With many available publishing resources—from self-publishing to large publishing houses—there is still a need for more published Indigenous writers. Over the last fifty years, the quantity of published work by Indigenous writers has been very small, which is not at all reflective of the depth of Indigenous stories. In the way Srikanth Reddy explored the life and poetry of Margaret Danner in the March 2022 issue of Poetry, I wondered about all the “overlooked” Indigenous writers. Reddy queried in his introduction about Margaret Danner and the familiar elevator ride she took to the fifth-floor Poetry offices in the Newberry Library in the early 1950s, “she couldn’t avoid thinking about upward and downward mobility, race and society, and poetic justice.” What a representative sentiment for marginalized peoples, and certainly the Native American experience in the United States.

While the emotion behind that statement still resonates, the opportunities for Indigenous writers to achieve publication from Indigenous-founded and operated publishers is possible. Currently, there are about twenty Native American and First Nations small-press publishers with books ranging from children’s literature, tribal language and history, to graphic novels and comic books. Dr. Lee Francis IV, founder of Native Realities Press, owner of Red Planet Books & Comics in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and the organizer of Indigenous Comic Con, has created multiple opportunities to showcase Indigenous writers and illustrators. Theytus Books is the oldest Indigenous publishing house in Canada, located in Syilx territory on the Penticton Indian Reserve in British Columbia, and the Chickasaw Press is a tribally-owned publishing house proudly exercising “cultural and intellectual sovereignty” with its rich history and culture publications. These interviews introduce Amber McCrary and Tyler Mitchell, both from the Diné nation, representing the newest generation of Indigenous publishers.

I first met Amber McCrary via my daughter, Sierra Edd, and got to know her better when she interviewed me for a podcast on one of my recent editorial publications, The Diné Reader. Her momentum to take forward her publishing house, Abalone Mountain Press, and her commitment to Indigenous publishing is an achievement worth celebrating.

I first met Tyler Mitchell at one of the first Emerging Diné Writers’ Institutes in Crownpoint, New Mexico. While he was an intern at Salina Bookshelf, Inc., he also took part in the weeklong workshops. Now he is an editor with Salina Bookshelf, an independent publishing house with longstanding roots on the Navajo reservation, and works with Eric Lockard, one of the founders of Salina Bookshelf.
—Esther Belin

Amber McCrary from Abalone Mountain Press

Esther Belin: Tell me about your role as the owner and publisher of Abalone Mountain Press, and a little history about the publishing house. Why did you decide to work in publishing?

Amber McCrary: My role as a publisher is to publish books, chapbooks, and zines by Indigenous people. The books/zines could range anywhere from poetry to coloring books. Abalone Mountain Press started in January of 2021. The press is named after Abalone Shell Mountain or what most people know as the San Francisco Peaks in Flagstaff, Arizona. I named the press Abalone Mountain Press because I grew up in Flagstaff and I owe a lot of my artistic voice and vision to the location. I decided to work in publishing because I noticed many Native writers like myself were having a hard time finding a press that they felt comfortable submitting their work to. It was interesting because many of us young Native writers felt like we had to give up part of ourselves to make our work “publishable” or we had to write a certain way for many non-Native editors and publishers to “understand” our work as Native writers. Sometimes writing from a Pan-Indian perspective can be easier for non-Natives to read or buy, as opposed to writing specifically based on one’s tribe and own language. With a press like Abalone Mountain Press, my mission is to create a press that gives full collaborative freedom between the writer and editor.

EB: What are some of the unique qualities you are noticing about publishing Indigenous writers?

AM: Unique qualities about publishing Native writers are infinite it seems. Every Native person I’ve met has a different story than the next because our histories and experiences are so complex. The reason I started the press is because I noticed there were so many naturally talented Diné poets. From there, I noticed this wasn’t just “a Diné thing”—many Indigenous people have very strong storytelling skills which they could apply to genre-bending or trans literature. I have read recently Split Tooth by Tanya Tagaq, a good example of blending oral stories, tribal worldviews, poetry, illustration, fiction, and memoir all in one book. If you listen to the audiobook, Tanya does throat singing as well. The way I think of books or the future of Indigenous storytelling would have to be along the lines of what Split Tooth has done. This book has made me think differently about how we learn to write about ourselves. Many Native writers I’ve worked with or read have a drive and a passion for having their stories told in a non-western way, or a way that strays from the white gaze. This is what I hope to continue.

EB: You have mentioned some of the challenges for publishing Native-authored work, what about some of the challenges as a publisher?

AM: Some of the challenges in working in this field right now are funding. I am in my first two years as a small press and did not come from inherited wealth. So, staying afloat with funding the press has been the biggest challenge, but I hope once we get full poetry collections into the world, we, as a press, should be OK. We are starting to generate revenue through book sales. We generally like to set up booths at Native art markets, zinefests, and book festivals. We have been hosting more readings through Palabras Bilingual Bookstore, Birchbark Books, and hopefully Red Planet Books & Comics. The readings have been making a huge difference and our authors do amazing readings every time! But I’m forever grateful for the two Native poets, Taté Walker and Boderra Joe, who took a chance on me and decided to be my first poets published by Abalone Mountain Press.

EB: As a small press, what are the difficulties of engaging with Indigenous writers?

AM: Right now, I would say time is always the thing limiting my ability to engage with Indigenous writers. I’m only one person, so having time to meet with every person that emails me is very tough.

EB: What is working?

AM: What is working has been the support. I am overwhelmed and humbled by how supportive the Native arts and writing community has been. From the time I started as a zinester and poet in my mid-twenties, the first community to reach out to me has been Indigenous folks. But that has also been the only community I was writing toward and writing for. I think it is important to focus on one community, especially the Native communities because there are so many aspects of our history that are complicated and can’t really be taught in one chapter of a history book or a thirty-second clip of a TikTok. That’s why I think books are so important; someone can show you their whole life. I’m happy that so far it has been a reciprocal relationship. Also, from all the support I received as a young writer, it is something that I want to incorporate with my press. I hope the press can reciprocate by creating resources, opportunities, events, and providing guidance to emerging writers.

EB: How do you think your presence in the industry better advocates for people of color publishing their work?

AM: I think my presence in the industry shatters that idea of the Native trope or stereotype, which is sadly so easily publishable if there are no Native editors, publishers, or writers in the world. We would still be seen as a “vanishing mystical people” with no narrative, which in a lot of ways dehumanizes us. It is extremely important for an Indigenous presence to be in literature because most Natives might believe in the clichés of how the mainstream media portrays us. I would like my presence in the industry to show all the facets of who we are. Like Laura Tohe writes in “Within Dinétah the People’s Spirit Remains Strong”:

We are teachers, cowboys, lawyers, musicians. We are medicine people, doctors, nurses, college professors. We are artists, soldiers, politicians, architects, farmers. We are sheep herders, engineers, singers, comediennes. We are weavers of baskets and exquisite blankets. We are bus drivers, welders, ranchers, dishwashers.

EB: Exactly. A stronger Indigenous presence is helpful for everyone. What are you working on now?

AM: Phew! I am working on big projects. The first one is releasing a full collection of poems by Taté Walker and their child Ohíya Walker. Taté is a Lakota two spirit poet, and their child O is a Lakota citizen of the Cheyenne River Sioux Tribe and is also Red Lake Ojibwe and Mvskoke Creek. Their book of poems is called The Trickster Riots. The Trickster Riots weaves through the origins of a lost baby queer in love and spiritache to shapeshift into a momma spider exploring what it means to be a good relative, an obliterator of status quo, and a builder of community.

Our second book this year is Desert Teeth by Boderra Joe. Boderra is a Diné poet from Twin Lakes, New Mexico. Desert Teeth is a collection of poetry that unfolds the wakening shift of scarred violence affecting Native people and land for centuries, where alcohol and uranium, two of many elements, continue to take the lives of our relatives. Each poem lingers and holds the face of the reader through deep explorations of grief, family, identity, and love.

The third and last book Abalone Mountain Press would like to release by the end of the year is titled The Languages of Our Love: An Indigenous Love and Sex Anthology. This book is different than the previous two because it is a book with multiple Indigenous tribal voices and identities (trans, Indigiqueer, straight, women, men, and nonbinary folks). This book was born from an Abalone Writing Circle (which we hold bimonthly) where we randomly started talking and writing about love and sex from the Native perspective. We talked about what love is to us and what our parents said to us about sex (or didn’t). We also talked a lot about how colonization and toxic masculinity have skewed much of how we give or receive love as Native people. The coeditor, Chantal Jung, and I decided this would be something we could make into a book, so we did a call for submissions. We received so many beautiful and powerful poems about love, relationships, heartache, the land, sex, and self-love. We can’t wait to share it in its final form. And the Hummingbird Heart Zine by Kinsale Drake and Alice Mao, which is about inversion of the cishet white, male gaze, alienation, desire, loneliness, queerness, and othernesses.

EB: Wow! Very exciting projects, all so unique. I am curious about the support you have to keep going. What does that look like?

AM: If I didn’t have the support I have right now, I don’t think I would have made it very far with Abalone Mountain Press. Sometimes, I don’t think my parents really understand what I do or what I’m trying to do but they have always been 100% supportive. I never realized how important that is to me until I have seen what others go through, where they do not have a support system. I think both my parents are big motivators of why I am so hell-bent on creating Native books. The more I learn about their stories, the more I have learned that Indigenous people have so many layers to them. My mother was born in Los Angeles, then moved back to the reservation when she was young and had a very tough childhood. As did my dad, but his story is very different than my mom’s because his family was part of the Navajo-Hopi land dispute. An outsider might look at both my parents and see the same story, the same stereotype, or they might not even see them as human because of the stereotypes that afflict us in small reservation border towns. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned what historical trauma, grief, and violence one can endure and still create a beautiful life for their children. I’ve learned no matter what, a Native family is never perfect but the support I get from my family is the meaning of Indigenous joy. And that Indigenous joy and support is the reason many of us are still here today to tell our stories and create (hopefully) many more Native presses in the future.

EB: Axhéhee’, Amber. It has been fun to get to know you better and learn about the work you are doing. It it is important and much needed. I love how you are aware of community resources and building community. Before we end, what advice do you have for anyone just starting out in the publishing world?

AM: For anyone starting out in the publishing world, keep an eye out for any small magazines requesting calls for editors or assistant editors. Or if you have any local presses near you, don’t be afraid to ask if you could intern for them. I wasn’t doing a call for interns at Abalone Mountain Press but a former student of mine asked if she could intern with the press and I said yes. Now I have two interns who have been helping me so much. Never be afraid to ask; the worst answer you will get is a no. If you are having no luck with the publishing world, create your own space. I started out in radical publishing, also known as zines, and found a whole community of people just like me who care about telling their stories. Plus, zines are low cost and can be distributed in zine distros or zinefests. Create art, create stories, and you will find your community.

Eric Lockard and Tyler Mitchell from Salina Bookshelf, Inc.

Esther Belin: Tell me about your roles at Salina Bookshelf, Inc., and a little history about the publishing house.

Eric Lockard: I am acting president at Salina Bookshelf and the company was started with my twin brother, Ken, while we were in high school working on the school newspaper. Having attended most of our early schooling in Pinon, Arizona, on the Navajo reservation, we saw a need for Navajo-language materials. We took that knowledge and energy we received from our time on the school newspaper and directed it into publishing Diné Bizaad: Speak, Read, Write Navajo, a Navajo language textbook written by Irvy Goosen. During a college fair in high school, instead of looking for colleges to attend, we went around the gym showing the new textbook. By the end of the morning, we had an order for thirty textbooks. From there we began to publish children’s books. In 2008, we published Diné Bizaad Bínáoo’aah: Rediscovering the Navajo Language, which became the first Native American–language textbook to be adopted by the state of New Mexico.

Tyler Mitchell: I am the current editor at Salina Bookshelf, which was started in 1994. Eric and Kenneth Lockard have been working with Indigenous writers and illustrators in the Four Corners area for years to create children’s books, YA novels, Navajo-language learning materials, poetry collections, and more. Over the years, they’ve published several children’s picture books, YA, and middle-grade novels, including the Her Land, Her Love series by Dr. Evangeline Parsons Yazzie. Recently, children’s books like Fall in Line, Holden! by Daniel W. Vandever and Becoming Miss Navajo by Jolyana Begay-Kroupa have been recognized by the American Indian Library Association. We’ve also published our first poetry collection, titled Saad Lá Tah Hózhóón: A Collection of Diné Poetry by Rex Lee Jim, which has opened Salina’s future for publishing more poetry.

EB: Wow, that is a great story, Eric. The publishing house is almost in its thirtieth year. Looking back, what advice would you give your teenage self?

EL: I would tell my younger self to trust in building a community of authors, illustrators, and employees who wish to see accurate portrayals of Native American life and Navajo life specifically. This is no easy task, but it provides a foundation for overcoming the challenges you will undoubtedly encounter along this journey. I would continue to assure my younger self that many of the projects you will undertake will take several years to produce. This will cause a shift in viewpoint from expecting immediate results to realizing publishing is a journey. While on this journey you will witness the strength of those around you in honoring your shared commitment to provide your readership with literature that relates to them on a personal level.

EB: Tyler, what drew your interest in Salina Bookshelf?

TM: I was first introduced to Salina Bookshelf by my former editor LaFrenda Frank. She worked at Salina during the summers and was a professor of English and composition at Diné College. She was one of my English teachers, and I asked her if there was any opportunity for an English-major student to find a job in publishing. Right then and there, she advised me to come visit the Salina Bookshelf offices after settling into Flagstaff, to see if I could become an intern. I worked with Salina that summer in 2017 scheduling interviews with upcoming authors, managing the social media pages, assisting LaFrenda with manuscript submissions. Once that summer was over, I was hired onto the Salina team officially, and my love for literature, especially Native literature, was fueled by my mentoring by LaFrenda who I learned under for two years before her sudden passing in 2019. Since 2020, I’ve been working with several authors on producing new children’s picture books, which will be releasing later this year and in 2023.

EB: Yes, LaFrenda was a long-time advocate of Indigenous literature. She is missed for sure. How did your internship help you manage the unique qualities of publishing Indigenous writers at a small press?

TM: As Diné, storytelling has always been a part of my upbringing. Whether it was learning about my history, the Long Walk, or traditional stories taught in schools, the importance of lessons learned through stories was always an important part of my worldview. Though I heard these tales growing up, it wasn’t until my time at Diné College under the tutoring of LaFrenda Frank and poet Orlando White where I learned the importance of Indigenous writers telling Indigenous stories. Under these two instructors I learned about Laura Tohe, Irvin Morris, Luci Tapahonso, Sherwin Bitsui, and you, Esther Belin, and how their voices illuminated the lifestyle I was accustomed to. When working with Salina, I’m always reminded of that connection to my culture. Almost every manuscript I receive has some sort of urgency behind it—that urgency of telling a story that motivates, or teaches a very valuable lesson about family, land, and/or language. When handling Indigenous stories, I feel there is an added responsibility from the writer, from the publisher, from myself to share a story that showcases our language and traditions respectfully and honestly. When the right story is told, there’s always so many layers of information embedded, whether it be language, imagination, contemporary issues, traditional issues, history. Simple stories told on the reservation carry so much weight of love and care within and about a community, and to be surrounded by that power of storytelling within a community has always inspired and motivated me.

EB: I love what you say about the urgency of telling a story, especially about the right story. I feel like almost everything about Native American history is urgent because there’s such a void and what is out there is inaccurate, simplified, or racist. Native people also have to become writers in addition to everything else we do. I know that sense of urgency, that state of emergency, and I’ve had to learn to temper that emotion with timing, like really believe that our stories will be told, but because they are also precious to us, we also have to be careful about what to write and when to write it.

TM: There is definitely a lot of responsibility that comes with handling Indigenous stories and I’m grateful to be working for Salina Bookshelf in producing stories written and illustrated by Indigenous authors. There are many layers of culture that need to be respected. In my time engaging in public spaces as an editor and Indigenous writer, I’m always aware of the potential to teach about the Native American Literature Renaissance and how it helped Indigenous communities in the 1960s amid social justice movements, and it seems like this power of storytelling only continues to grow. I feel like bringing honesty and authenticity to the forefront of what readers expect from storytelling is crucial to Indigenous culture and identity.

I’m always excited to read new manuscripts that showcase a writer’s deep understanding of culture. In the review process, I look for stories that can teach some aspect of culture, history, or language from the perspective of Indigenous writers who understand the need for authentic stories. All of the manuscripts we’re currently working on are written by teachers. Some are university Navajo-language teachers while others work on the reservation. They have all mentioned having few books among their classrooms to help teach students about culture and language, so this sense of urgency to write about our people for the sake of our people is very much a motivating factor in my own work and my work as editor for Salina Bookshelf.

EB: What are some of the challenges of working in this field?

TM: As an independent publisher, times during the pandemic were tough. We were lucky to keep working with wonderful authors over Zoom, sometimes working five hours a day for a month at a time to get things done. It did make it tough to hold events and readings, especially in the community of Flagstaff and on the reservation, but through Zoom we’ve been able to keep in contact with upcoming authors. I would love this upcoming year to be full of readings either inside the classroom or at communal spaces accessible for readers of all ages. We’ve had several titles stagnant in the reprint phase or current projects that are also in that phase due to delays in the printing industry. It has been incredibly difficult to know when a project will be printed or delayed by weeks, months, or years. I hope we can have a bigger presence this year and we’re incredibly excited to get back on track with yearly releases.

EB: What limits your ability to engage with Indigenous writers? What works?

TM: As an aspiring writer myself, I was never aware of publishing opportunities that highlight BIPOC stories before being taught in college. With the emergence of more creative writing programs and writing workshops like the Emerging Diné Writers’ Institute (EDWI), we get to interact with upcoming writers and to help them understand that there are publishers and an audience dedicated to hearing their stories. We’ve been blessed to have passionate writers within the Diné community who have been more than willing to help uplift the voices of BIPOC writers, and being a part of that effort over these past few years has been incredible.

EB: How has your writing been influenced by the Diné community of writers?

TM: Attending Diné College was huge in introducing me to Diné writers. It was Orlando White who introduced me to Sherwin Bitsui. It was LaFrenda Frank who introduced me to Manny Loley, the director of EDWI. White’s and Bitsui’s craft, especially their attention to images, give me a waypoint to follow when I want to write, and I only feel confident in my work as long as it can get anywhere close to their mastery of detail. Manny Loley’s dedication to bringing Diné writers together in one space via EDWI has introduced me to your work, Esther, and Jake Skeets too. I feel your collections are effective in documenting location and land’s effect on our identity, healing, and reclamation. Rex Lee Jim, Manny Loley, Luci Tapahonso, and Laura Tohe are incredible storytellers as well as masters of using language to capture the love of the land. I’m grateful for Amber McCrary and her work through Abalone Mountain Press as her work has created a community and fanbase fueled by BIPOC writers in a way I’ve never felt so powerful. LaFrenda Frank’s work in the years before her passing reminds me to stay strong in my pursuit of powerful storytelling. Everyone I’ve mentioned and more have been monumental in creating an inviting space. Their craft gives me a blueprint for my own work so I never feel lost or too far away from inspiration. Their friendships keeps me grounded in knowing my work as a writer and an editor is important and needed, and I’ll always be grateful for you all.

EB: How do you think your presence in the industry better advocates for people of color publishing their work?

TM: Salina Bookshelf’s goal has always been to provide materials for the classroom, whether it be children’s books, YA novels, or Navajo-language textbooks. With that goal embedded into what I look for as an editor, I look for stories that introduce the knowledge of Indigenous culture and language to readers of any age. To have representation of BIPOC communities is vital in creating an inclusive and safer environment for our students. With less than 2% of children’s books written about Indigenous writers by Indigenous writers, we hope to be a part of growing Indigenous representation in all areas of literature.

With a great roster of children’s books releasing this year, I’m also excited to hold more readings and workshops to help bring awareness to our press and to bring stories written by Diné educators, teachers, and Navajo-language instructors to more reservation schools as well as to cities like Phoenix and Flagstaff.

EB: What are some projects that you are working on right now?

TM: We are currently working with Diné illustrators on three children’s picture books scheduled for release later this year. The first of which is titled A Gift of Rain written by Theresa Tom. The book follows a young Diné girl who witnesses the devastation of a long drought in her community, which causes hardship amongst her family. It is up to her and her grandmother to bring the community together. We are also working with a Diné author on a middle-grade novel about a young Diné during her Kinaaldá ceremony that focuses on the contemporary and traditional aspects of the ceremony. Our submission deadline is in June every year so I’m excited to work with more poetry collections. With the ongoing delays in the printing industry due to the pandemic, it has been a long wait for new books published by Salina but we are beyond excited to be bringing these new stories to readers later this year.

EB: What kind of support have you had that motivates you to continue the work you do?

TM: I’ve been lucky enough to be a part of readings and events such as the Emerging Diné Writers’ Institute, and seeing the community of Diné writers who come together every year to teach new writers has had a huge impact. Diné writers like yourself, Manny Loley, Amber McCrary, Jake Skeets, and Sherwin Bitsui have been monumental in providing a blueprint in giving back to the community through writing. Helping others access their creativity is an important part of nurturing the stories that will be told in the generations before us. Seeing the excitement to tell stories is fuel enough for me to keep providing a space for them.

Sherwin Bitsui, LaFrenda Frank, and Orlando White all created that space for me through their mentorship and most of all their friendship, so always knowing a community is there and needs to be nurtured is motivation enough. I’ve seen several former students of EDWI receive their bachelor’s and master’s in creative writing. I myself am a product of the institute and have just graduated with my MFA in creative writing at Northern Arizona University under the guidance of Sherwin Bitsui. As a writer who knows the impact of a good writing community, I’m eager to help the new generations of poets, novelists, songwriters, essayists.

EB: We are lucky to have people in our community able to help build the path for Indigenous writers. I have had people step up to help me as well. What does support look like from the tribe or other institutions?

TM: A great influence often comes from the reservation schools who inquire about the best books to help teach the Navajo culture and language. In fact, most of our authors are reservation schoolteachers or language professors based in southwest universities. It’s always interesting to receive submissions from teachers who are motivated to write books to fill their own school bookshelves. Again, this need for more Indigenous-authored materials is amplified by the very people who teach in these classrooms.

Storytellers, like those you can see within The Diné Reader, continue to assist me in my work as a poet and editor. Again, the incredible Diné writing community never fails to guide my goals and aspirations.

Of course, I can’t forget to mention your efforts to elevate our voices through this opportunity. Thank you again for your incredible work. I’ve always learned something new about poetics when I’m in your presence and I’m always grateful.

EB: Axhéhee’, Tyler. I am glad to highlight you and the work you are doing with Salina and your own writing. Do you have any advice for anyone just starting out in the publishing world?

TM: I would say reach out to any mentors who may assist you in your own writings or have a strong understanding of how the industry works. I wouldn’t be here without the mentors and advice I’ve received from my former teachers LaFrenda Frank, Orlando White, Sherwin Bitsui, and other poets like Manny Loley and Amber McCrary to talk with about what work needs to be done in the community. I’m incredibly lucky to have this opportunity that started from having simple conversations with people I know who are passionate about their work and the future of Diné poetics.