The Last Karankawas(74)
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
What an impossible thing: To thank all the people in your life who have made a book—a career—possible. And what a gift, to have so many.
The places I love and have written here: Uvalde and Concan and Southwest Texas, Brownsville and the Rio Grande Valley, and especially Galveston and Fish Village. I have taken some liberties with geography and history, as the locals may spot, but I have worked hard to stay true to the soul of them. Thank you to the land that inspires me and to all the people, present and past, who have shaped these places and stories. Thanks to the writers of Texas, who write our diverse, challenging, complex home into being. And to the Chicanx and Filipinx writers, the women in particular: Thank you for paving the way.
My incredible editor, Ruby Rose Lee, who saw all along the best version this book could be and refused to rest until it was there. Thank you for your sharp eyes, your humor, your patience, and for loving these characters as much as I do. Thanks to Catryn Silbersack, Laura Flavin, Maia Sacca-Schaeffer, to Lynn Buckley and Elizabeth Lennie for the gorgeous cover, and to the whole team at Holt for treating the book with care and enthusiasm and turning my dream into a reality.
Alex Glass, agent extraordinaire. You made this all happen! Thank you for being the first to believe in me and my work, for fiercely championing this book from the beginning, for making me cry over ceviche, and for your constant advocacy.
My writing teachers, many of whom I am lucky to call friends. Above all, Miro Penkov. Thank you for your insight and your instincts, for answering my inane questions—you know I have more—and for the tireless support on this journey. Thank you to Ian McGuire, Javier Rodriguez, John Tait, Corey Marks, and Jill Talbot. Elizabeth McCracken, who saw some of these stories in their roughest forms and polished them, and who helped me find my voice in fiction. Oscar Cásares, for being the best example of writing our roots, our people, and our corners of Texas for the outside world. Steve Harrigan, Jim Magnuson, Cristina García, Peter LaSalle. Elizabeth Harris, the first to tell me I should keep writing. Mrs. Collier, who handed me The House on Mango Street in freshman English. Mr. Hernandez, who told me in fourth or fifth or eighth grade that he loved my stories. Mrs. Cockerill, for inspiring me to move forward, dream big.
My friends, brilliant people and writers who have made me a better person and writer. Thank you to the dynamic duo of Dana De Greff and Sally Treanor. Virginia Wood, for so much encouragement. Ross Wilcox, Spencer Hyde, and Peter Clinton/Clint Peters, who remind me to hustle as only a white male writer can. Bryn Agnew, Charlie Riccardelli, Ruby Al-Qasem, Kate Gollahon, Allyson Jones, Conor Burke, Jeff Pickell, Natalie Foster, Katherine Schneider, Shannon Couey, Andrew Ross, Cole Jeffrey, Christa Reaves, Mandy Hughes, and all my friends in the UNT trenches. Sebastian Páramo, for endless support of the DFW writing community and for giving me the title of this book. Claire Beeson, for being the best damn reader, book clubber, and hype crew around. Alexis Loyd, who believed back in Houston that this could happen. The faculty and staff at UNT and UT-Austin, and my many classmates and students.
David Vance, Jackie Cuevas, Sonia Saldívar-Hull, Norma Cantú, and my colleagues and friends at UTSA. Thank you for having faith in me, for sharing words of wisdom, and for sending mountains of support as I completed this book during a pandemic. Thank you to my wonderful students here in San Antonio.
The journals that first published early versions of these stories—Copper Nickel, Huizache, TriQuarterly, Puerto del Sol, and CutBank—and their editors. Thank you for giving my work such good homes.
The bad-ass cohort of the 2019 Bread Loaf Environmental Writers Conference. Thank you to the inestimable Claire Vaye Watkins and our whole fiction workshop. Special thanks to the amazing Kate McQuade, who pointed me to Alex and helped me navigate this whole process!
The San Ysidro Ranch Writer’s Residency and Alston and Holly Beinhorn. Thank you for giving me time and beautiful space (and that coyote soundtrack) to revise and recharge so close to home.
My extended circle of friend-family. Elissa Luevano Martinez, Rocio Cruz, and Pam and Kristen Mendel, for the love and encouragement. The Lutton clan, my tíos in the Do-Nothing Club, my titas from Houston. Thank you to my stepmother, Ester, who has the best taste in books (I hope you like this one). My loved ones in Galveston and Houston, Brownsville, and back home in Uvalde who have carried me with them all these years.
Kevin “Mr.” Yanowski, librarian to the stars. Thank you for coffee and friendship and fierce belief, and for allowing me to take full advantage of the Yahouski Couch Residency whenever I’m in Denton.
Amanda Yanowski. For being The Person at every turn, through every change, big or small. First and best writer and reader, first and best friend. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
My family, the Garzas and the Riveras. What can I say? Gracias and salamat to my grandparents, tías and tíos, titas and titos, who raised me to be proud of my heritages and the places and stories that run in my blood. To my cousins, my ride or die: Thank you for inspiring much of this book (and checking my Tagalog—thanks, Kim Gian!). To my nieces and nephews, for keeping us all young.
Finally:
My father, Steve. Thank you for giving me books and telling me stories, teaching me to love them—and baseball, and the Valley—and for still being the foremost expert on all things South Texas. My sister, Lindsay. Thank you for making me laugh, for crying with me and making sure my hair is OK on Zooms and having my back at every step, especially the strange and scary ones we have climbed together. And my mother, Rose. Thank you for believing, for showing me how to live fearlessly, and how to leave joy and love in the world long after I am gone. I keep you in every word of these pages. I love you all. This book is for you.