The incomparable Elisabeth Schmitz, for your brilliance and spark, for giving Crooked Hallelujah and me a chance and doing all you can to make us shine. I feel so lucky to have found my way to you.
For Katie Raissian, Yvonne Cha, and Jazmine Goguen, for sharing your sharp editorial eyes and encouragement.
Morgan Entrekin, Judy Hottensen, Deb Seager, John Mark Boling, and the whole fantastic team at Grove, for working so hard and for putting your hearts and souls into the work.
Michael Adams, for your kindness and humor, for your generosity of spirit, for your love of Paisano Ranch and Texas letters, for being, always, you.
Scott Berg, Mike Scalise, and Nina McConigley, for writing back and picking up when I cried out from out of the blue.
Dick Bausch, for helping me believe I could do this, for doing all you can to teach us that this matters, for the cheers, for the stories and guitars.
Alan Cheuse, for being the voice in my ear long after you’ve gone.
Brandon Hobson, David Treuer, Erika T. Wurth, and Leila Aboulela, for being early readers of Crooked Hallelujah and responding with such generosity.
Steve Goodwin, Allen Wier, Peter Klappert, James Nolan, Chris Chambers, Mrs. Maddox, and Mrs. Flusche, for teaching me so much, introducing me to some of the greats, and for reading my early flailing.
The University of Texas at Austin and the Dobie Paisano Fellowship Program, The Native Arts and Cultures Foundation, The Elizabeth George Foundation, The School for Advanced Research, Writers & Books, and George Mason University for the gift of time that came in the form of financial support, space to write, encouragement, connection, and sometimes, roadrunners, and water moccasins.
The Editorial Committee of the Board of the Paris Review, The University of Central Oklahoma and Rob Roensch, and the Missouri Review and Elise Juska for reading so thoughtfully and generously supporting my work.
Bread Loaf, for the beauty, inspiration, and community—especially the Frost Farm Cats—and most especially Alix Ohlin for your generosity and insight.
The editors who gave some of these stories their first home and made each one so much better: Cal Morgan, Emily Nemens, Evelyn Rogers, Hannah Reed, K.E. Semmel, Paul Reyes, and Allison Wright.
Kirsten Clodfelter, Carl Della Badia, Michael Noll, and Alexis Santi for lending my stories your brilliance and care.
Anna Habib, Matt Hobbs, and Gretchen Sullivan, for being such sharp readers and generous souls and for generally poodling out all over the place.
Annie Moore, Louise Liller, Cordy Meza, Jen Scott, Chris Sparks, Hannah Burgard, Rachel Nicolosi, Chantel Guidry, Chris Sheffield, Rachel Lettre, Amtchat Edwards, Katie Hart, Katie Billings, and Keena Galvan for all the love and words and music and mountains through years and miles.
Everyone back home who helped me with questions about the language, horse mane(s), old pickup-truck cassette decks, fertility, Beenie Weenies, gunshot wounds, and so much more.
My aunties, who have been a big, powerful circle around me from the time I was born, who still carry a weight and a presence that helps me know I’m home, who can tell a good joke, who don’t care to say that we are the funniest sons of bitches we ever met.
My grandmothers—some by blood and some by kindness alone—for wrapping me up and carrying me on your wings, for saving me the last wild onions, for being my protectors, my heart.
Pop, for choosing us and holding on tight; for teaching me how to fish, ride, shoot, and drive a stick, all by the age of twelve; for keeping the freezer full; for fixing everything broken; and most of all most of all for, loving.
Mom, for your strength and your heart that’s as wide as the world; for sharing your love of books and a good wha-wha; for always knowing I could and making sure I did too; for making every game, even if you showed up in your braids and UPS browns at the half; for being Granny to Cypress Ann; for fierce, fierce love that won’t ever quit.
Cypress Ann, for coming here and filling me with so much love that I can hardly bear it; for being you and only you.
Scott, for making me and this book so much better. Without you, none of this would be.
Crooked Hallelujah Page 22