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The latest installment from FRANKY BENÍTEZ: A Story of Love, Pain, and Hope from San Juan to Boston:

All rights reserved by ARCHIVO HISTORICO Y FOTOGRAFICO DE PUERTO RICO

 

The torrent of clouds raced over the rays of the Caribbean sun, blackening the colonial port of San Juan within seconds. Holding his only possessions in a leather satchel made by a fat Moroccan from Seville, Octavio Antonio Benítez Aragón, the great-grandfather of Franky Benítez, sprinted past africano porters dragging steamer trunks in the Puerto Rican mud and Spanish nobles opening black umbrellas to find cover from the impending downpour.

Octavio Antonio, seventeen years old, his dark curly hair dangling over his green eyes and olive skin, opened the wooden door of a café at the very moment thousands of tropical rain drops splattered onto the port.

He looked around. The café’s scents of crusty bread and espresso steam held the criollo merchants heading back home from Spain to the island, new arrivals with labor papers in hand, two sugar speculators from New Orleans, three crying babies with their mothers, and two priests reading from a Bible and crossing themselves every time they whispered Jesus from their lips.

“What would you like, young man?” Octavio Antonio heard the voice of an elderly man from behind the café’s glass display of guava pastries, caramel flan, and cheese turnovers.

“Nothing, sir. Just trying to get out of the rain,” Octavio Antonio said as he took his handkerchief from the breast pocket of his only ditto suit, whose sack coat was starting to wear from the long voyage across the Atlantic, and wiped the sweat beads from his brow,

“If you are not buying anything, please leave my café,” the man said.

Octavio Antonio nodded. “Yes, sir.”

He walked back out onto the cobblestone streets of the capital city, the rain soaking his clothes and drenching his boater, which he bought in Huelva the day before his trip with the last reales his father Don Antonio Octavio had given him. The city, if he could call it that, had narrow, winding roads that made walking slippery in the middle of a downpour. Octavio Antonio, not knowing where he was, kept walking, and at times stopped for cover under the bottom of a pastel-colored balcony that formed part of the city’s colonial structures modeled after the houses of Andalusia.

After thirty minutes, the drops vanished from the sky and the sun crept through the remaining clouds, imparting a late afternoon light onto the soaked city. Octavio Antonio noticed he was not far from the city’s central plaza, the Plaza de Armas on San José Street. His meeting place. He took out his handkerchief to dry his eyes and cheeks, as he strolled to the plaza’s main area. Before he reached the plaza’s pigeon-filled fountain, a voice shouted behind him.

“The American ship exploded in Havana! U.S.S Maine destroyed! Read all about it in this afternoon’s edition! El Mundo has the story! American ship exploded! Hundreds dead!”

It was a boy with skin as dark as molasses. He wore no shoes, yet he was able to hold a stack of newspapers under his left arm as he shouted the headlines from the afternoon edition. Octavio Antonio watched as the boy started to run past him and heard towards the plaza. Soon, the island’s merchants would saunter out before their late afternoon coffees with steamed milk and buy a newspaper from the boy.

Octavio Antonio knew this voyage had its risks, but when he had received the letter from his uncle Rogelio six months before to help with Benítez & González Sugar & Rum Company, S.A., all Octavio Antonio could think of was how quickly could he escape his town of Lora del Río in southern Spain and book a steamer ticket from Cádiz to San Juan. His father urged his son to stay, but Octavio Antonio had adventure in his soul. Among the olive trees and frisky bulls that others in his town raised and trained, Octavio Antonio would spend days dreaming about his fortune, his destiny, his freedom. His father was born to cultivate olives. Octavio Antonio was born to lead men, like the Moors who had owned his land centuries ago.

So, convinced that Puerto Rico was his future and ambition, he wrote back to his uncle Rogelio to inform him that he would indeed go to Puerto Rico once he had enough money for the voyage. Octavio Antonio then worked any task he could muster from his fellow neighbors, picking olives until dusk and cleaning stables until dawn. By November of 1897, Octavio Antonio had enough money to purchase his one-way ticket. He celebrated his last Christmas in Spain drinking sherry and confessing his sins.

In late January, just a few weeks before his departure from Cádiz, Octavio Antonio received a letter from his uncle that only confirmed his decision:

15 December 1897 A.D., Juncos, Puerto Rico

To my dearest nephew:

May the Lord grant you blessings, prosperity, and happiness in the blessed new year of our Christ. My joy of your potential arrival was recently overshadow by a even more momentous occurrence: several of my fellow partners have heard through their contacts in Madrid that the Spaniards have granted this island of Puerto Rico autonomous rule! Puerto Ricans will now be able to govern themselves and begin to free their chains from their Spanish brothers. There is talk that a government will be formed on the island before the summer solstice of 1898.

This is indeed wondrous news, since it will allow Benítez & González Sugar & Rum Company, S.A. the opportunity to export its rum without the impositions of the Spanish government. The years of struggle for our independence and freedom have begun to dissipate. When you arrive to this beloved island, it will be active with anticipation. I cannot think of a better place for an industrious young man to earn his fortune. I long to be your age again and not the old man that I am, the one who had first through that the original scream for revolution in Lares over twenty years ago was mere childish folly. Yet when I did finally decide to emigrate to this lush, green island, I discovered quickly that Puerto Rico could become the commercial pearl of the Caribbean and eventually all of Latin American. Like Rodó’s Ariel, it would swirl into a world of profits. And when I began to read the accounts of Betances and others who had committed to a free Puerto Rico, my heart became more attached to my new home each and every day.

Can you imagine it, my nephew? This former Royalist and lover of the Crown joining hands with fellow Puerto Ricans last year as we heard of the news in Yauco, where the first Puerto Rican flag had be flown by patriots, although to Spain, they were dangerous rebels? That day, I grabbed a hammer to one of my finest barrels and let the drink overflow into the mouths of my fellow friends! It was a celebration that had taken decades to occur, and to some whose families lived on the island since the early Spanish governors, the wait has lasted centuries. When the authorities stopped the Yauco liberation, hope still lingered in our souls, since we had already devoured the taste of freedom and of money. We were determined, and our brave leaders ensured everyone that the Spanish Primer Minister, the very enlightened Práxedes Mateo Sagasta, would indeed be granting autonomy to the island.

We did achieve it, and as I take time to pause between another Christmas celebration, I felt the urge to write this to you and inform you that yes, my nephew, you are indeed wise for your desire to live on this island as a free man. Of course, we will not change much in terms of who we are, we still speak Spanish and my accounts on the continent will not vanish once Puerto Rico meets its destiny. Once we are free, we will all be rewarded with riches never seen on this island before!

You are like the island, my dear nephew, you are as bright as the sun that shines on Puerto Rico each and every God-given day. If the Lord is willing, I see a future that will propel you to be able to not only live on the island, but also bring you back to Spain on regular holidays to enjoy the family you will leave behind as well as the country that was your first home. Now, your home will be with me in Juncos, and eventually you will grow to be prosperous, powerful, and mighty.

With this I must leave you to attend to the guests who will soon be arriving. Remember, my nephew, Puerto Rico will be yours and yours will be Puerto Rico. I urge you to come to this island with a mind to challenge our colonial mentality, which has kept us shackled like the africano slaves of Loíza. You represent the island’s progress and what it will become: a country that the whole of Latin America will exhibit as a model testament to the free enterprise markets, political stability, and human dignity.

I wish that our Lord protect you on your journey and bring you to me prepared and at the ready to form our own empire of sugar and rum, not unlike the Crown I used to defend when I was young and thick-headed like you.

May the Lord bestow you blessings. Your loving uncle,
Rogelio

PS Please write to me with the final details of your itinerary so I can make sure to arrange one of my laborers to meet you at the Plaza de Armas near the end of day when you arrive. He will ensure that a private carriage will be made available for your long journey into the mountains of Juncos, where I will be waiting for you at our company with open arms of anticipation and love.

PPS Please share my affection to my brother and sister-in-law. I long for the day when I can return to Spain and visit them. I can assure you that the recent developments will allow me to achieve this goal successfully before we enter the next century. Can you fathom how close we are to a new age? The Pearl of the Caribbean, the Isle of Enchanment, will soon be real!

As he waited for the carriage to arrive in the plaza, Octavio Antonio could still recall the words his father shared with him upon listening to the details of his brother’s letter.

“Fortunes are for dreamers, Octavio,” his father said. “Rogelio has always claimed that such fortune will be found in Puerto Rico. He has been writing the same letters ever since he left us. That is why he had never returned. He cannot pay back his debts.”

Near the plaza’s fountain, another voice began to snuff out Octavio’s memories. He look up and saw a younger man, with skin as mixed as his own, signaling to him.

“Don Octavio? Don Octavio Benítez Aragón?” the voice said.

“Yes, that is I,” Octavio said to the man.

“Your uncle has sent me to find you. My name is Rafael, Rafael Castro of Juncos. I am one of your uncle’s supervisors. The carriage will arrive shortly. It will be a long ride, but you will be provided with all the comforts merited to a young man who has traveled so far to get here.”

Octavio Antonio smiled. Rafael appeared to be a few years older than him, and his mustache smelled of rum. The same rum that Octavio Antonio had battled a bout of seasickness and stale bread so that he could learn from his uncle and become a master merchant.

“I am ready, Rafael. I am ready to go to Juncos and see my uncle. I have never met him since he had left my family before I was born.”

“He will welcome you with an embrace only family can recognize, even those who have never had the pleasure of meeting before. Let us go.”

“Yes, Rafael. Let us go to find my life.”

Three months later, in the very same place where Octavio Antonio Benítez Aragón had arrived on a steamer from Cádiz, a dozen American ships led by Rear Admiral William T. Sampson bombarded San Juan. The city’s residents were in a panic. A month later, the Americans blockaded of San Juan harbor. The month after that, General Nelson A. Miles landed in Guánica, on the southern part of the island, along with over 3,000 American soldiers. The resistance to Nelson’s landing was sparse and weak. By the end of August, Puerto Rico was a colony again, this time under a different master, and Octavio Antonio Benítez Aragón was mourning the death of his uncle and the loss of Benítez & González Sugar & Rum Company, S.A., due to a bankruptcy ruling.

Each night, it was told many years later that the residents of Juncos would hear the wailings Octavio Antonio Benítez Aragón every night at around three in the morning, when the local tavern had closed and he had nowhere else to go.

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In our continuing commitment to feature #LatinoLit talent on Twitter, we are proud to feature the poetry of Obsidian Eagle.

 

Obsidian Eagle

About Obsidian Eagle (ItzQuauhtli)

ItzQuauhtli is a Nahuatl (Aztec) name that translates into Obsidian Eagle — this in turn has become the pseudonym for a deliberately anonymous AntiPoet operating solely online.  Nicanor Parra, the Chilean originator of AntiPoetry once wrote:

For personal reasons, the AntiPoet is a sniper.  He fights for the same cause but with a totally different technique.  He doesn’t disclaim the poet-soldier, he works with him from a distance, although his method may seem ambiguous.

Obsidian Eagle has taken said ambiguity a step further by introducing a technique dubbed poésie sans poète, which divorces verse from first-person pronouns (I, Me, My and Mine).  His blog ObsidianEagle.com has been publishing such AntiPoetry weekly for over a year now.  For submission guidelines visit this Submission Page.

Likewise, on Twitter @ItzQuauhtli is responsible for the longest-running series of rolling rhymes via a thread known as #TheTumbler—derived from Hispanic style couplets called La Bomba in the author’s natal El Salvador.  Although writing mostly in English, ItzQuauhtli does produce Spanish and bilingual poems as well. Here is a poem in Spanish, along with its English version:

Seres alzados

~ I ~

No temo a nada ni a nadie
Sea que ande paseando
Por las avenidas de San Salvador
O sobre los muros en Machu Picchu
Ahí voy, con pasos pesados
Aventado a toda cabeza
Deletreando frases vivientes
En tres idiomas (Francés, Inglés, y este)
Porque el más allá no se queda quieto
Ni tan siquiera un solo instante
Menos para los quienes se inquietan
Y aquellos que se desesperan
Bueno, esos salen aún peor

~ II ~

La Muerte es transcendente
Nuestras almas; ilusión
En esta vida no hay constante
Excepto, vuestra fe y devoción
Tal como Castaneda os dijo
Que Don Juan había dicho:
“El único camino que debes seguir
Es uno que sobresale rebalsando
Desde tu propio sentir.”
Así que nos toca elegir
Rechazar el misterio con ciencia
Sacrificando lo ideal – o –
Bautisarse con agua pura de consciencia
Cual es la misma energía
Del espacio abierto, universal!

And here is the English version:

Elevated Beings

~ I ~

I fear nothing and no one
Whether I’m treading
Through the avenues of San Salvador
Or over the ruins of Machu Picchu
There I go, with heavy footsteps
Headlong
Spelling out living phrases
In three languages (French, English and Spanish)
Because the great beyond does not stay still
Less so for those who grow restless
And those who despair
Well, they’re worse off yet

~ II ~

Death is transcendent
Our souls; an illusion
In life there are no constants
Except, one’s faith and devotion
Like Castaneda told us
That Don Juan had said:
“The only path worth following
Is one that overflows
From within your own heart”
Thus, it is up to us to decide
Reject all mystery with science
Sacrificing the ideal -or-
Baptizing ourselves with
Pure water of consciousness
Which is the same energy
As universal space, ethereal!

Copyright ©Obsidian Eagle

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Yes, I have posted a new chapter for FRANKY BENÍTEZ, and I had mentioned that a critical plot detail would be revealed that would explain a major reason for Franky’s current state of sorrow. This chapter, although not autobiographical at all (this is a fictional piece inspired by several experiences in my life and others lives), was deeply personal and painful at times to write. I am exploring some very troubling scenarios that I would never wish for as a dad.

Instead of having the chapter on display as a blog, I have decided to make it a PDF that you can download. Please enjoy the next chapter and let me know what you think either here on this blog, on Twitter or on Facebook.

All the best,

Julio

DOWNLOAD THE NEW CHAPTER

CLICK ON FRANKY'S SNEAKERS

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One of Valdes-Rodriguez's New Twitter Profile Pictures

Her Twitter stream and Facebook is very active. She is consistently getting new followers and friends each day. And as author Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez continues to battle with Hollywood, she announced on her social media networks that she will be self-publishing the third book of The Dirty Girls Social Club series.

Early on December 31, Valdes-Rodriguez, who is alleging that the TV script adaptation of her first Dirty Girls book is “racist and sexist,” posted a proposed book cover with the working title A Call to Mountains, the third book in the series on her YFrog account.

On December 31, her Twitter stream and Facebook page is active with responses. Her latest updates on these social networks reveal her self-publishing plans, and also how much money she has made in the past on advances and how much she would make it should were to be successful with her self-publishing efforts.

After listening to some readers, on January 1, Valdes-Rodriguez suggested a different title and cover. The fans have spoken: the new book series will be called Lauren’s Saints of Dirty Faith and a new cover was posted that met some reader approval:

After getting more feedback, on January 2, Valdes-Rodriguez added another cover on her Facebook page and made it official with this image, proving that the is taking the idea of “an interactive novel” seriously:

Here are just some of the updates she has posted on December 31, January 1, and January 2:

From Twitter

  • “Believe it or not, some of us still make art for reasons other than money. #latism #teamalisa
  • “Watching 8 Mile. Love Eminem. Relate a lot to him actually.”
  • “Lauren Book outline nearly done. Title: A CALL TO MOUNTAINS. Lauren quits Boston, retreats to NM, hoping for peace, spirituality, love.”
  • Okay, it’s official. DGSC book three’s title will be: LAUREN AND THE SAINTS OF DIRTY FAITH. Remember that y’all. 🙂
  • “@_luisantonio I will publish a chapter a week as ebooklets for 36 weeks, starting next month. .75cents a pop. actual book 4sale fall 2011.”
  • “@_luisantonio going the dickens route with this, see where it takes me. half chapt. avail on blog. full chapt at lulu.com for 75 cents.”
  • “My advances from pub have been about $30k lately. Self pub a chapter a week I need 833 reg readers to make that much in a year.”
  • “If Dirty Girls 3 sells same as DGSC 2 as self pub. I make $625k. If it sells like DGSC1 self pub I make $3 million. No more middle man.”
  • “And I’d make that charging you LESS than my publisher does now.

Facebook Updates

  • “To make the same amount I’ve made from publishing houses lately on a self-published serialized novel, I will only need 833 regular readers. Dirty Girls Social Club sold more than half a million copies. Book two sold close to 200,000. I think I can find 1000 of you guys to go on this journey with me!”
  • “‘Dirty Girls Social Club sets out to prove Latina can mean anything — black, white, rich, poor, Spanish-speaking, not Spanish-speaking.’ (Miami Herald)”
  • “Well, then. It’s settled. By popular demand, I declare this cover a winner! Thanks, all. I can’t wait for you to read this book!!! I am loving writing it.”

Valdes-Rodriguez, who talks about her challenges (dismal sales, personal issues) with the Huff Post , also mentioned that she will very likely be using lulu.com, a website for self-published works.

Finally, we want to thank everyone for participating in our readers poll: Is the Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez story relevant to you? The current results of about 100 responses (You can still vote):

  • It speaks to the issue of artistic and creative control. 35%
  • I want to see an accurate portrayal of Latinas on television. 26%
  • Enough already. We get the point! 16%
  • I think the story is too one-sided. 14%
  • The use of social media can help people get their stories out. 9%

Let us know what you think of Valdes-Rodriguez’s decision to self-publish?

UPDATE, January 1, 2011: The Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez blog posts referred to here no longer appear on her site. Valdes-Rodriguez hinted that certain blog posts would very likely be deleted in accordance to the statement she published at Please Respect NBC.

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Another installment of Franky Benítez. For a full list of chapters, click here: Table of Contents

I have lost the power to love. I choose to love, but I cannot actively love any longer.

My son Mateo still sleeps as I let go of him and creak my way out of his room. I turn to my left and stop in front of Sofia’s room, the door closed, her name pasted in the magnetic letters we received as a gift when she turned two. I touch the knob with my hand and twist it. The darkness of the dawn still penetrates the room, covering the wrinkled posters of The Jonas Brothers, Taylor Swift, and Selena Gomez. My left shoulders glances against her bed’s metal post, causing a ping to run through my veins and all the way to the tip of my brain.

The quilt of her bed is filled with green, red, and blue butterflies flying about freely over the stitching. On the bed are some Build-a-Bear Workshop figures propped against the bedroom’s wall. Next to them is a Wally the Green Monster that sings “Sweet Caroline” when you press its chubby green index finger. Another bear wears a t-shirt congratulating Sofia on her performance in Annie a year ago. A few books (Roald Dahl, JK Rowling, Lois Lowry) are spread on the bed.

The rest of the bed is empty, motionless, no breath, no life. I place my hand on a Scooby Doo pillow and run it across the fabric, over Scooby’s face and Shaggy’s hair. I then uncover the butterfly quilt and get into the bed. There is no warmth anywhere I turn to, I press my head against the wall up against the bed and begin to bang it on the icy plaster. Seconds pass. My head throbs. A drop of red trickles down the wall towards the floor below.

Whatever love I had is now drifting away like a butterfly being tossed in a hurricane. I forge ahead? I keep my tiny wings fluttering? The gusts blow me aside, tumbling me down into a pit of black water. I heave for air as waves keep gushing into my mouth. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. I breathe again and settle my head onto the my daughter’s favorite pillow, which still smells like the mango shampoo she would use every night.

She is no longer here, no longer with us.

And it is all my fault.

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For the record, we are not a media outlet, just a blog that talks about trends in Latino literature, celebrates Latino literary talent with others, and shares examples of online fiction.

We are interested very much in the power of social media and how it eliminates walls in communication. That is what intrigued us about the Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez story. As people tweeted and streamed about The Social Media Saga of Valdes-Rodriguez, some readers asked whether we had contacted the other party involved in this scenario. The answer is yes, we sent some emails to ask for comment but we haven’t heard back and we don’t expect to. That is cool. This is just a part-time thing on our part.

Yet in the interest of painting a full picture, we did want to share a little bit about Luisa Leschin, who wrote the TV script adaptation of The Dirty Girls Social Club and Ann Lopez, head of Encanto Productions.

Copyright ©LuisaLeschin.com

Leschin’s bio is impressive. She is a native of Guatemala and has several acting and film credits. Her bio also states:

In prime-time television, Luisa is very proud to have been a writer on the ground-breaking, George Lopez show (ABC) from its inception. Through the six seasons of the show she rose from a position of Supervising Producer to Co-Executive Producer for the show.

In 2008, Luisa served as Co-Executive Producer for 22 episodes of the critically acclaimed CW series Everybody Hates Chris.

As for Ann Lopez, a lot has been written online about her much-publicized divorce with George Lopez, but very little is available about her. Her Facebook profile is private (as is ours) as well. She is not on LinkedIn. The best information we could find, besides basic bio information was this article from Herald de Paris, published in January, 2010.

Copyright © heralddeparis.com

The article’s introduction reads:

Ann Serrano Lopez… has been the executive producer for the 2009 Nickelodeon & Warner Premiere film Mr. Troop Mom, George Lopez’s 2009 and 2007 HBO comedy specials Tall, Dark & Chicano, and America’s Mexican, as well as the ABC Television film Naughty or Nice. She produced the television specials Ray Charles: 50 Years in Music and America’s Hope Award honoring Oprah Winfrey. Mrs. Lopez started her career as a casting director….She has selflessly worked to improve and save the lives of people confronting the challenges of chronic kidney issues. She has selflessly worked to improve and save the lives of people confronting the challenges of chronic kidney issues.

Her full artistic list of credits can be viewed here: Ann Lopez (Serrano).

In addition, the newspaper also interviews Lynette Ramirez, who has also been mentioned by Valdes-Rodriguez.

If we do hear back from anyone, we will let you know.

UPDATE, January 1, 2011: The Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez blog posts referred to here no longer appear on her site. Valdes-Rodriguez hinted that certain blog posts would very likely be deleted in accordance to the statement she published at Please Respect NBC.

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With people returning from the holidays, the curious social media story of Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez and her allegations that the leaked TV script adaptation of her book series The Dirty Girls Social Club is harboring Latina stereotypes continues. Today, Valdes-Rodriguez has been extremely active in the social media space, but just announced on her blog that “I have made the statements I needed to make.”

She continues:

Now it’s time for me to focus on the legal aspects of this situation. In the meantime, please keep speaking out, speaking among yourselves, and know that I am fighting for YOU, and for ALL OF US to be represented as we ARE and not as Hollywood wishes us TO BE.

Meanwhile, we had a chance to interview Valdes-Rodriguez on the Being Latino Blog, which was published today. To see the entire interview, you can click on the Being Latino image below:

The Being Latino interview is still the blog’s top post, according to their site.

Tweets Out Encanto Email
In another development, Valdes-Rodriguez tweeted out an email for Encanto Productions, the company that owns the option to produce the TV version of the book. She does continue to be active on Twitter and Facebook, although her blog says she is done with statements.

Other Outlets Pick Up Story
The story is starting to picking up momentum as it has appeared today in both Jezebel and The Boston Globe, where Valdes-Rodriguez used to work in the 1990s as a reporter.

La Bloga Weighs In
La Bloga, one of the Latino literature blogs, summarized the latest Valdes-Rodriguez saga and concluded with this opinion. See more at La Bloga.

Here’s wishing Alisa the best possible outcome from this altercation and the hardball fallout. Her work has been invariably entertaining and deserves to find the wider appreciation that comes of having your stuff on prime time television. Excoriation is what she’s in for if the pilot project gets made. She knows this, so she’s fighting for her life. Lástima.

My Latino Voice Blog
This was just pulled from My Latino Voice:

There is, however, a greater message here. As women, as Latinas, as Latinos, we must stop perpetuating stereotypes ourselves if we are to effect change (the producer and script writer of this TV production are both Latinas). The buck stops here, chicas. Mrs. Lopez, Ms. Leschin, how do you respond?

People have also asked us if we have contacted any of the other principals that Valdes-Rodriguez mentions in her allegations. For the record, we have contacted NBC, CAA, Ann Lopez, Luisa Leschin, and Lynette Ramirez. We have not received any response so far, but if we do, we will be certain to publish comments.


For more Twitter reaction to this, follow these hashtags: #alisavaldes and #LatinoLit.

UPDATE, January 1, 2011: The Alisa Valdes-Rodriguez blog posts referred to here no longer appear on her site. Valdes-Rodriguez hinted that certain blog posts would very likely be deleted in accordance to the statement she published at Please Respect NBC.

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