw, if you’re tired of me or other Latinx writers talking about this – eat me.

Anyway, there’s a portion of the interview with out of touch token Sandra Cisneros where she talks in circles about using “trash” fiction as a Trojan horse for the stupid or ignorant. While I may think 99% of Cisneros’ comments are garbage, I did agree with this comment on a certain level.

Let’s veer off and talk about that. The use of a pitch to attract readers towards themes that are either subliminal or not immediately apparent – -allegory, if you will. I know, very alien.

I’m a fan of using the Trojan horse method with my allegories. Especially as a writer heavily influenced by pulp fiction – aka, the originator of using allegory to educate the masses. This method is obviously popular in spec fiction but it’s also deeply ingrained in the oral and written traditions of the marginalized. Think about it; if you lived in a world dominated by people who would see your entrails before they would see you read, you’d veer towards using allegory to deliver headier messages too.

And this is why you’ll see many Latinx writers in particular use magical realism as a means of providing relevant themes and messages. You see, the point isn’t to pull empathy or sympathy out of your reader as if they were day drunk on rosé in an East Village bar and got handsy with the hostess. The point is to provide enough rope for your audience to decide if it’s worth jumping off the cliff with you.

Using my own writing as an example. Did you realize (or even read) my sperm bank robbery, NO HAPPY ENDINGS? Sure, someone gets drowned in cum and another person gets electrocuted to death by a taser/prostate stimulator BUT the story is entirely about reconciling our feelings between the people in our lives we’ve lost and the ones we take for granted. It’s the story about a daughter and a father who are too shortsighted to see what they have with each other because of the loss of a loved one. 75% of the story covers that. I just tricked you into getting past the first page with the anal electrocution.

Or how about BLACKY JAGUAR AGAINST THE COOL CLUX CULT? I toss an ex-IRA hard ass into the American South and into a fracas between a Black Lives Matter movement and an Internet troll army. Shockingly, all my white guy protag ACTUALLY does is listen and punch the people trying to do wrong to others. No saviorism, hell, by the end of the book you realize Blacky’s been the villain in ways, but the point of the story was to explore social movements and those willing to exploit the sincere members of those movements. Blacky being the product of decades of indoctrination that broke him and seeing the chance to help something become more than what he experienced without being the focus – an actual ally.

Now what am I trying to say here besides Trojan horsing a sales pitch for two books I wish more people read? I’m saying that there ARE ways to write outside your lane efficiently and with care WHILE pulling off the old David Copperfield. Hell, I’d argue that as writers, we’re required to play the illusionist not just in imagery we convey but also in the themes and narratives we provide our readers. It is entirely possible to educate or provide insight without pretending to be an authority and without stating that it is your only intention.

I’d argue the latter is a byproduct of having your head up your ass for too long.

TLDR: write what you want, lovelies. Read what you want. Just do your damn best at both.

I’m not about to give a certain book releasing today any amount of exposure (instead I’ll share Myriam Gurba’s brilliant take down of the book in question).

I struggle with this little rant because I don’t like the idea of making controversy about me, but this latest controversy does have me thinking a lot about my identity, experiences, and my place within my literary sphere in those regards.

I’m multi-ethnic. This means that while I am white and American, I also have Latinx, Italian, and Irish roots. Growing up, I was raised as a Nuyorican and soon exposed to the Irish side quite a bit. This varied background extends to my family as well. I joke a lot about being the lightest person on my mom’s side and the darkest on my father’s, but this is insanely true. On top of it all, my parents divorced when I was super young. This means I’ve got a half brother who is black and a stepsister who is Korean.

That said, if you look at my books, you realize I’ve taken advantage of a lot of the perspective and relationships I have in my life to help inform some of my writing and characters. There’s nothing wrong with that since, hell, 99% of writers use their lives as the foundational basis for many of their stories. That’s the definition of inspiration.

What I’ve never done, though, is speak for anyone that isn’t me, and I think folks really have a hard time with identifying the line between writing diverse characters and speaking for diverse people. I don’t write my characters with the idea in mind that I am giving a voice or face to some conglomerated mass. That’s not my place because that is not my voice. I like to think whenever I write, I’m providing a voice for Nuyoricans like me who are rarely acknowledged and rarely heard. That’s it. If reading me helps expose someone to other writers like me, that’s a fucking bonus.

Now, Americans, we love us some monolithing. We take whatever looks or sounds alike and try to jam it together in a fruitless effort to make a single, understandable concept that removes any and all effort or thought. Mexicans and Puerto Ricans speak the same language? Cool, they’re the same. Let’s just run some copy through Google Translate and that should be authentic enough, right? What are even dialects and slang and regional shifts in language, lulz?

OK, great. Folks from Texas and folks from New York speak English. Same thing, right? I’m 100% sure not a soul would be offended if I said that, right? I heard a white person call soda “pop” once. All white people must do that.

Pretty fucking dumb way to think.

Anyway, so the monolith. It allows our shitty system to clump us into the same room and exploit us equally. It allows a publisher the freedom to take a writer who has absolutely nothing too do with a culture and make them the “voice for the voiceless” while dumping a shit ton of money into one pocket when they could have distributed that money a little more and received a dozen phenomenal stories – a callous and extremely damaging thing to do to a marginalized community that is constantly vilified and ridiculed. It could have been easy enough to have the writer produce this content without espousing some nonsense noble cause. I would never say a topic is out of bounds for a writer when they feel they have a story to tell, but I would say it’s never in the best interest of those whose story you’re telling that you have positioned yourself as their representative (ironically removing any spotlight for them and muting them entirely).

As the kind of writer who does tackle various people and perspectives in his writing, I’d argue I’m a tertiary source for anything in regards to a leading voice on a people. Want some nonsense fun with diverse casts? I’m your man. Need to understand classism in an Asian country? Maybe try creators like Bong Joon-ho (sorry, he’s relevant and the first to come to mind because Parasite was amazing). Want to read about the border from an actual Mexican writer? Try Yuri Herrera. His works are powerful, excellently translated, and shocker of shocks, pretty authentic. Hell, Myriam Gurba’s MEAN will fucking knock your socks off.

You can also read the literal legion of books by white writers about these subjects too (and there’s nothing wrong with that)! I know for a fact there’s a book releasing this year from a writer about some of these topics and it is excellent. I also know the writer isn’t playing any games about who they are and what they’re trying to do with their story. All I think is maybe, just maybe, if you go to a primary source, you might get a little more out of it than you would by trusting someone who is going to actively speak for that source (while reveling in it on a level that feels oddly fetishistic) and be paid an exorbitant amount of money to do so.

We are not a monolith. Anyone who says so and says so for money should never be trusted. Anyone screaming that they are the voice of the voiceless while they drown out the whispers of the marginalized is the oppressor, not the savior.