A: My audience can infer what was asked based upon my answers right? Give them some credit.
Q:
A: I've decided to publish e-books because of friends and professional colleagues who made convincing arguments in favor of it. Some spoke of economic inevitability, But I've also decided to treat my terrestrial publishing life and electronic publishing life as separate endeavors. Most of my work will remain exclusively terrestrial or exclusively electronic.
Q:
A: I'm breathlessly awaiting that historic day when a defunct Indian tribe reestablishes itself for the express purpose of not having a casino. That said, people got to pay the rent and eat, enit? But I'd have to ask certain white liberals this question: Why do you celebrate indigenous capitalism when you're so quick to judge American capitalism?
Q:
A: My maternal grandfather was half-white. I've got a photo of him with giant black glasses, white hair, and a flannel shirt. He looks like the world's oldest hipster. I never knew him; he died before I was born. But I'm happy for my ancestors' interracial romance. I wouldn't exist without their boundary-crossing love. Still, having a half-white grandfather doesn't make me white, you know?
Q:
A: I've written maybe twenty poems about the meaning of hair-cutting. I helped make a movie where hair-cutting is a major plot point. I've read about dozens of cultures where hair-cutting has a specific ceremonial purpose. The short answer: I cut my hair in mourning for my late father. I'll keep it short until the mourning is over. Who knows when that will be? Maybe never. And yes, I know I look more Indian when my hair is long. But who cares about overt and insecure representations of Indian-ness? I'm rapidly graying, too, so I don't want to look like a middle-aged Grateful Dead fan with my salt-and-pepper ponytail desperately clinging to my skull and to the past. My hair is short, okay? Get over it. My wife wants me to grow it back, though.
Q:
A: Yes, I have an Indian name. No, I'm not going to tell you what it is.
Q:
A: Alcoholism among Indians is an epidemic problem. Any Indian who insists otherwise is likely an alcoholic in denial.
Q:
A: Yes, there are white folks who write well about Indians. Tom Spanbauer and Craig Lesley are two of them. And I'm really looking forward to reading Dan Simmons's sounds-insanely-entertaining-but-is-highly-likely-to-be-an-equally-goofy-and-ambitous disaster. But let me draw a parallel: When white South Africans write about black South Africans, it is called colonial literature, right? It can be incredible, centuries-lasting, genius colonial literature, but it's still colonial. Hmmmm. Here's my official statement on the matter: White folks, I don't care if you write about Indians. You don't need my approval, advice, or opinion. Do your thing. Put that wise old grandfather in it. And maybe some talking animals. And a very concerned white person who wants to save the Indians. Just don't expect me to read it.
Q:
A: Yes, I still play basketball. And, yes, I'm still pretty good. In fact, I'm a lot better than you probably think I am. I play an awkward, unconventional game that doesn't look good, but somehow remains effective. I haven't touched the rim since Reagan was President, and, most days, my main athletic ambition is to keep my body fat percentage lower than my age. But I will score on you. My major gift: I am particularly adept at hitting game winning shots. Yes, they're rat ball games, with no real stakes other than briefly propping up the teetering egos of faded jocks, but I'm still clutch. Clutch, I say!
Q:
A: No, I don't want to read your Trail of Tears screenplay.
Q:
A: You keep talking at me about this thing you name vision quests. What is this vision quest? I know not of what you speak.
Q:
A: What do you think Indians are supposed to look like?
Q:
A: Dances With Wolves? Haven't watched it in years and years.
Q:
A: Yes, I wore a mullet. So did Chief Joseph. It's a typical rez hairstyle. I am, in many ways, a typical rez boy. In any case, I cut my mullet a decade ago. Ten years ago! Yeessh! Give me a break. Or I'll send Chief Joseph's ghost and the ghost of his mullet (peace in the front; war in the back) after your classist ass.
Q:
A: When white guys write about the same place over and over, the scholars and critics call it artistic obsession; when non-white men and all women write about the same place over and over, it's called domestic repetition.
Q:
A: I wear suits and ties because I am serious about my job. If I were a fancydancer, I'd wear bright feathers when I danced. What's the real difference between an eagle feather fan and a pink necktie? Not much. Also, as Steve Martin writes, the performer should always look better than his or her audience; it's a sign of respect.
Q:
A: No, I don't know the Indian you speak of. But chances are pretty dang good that I know an Indian who knows your Indian. Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon, pshaw! With Indians, it's two degrees.
Q:
A: Yes, I will sign every book you bring. I will sign any piece of paper you offer. And I will not leave the venue until I've signed everything that everybody wants me to sign. Well, almost everything. I follow the Book of Loretta Lynn, Verse 1:1: "Don't you dare go home until your last fan goes home."
Q:
A: Salmon, It's all about the salmon.