Holding Charlene’s manuscript in my hands seemed sacred. I proceeded to call my mother, my grandmother, and my Native friends, telling them about the story I had just read and reading them certain excerpts. I wrote my report. It was insistent. It stated that this was a story that had to be published. It needed work, but it also needed to be out in the world.
After sending in my report, I continued to check in about the novel. Was Tu Books going to publish it? About six months later, it was decided: Indian No More would see the light of day. I was ecstatic.
Soon after, I was invited to be a part of the 2018 New Visions Award Writing contest. The day we voted on the winner, I was pulled aside and told that Charlene was ill and in hospice. I was greatly saddened by the news. Stacy reassured me that Tu was still going to publish the book and that Charlene had asked her friend and fellow writer Traci Sorell to pick up the edits where she left off, to bring it fully into the world. Traci is a fellow citizen of the Cherokee Nation. We began a dialogue shortly after Charlene’s passing and funeral.
A month or so later, Stacy asked if I would be the co-editor of the book. I went home and sat with that invitation. On the one hand, it would be a giant honor. On the other hand, I knew that this work would hold a great deal of responsibility.
What many non-Natives do not realize is that it is very rare for us to “get the microphone” within society. And when we do, we are very, very aware of all the Native Americans standing with us. We speak for ourselves as individuals — we all have a voice — but we are never speaking only for ourselves. We are speaking for a much larger group on some level: our family, our community, our tribal nation, and the greater nations at large. We feel the responsibility to get it right the first time, because we might not get that microphone again for a long time . . . if ever.
So with great honor, I said yes.
Books are published all the time. There are giant machines that have been in place for centuries to put stories out on shelves or in magazines and newspapers. Yet Native people do things differently. We value relationships above financial outcomes. We take time in making our decisions. We are always seeking the best for the group and not just the individual. I had in my hands a number of people to make sure to honor: There was Charlene, her husband Roger, and her family; Charlene’s Native friends and community in Vermont; the people of Grand Ronde; our new writer, Traci Sorell; her family, my family, our Cherokee Nation, the larger Native American population, and all of our collective ancestors. There was also the African American community, since our story takes place during the Civil Rights era, and our protagonist’s closest friends are Black Americans. Oh, yes . . . and the people of Tu Books and Lee & Low.
Traci and I set about the work. Our first editorial meeting was held on October 14, 2018 in New York City, on what was formerly Columbus Day. She then headed back to Oklahoma to get to work. With my first editorial notes, a box of Charlene’s research and notes, and Charlene’s original manuscript, Traci began developing and writing the next draft. We went back and forth with it, preparing it — not for Tu Books, but for Traci’s trip to The Confederated Tribes of the Grand Ronde Community (CTGRC) in Oregon. Traci and I are Cherokee. We were (and are still) no authority on Grand Ronde or Umpqua history. Charlene too had planned to seek out elders and culture keepers at the reservation to go over her manuscript. Unfortunately, Charlene didn’t have the chance for that final trip to Grand Ronde. Now Traci was going in Charlene’s stead, retracing her footsteps and filling in the blanks. David Harrelson, the department manager, and his team spent several days generously giving of their time working with her.
While Traci was there, Stacy and I met to discuss the cover. Traci had shared with us a list of Native American illustrators and artists to consider. In the end, we felt that the work of Marlena Myles (Spirit Lake Dakota, Mohegan, Muscogee Creek) would be perfect for Indian No More. Stacy reached out to see if she would do it. We received a yes.
A few weeks later, I traveled to Vermont to meet with Charlene’s family and friends. I had never had the opportunity to meet Charlene in person, and if I was going to honor her, her family, and her adopted Native community there, I needed to hear some stories — to get to know Charlene in any way I could. We met on a snowy day in Montpelier. Sarah Rosenthal, a friend of Charlene’s, had offered her office, a large converted Victorian home, for our meeting. I knew we would have elders coming, so we set up the room with chairs in a circle. We would do this the Native way. For four hours, we went around the circle, sharing all we wanted to share about Charlene and the story she had written. I received permission to take notes and asked questions from time to time. Abenaki, Shoshone, Cherokee, and non-Native allies lifted Charlene, an Umpqua, up in story that day.
Coincidentally (or maybe more serendipitously), Traci was also in Vermont that weekend. She arranged for us to have dinner with Charlene’s husband Roger McManis, Charlene’s daughter Sarah, and her granddaughter. Again we lifted up Charlene in story.
