Corporate Free

And groovy

Feb 10, 2026

Boozhoo, indinawemaaganidog! Aaniin! That is to say hello, all of my relatives! Welcome to another edition of An Irritable Métis. I know things aren’t like this all over Turtle Island right now but we just had a stretch of weather here in Western Montana that was absolutely spring-like and I’m not going to mince words: I loved it. Yes, we need more proper winter and yes we are desperate for snow pack but the break was wonderful and I absorbed as much solar energy as I could. Additionally, if we get some snow and cold between now and April, and I really, really hope we do, you may expect similar celebratory exultations from these parts, trust me on that.

I also want to take a moment to mention that week one of the Native American Resistance for Everyone class is behind us1 and we have launched into week two. I participated in two “live” zoom discussions as part of week one2 – with two looming here in week two as well, and on and on through the rest of the course – and I found both interesting and, perhaps most importantly, fun. I’m going to pursue this theme a little more in the rest of this newsletter but I find the entire process we’ve engaged in together over the last couple years – your support for Becoming Little Shell, for IndigiPalooza MT, and for the classes – all deeply entwined and spectacularly moving. Engaging in this work as a budding, inter-tribal community is special, and I am incredibly grateful for everyone who has chosen to participate, donate, or subscribe. Some of you – many of you! – have engaged in all three. It makes me borderline giddy.

Beaverhead Rock, headed toward Twin Bridges out of Dillon, MT

The other morning I stepped out onto my front porch for my early morning constitutional, arranged my saddle blanket onto the deck chair and placed my coffee mug beside it in preparation for my return, then descended the short flight of stairs leading to the walkway leading to the street. The neighbor from down the way was approaching out of the darkness; we exchanged good mornings. His dog3 came over to greet me and I paused to give her some pets.

What transpired next was unprecedented: we proceeded to fall into stride beside one another, the neighbor and I, and share a short portion of our walks together. In that brief time – at most maybe one hundred corner-rounding yards before he veered off into the backyard of his place and I continued on for a mile or so – we mostly engaged in small talk about the weather and the myriad and various shortcomings of our other neighbors.4 I don’t imagine he and I have much in common but we’ve always been friendly to each other and I didn’t mind this saunterly turn of events at all.

This neighbor often asks me of my trips because clearly he pays attention to the comings and goings of my car. And he did so in this encounter; after asking where I was headed next, the key question, delivered with a hint of puzzlement, being this: “What do you actually do when you go to these places?”

How to answer that? I muttered a little something about this and that but I’ve been considering it more these couple days since. The answer to what I actually do varies from day to day, and sometimes multiple times in a single day. For example, I spent the last week of January-into-February on the road. If you include the Friday before the Monday I left, I did seven speaking-related gigs in those ten days, with two days devoted entirely to driving. It’s quite a bit but, given I’d largely been off since basically the day before Thanksgiving, I hit the road feeling pretty energized.

To say I make my living as a writer – which when I’m faced with that loathsome question, “Well, what do you do?” from a stranger I answer with, “I’m a writer!” – is almost a misnomer. When it comes to “making a living”, the only writing that really generates consistent income is this writing, this newsletter, courtesy of all of you magnificent paying subscribers. I did better than expected with royalties from Becoming Little Shell but not enough to live on5 for more than maybe a year, if I really6 tightened my belt. For what they are (undistributed small press offerings) both of my first two books do pretty well and I probably make a little money on them but not much, nor do I keep track of that. I’m a bad businessman. Finally, when it comes to freelancing, often the backbone of a writing career, I do hardly any at all7.

These aren’t lamentations, these are realities. Nor do I have a shred of bitterness about how this essentially writing-adjacent living comes in bits, pieces, fits and starts. What the writing has done, beyond totally changing my life from what it was a decade ago, is introduce me to an entirely different and more meaningful way of being in the world. As an example, this is how my recent series of events unfolded:

Day One: An evening event in Missoula at the Native Plant Garden at the Montana Natural History Center.8 We had a big fire and people gathered in the darkness of evening under a clear sky and I told stories and answered questions and it was joyful. This is the kind of event I’ve been dreaming of because what is more primal than folks gathered to pass the time with fire and stories? More than 50+ folks were signed up for it and while I don’t think that many showed up, there was still quite a gathering and I loved it.
Day Two: Driving day east to Red Lodge, MT, which took me, including stops, about six hours. Notably, after stopping for lunch at a favorite diner thing in Livingston, I noted the receipt seemed to include more lines than food items ordered. Dragging my reading glasses from my pocket and perching them at the tip of my nose, I brushed a lock of brittle gray hair from my face and noted I’d been automatically granted the “senior discount” on each item. Not unwelcome but also … yeah. That’s never happened before.
Day Three: Early afternoon One Book Montana/Becoming Little Shell event at the Red Lodge library that was a full house of maybe 50ish people crammed into a basement level community room. The discussion was spirited. When it ended, I had a short break – long enough to run to the local bookstore and sign copies of BLS – and then reconvened at the library for further discussion with a local book club, a gathering of maybe another 30ish people. This also went well but by the time it was over I was pretty exhausted. I ended up eating a bison burger at a bar later, in the company of a googly-eyed local.

The googly-eyed local, in case it isn’t obvious.

Day Four: Drove maybe 4 hours west and south to Dillon, MT, for another One Book Montana event, a collaboration between the library, the bookstore, and the museum. The event was held in a little theater at the museum, with capacity of 120 people (so I’m told) and I was a little dubious with how many seats would ultimately be in play. But by go-time the place was packed, with chairs dragged in to meet demand. I might have wondered aloud if it was a slow Netflix night in Dillon but I was pleased, and moved, by both turnout and enthusiasm. I might have given a brief rendition of the chorus to this song along the way, in context to the discussion even. Dinner was McDonald’s drive-through because nothing was open by the time I got away.
Day Five: Driving east again to Livingston, for a One Book Montana event at the library there. Again, a full house, as well as a spirited tilt, somewhat surprisingly, at the merch table, the moment I arrived. It was the first time I’d set one up and hadn’t planned to, I just happened to have books with me and I wasn’t even through the door when I was being approached with people waving cash money so it was back out to the car to retrieve them. Later I was invited to dinner by a couple attendees who had some Native students from the college in Bozeman with them. That was unexpected and also wonderful. I don’t usually join folks for dinner after but when there are Native students involved, how could I not? I ended up back at the storied Murray Hotel, where I was comped a room, which is nice but never a good place to sleep because I think the ghosts are eager for attention.
Days Six and Seven: This two-day workshop – originally a single day but expanded to two when the waiting list was long enough to accommodate two full classes – at River Arts & Books really made the whole trip possible financially because, besides being provided a place to stay, the workshops also generated income to make the entire trip marginally profitable. I was compensated in bits and pieces by the other events in various ways, but not really more than expenses and certainly not enough to contribute to a “living” but the workshop, with my share of the tuition folks paid, made the difference. Plus it was fun, in a beautiful space, and I marveled at how different the two gatherings were because of the differences in attendees. That made it all the more interesting. Plus I got to see Caroline again, which is a bonus.
Day Eight: Another 6-ish hour drive home. By then I had no idea what day of the week it even was.

I wrote somewhat melodramatically last fall about feeling part of the lineage of wandering monks. This is kind of what I mean, the apparent rambling somewhat aimlessly9 from place to place and mixing it up with the people I find there. It can be a lot sometimes, particularly when this kind of thing unfolds week after week, and it would be nice to spend more time actually writing … but what an opportunity to be part of! Time to write will present itself – the ideas are churning and demanding expression – and soon.

This isn’t about me, my friends. This is a triumphant example of a broad community effort where a multitude of folks combine their efforts to make something happen for their immediate communities. Humanities Montana choosing my book to highlight; librarians and bookstore people and teachers and various others deciding to be part of it, and then the actual folks who show up in spite of all the other potential distractions to participate. It is exciting to me in the same way we see the massive protests of tens of thousands, even millions of people, who show up together in service to a better world. These small movements and gatherings is where we celebrate our shared humanity and, given the topics of current events – and how I feel about fascists and colonizers and all of those subjects always come up – is a way for me to hopefully inspire people to consider things in ways maybe they didn’t. Someone even pointed out how joyful the events are, which made me happy. We can’t forget the magnificently good fortune we share to be alive together. I think exerting monumental effort to improve that good fortune for everyone is a small price to pay, a tiny obligation, for the gift of it all.

I have been grateful for, and consistently astounded by, the number of people who show up at these events. It tells me people are willing to consider the world differently than maybe they always have. And if you are here reading this, if you’ve read my book or taken a class or attended or donated to IPFEST, you are part of it too. How thrilling!

The other night Jason Baldes, when talking about his work for the Wind River Tribal Buffalo Initiative, remarked, “When my Shoshone grandmas are saying ‘Keep doing what you’re doing,’ that’s enough for me.”

In Dillon I was asked something like, “Do you consider yourself a culture worker?” I just shrugged and said I consider myself a storyteller. That’s good enough for me. And given how many people tell me to “keep doing what you’re doing” as well, it seems good enough for others too. When I actually allow myself the space to think of what is happening, slowly but inexorably, like I have over the course of thinking about and writing this newsletter, I gurgle with gratitude. I urge all of you to take a few moments to reflect on your small efforts and how they feed the universe too, and perhaps gurgle a little bit along with me.

A Couple Things Upcoming

This Week

I’m heading north tomorrow, February 11th, to do another One Book Montana event at the Orpheum Theater in Conrad, MT. Then I’m on to Browning for a midday event with students at Blackfeet Community College followed by a bookclub gathering in East Glacier.

Next Week

Besides visiting another book club on Monday the 16th, I’m spending the week as a visiting artist in Great Falls Public Schools, with one public event, Wednesday, February 18, 5:30pm, at the Paris Gibson Education Center. If you’re around, come say hello!

The Week After That

I’m heading back to Kalispell! This time for another One Book Montana event!

Closing Out the Month in Las Vegas!

The good people at IndigenousAF invited me to speak at their “Healing the Heart” exhibition and I can hardly wait.

Friday, February 27, 5pm at Nuwu Art Gallery.

And Finally….

This magnificence just dropped from the mighty Dead Pioneers. I love it.

I’m certain you can still get on board with this even though it’s underway – just let me know and I’ll make the connection!

The first zoom was actually based on the curriculum for the module, which was focused on Bison and Land, and featured both Jill Falcon Ramaker and Jason Baldes (both of whom will be at IPFEST on August 1st) talking about the important work they do and answering questions; the second was a Saturday evening, informal opportunity for people to gather to discuss the topic, something new we are trying in this class that seems to have been a great idea.

Her name is Midnight but don’t ask me the neighbor’s name because I fail to recall it.

He regularly has much to say in this regard and I mostly listen and occasionally push back in defense of, for example, the neighbor who regularly deploys a magnificent, upcoming-holiday light extravaganza, and whose efforts toward such I absolutely love.

Royalties also arrive infrequently; twice a year – once in June and once in December (*cough* January, apparently *cough*) – and I’ve only received two checks since the release of the book. I seem incapable of making anything but leftovers last six months so leaning on that income, unless the numbers are GARGANTUAN, which they never will be, will never work … and this newsletter continues to generate probably double what the book does/did.

Really, really, really, more like….

In 2023 I made $400 freelancing. In 2024 I made $0 freelancing. And in 2025, a banner year, I made $3650 (!) freelancing. In truth I don’t really try; I rarely pitch stories. I’m considering maybe making the effort to do a little more this year (though I better get on it because it feels practically half over already!) because I’m anticipating lean times in other areas over the coming months and years that I can’t really afford.

If I were going to be around I would sign up for THIS WORKSHOP with my friend Chandra and I urge you to consider it too, if you are in Missoula.

Though in truth the planning and organizing of the itinerary often seems the aimless part!