Michael Fillerup

MICHAEL FILLERUP {[email protected]} A native of southern California, Michael Fillerup is the author of numerous short stories, a short story collection Visions and Other Stories, two novels (Beyond the River and Go in Beauty), and mounds of obscure, unpublished, illegible drafts. According to his son Benjamin: “My father is the best unread author I’ve never read.” Michael is the founder and former director of Puente de Hozho Tri-lingual School and the creator of the Indigenous Language Revitalization Summer Institute. He lives in northern Arizona with his wife, Rebecca, who doubles as his best friend and confidant, ruthless editor, and full-time Muse.

Articles

In Memoriam: Elouise Bell (1935–2017)

In the fall of 1973, I enrolled as a sophomore at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. On a whim, I registered for a course titled ENG 240 WRITING POETRY, INSTRUCTOR: E. BELL. I had no idea who “E. Bell” was—male or female? animal, vegetable, or mineral?—but I soon found out. The first day of class, as we eager, would-be-poets settled into our neatly aligned desk-chairs, the door opened and a statuesque woman with the regal swagger of a Hawaiian queen and the deadpan grin of a stand-up comic entered the classroom toting a hefty book bag that she promptly dropped on the teacher’s desk—clunk!

Brother Anderson Counsels His Son the Night Before Being Sealed “For Time and All Eternity” in the Salt Lake Temple

and
whatever you do, don’t
go smiling
totally into it

The Renovation of Marsha Fletcher

Marsha crumpled the letter into a ball and hurled it across the living room. It caromed off the TV screen and rolled a few feet before settling in the middle of the carpet. Once again…

Hozhoogoo Nanina Doo

Max Hansen dipped his brush into the can and reached to the ceiling, spreading paint thickly and smoothly across the plyboard surface. He paused a moment, listening to a faint tapping sound. Rain? No. A…

The Bowhunter

Jack slowed down, looking for a sign. Seeing none, he sped on down the highway, grumbling to himself. Dean could have given more specific directions — or better, first-hand instructions, not this friend-of-a-friend nonsense. It…

Apple Indian

She rarely blew her cool and never ever swore, but—”Dammit! Hell!” The metal stirring spoon rebounded off the sink and took a bite out of the kitchen wall. The real Tracy Sequaptewa? She glared at…

Gifts of the Spirit

Brother Rice, the first counselor, says the bishop thinks the young people might be more responsive to someone who, oh, speaks a little more their language. Then he smiles, hands me the Sunday school manual,…

The Seduction of H. Lyman Winger

There were times, especially lately, when he wondered if he were doing any real good—any human good—other than keeping the Mt. Taylor 2nd Ward safely afloat and on course. Maybe it was the weather. Monsoon…

Pioneers

My wife, Freida, could have worked for Cecil B. DeMille or Steven Spielberg, given her cast-of-thousands knack for the spectacular. Take to night, for instance. In the name of fellowshipping, and to beef up our…

The Last Code Talker

DZEH-NESH-CHEE-AH-NAH-TSIN-TLITI-TSAH-AS-ZIH. Elk-Nut-Eye-Match-Yucca. His grandfather used to say the bilagaanas always come in twos. The first time he was barely five years old, playing on a sand dune near their hogan west of Valley Store. He…

Letters to the Editor

David Timmins, A Neglected Chronicler
Kirk D. Hagen, Science/Religion Complement
Susanne Müller-Schröter, Praise from Afar
Michael Fillerup, Celestial Sex?

In a Better Country

But now they desire a better country, that is, an heavenly home . . . Heb. 11:16 “You don’t have to go,” she whispered, the morning grogginess in her voice betraying an urgency that was…