Native American Blog on Just About Everything

New Novel Excerpt (Unassigned dialogue in new novel, Interviews with a Half-Breed Baby Killer) Copyright Lynne M. Colombe January 2016 Warning:  Explicit Content/Mature Audiences Only From an Interview with "Biggie," from my new novel, Interviews with a Half-Breed Baby Killer ME:   Biggie, you don’t know how it is.   It sucks, I mean my parents put so much pressure on me.   Being Native, and trying to get my degree – BIGGIE:   Pressure, what pressure?   To fucking do something with your life?   Screw you, hey, coming up here to the federal penitentiary women’s camp telling me YOUR PROBLEMS?   Holy shit, were you born stupid or some shit?   I’m in here for LIFE!   This ain’t no damn Girl Scout Camp, this is some real shit!   So, take your cookie cutter bullshit problems and call Diane Sawyer okay?   Tell that bitch, because she’s the only one who cares about your “Hidden America,” bullshit.   ME: ...

Original Story by Lynne M. Colombe The store on the corner had only one gas pump and one option, regular unleaded.  If you had a hybrid, you would be better off going inside and buying vegetable oil from the market area.  Owned by an elderly Lakota man, and his sole, homosexual son, the store accepted a wide variety of payments, including EBT, but only one brand of anything.  The store stocked every reservation essential:  toilet paper, Pine Sol, dish soap, trash bags, Ramen Noodles, hot dogs, sliced bread, bologna, chips, packets of yeast, diapers, fresh fruit, and other sundries consumed in the life of the average Indian. The gay son was named Homer, after the town in Nebraska where his mother was from.  She was enrolled over with the Winnebago, and went back to her own relatives a year after he was born.  He spent summers there, at times in Sioux City, depending on where his mother was living.  Mainly, he grew up around the Rosebud, a...

Maria O-Soza Short Story By Lynne M. Colombe March 2013 For living on the Reservation, she had a crazy name. Her mother didn't stick around long enough to explain why she had a Spanish name like Maria Catalina Francesca Ortega-Soza. She was the only kid who played basketball on a South Dakota reservation, whose first last name was just a big, "O," followed by a dash, and then, "Soza." She would have rather squeezed Whirling Wind Thunder into "WW-Thunder," than, "O-Soza" when playing the Pine Ridge Thorpes. Nonetheless, she grew up well with her mother's-aunt's-cousin, who had lost her own daughter near the time Maria needed a home at the age of two. That was twenty years ago, and now she was grown up, and changed her name to Maria Catherine Medicine, in honor of her foster mother who died three years prior. Maria had posted her name change in the local newspapers, but only her cousin had showed up at the court. Nobo...