When I was a kid, my traditional Navajo grandfather, my cheii, told my mom I would write books someday. She told me that when I was a baby crawling around on my Dakota grandmother’s floor, my great-aunt Ella Deloria picked me up and kissed me on the lips. From that day, my mom held the quiet belief that I would inherit Aunt Ella’s writing ability. Aunt Ella wrote books and went to Columbia and Oberlin, while my cheii couldn’t speak English, only Navajo. Still, he was a hand trembler, and my mom said his training with medicine men was the equivalent of a Diné (Navajo) P.hD. So, writing has always been on my mind. And now I place my books next to my aunt’s on my bookshelf at home. It feels like the completion of a circle and like honoring their dreams for my generation and all the ones that follow.