Except I forgot the one truism of being a tribal member-it ain’t about you. I could make my tribe proud and leave a legacy in letters by putting to use the hours of solitude. I could sit at home and make my very best attempt not to be a one-hit-wonder. Months of socially approved quarantine sounded like a dream come true. Amid a pandemic, I became the only published novelist member of my tribe (tribe meaning American Indian, not hipster yoga besties).
