Tagatac, Again

It is truly surprising, if not revelatory, how writers feel something — a flash, an intuition, something absorbed from the general cultural and social milieu.  Have dear blog readers noticed that, at certain points in literary history, there will be a sudden efflorescence of writing about —

  • Zombies?  Vampires?
  • Independent women homesteaders in the Far West?
  • Civil War widows?

From all different corners of this country?

How about this coincidence:  Self just finished writing a story about a supernatural sighting, and she happens to stumble across an old issue of the Chautauqua Literary Journal (2005), and she reads a story by Geronimo Tagatac, and darn if it isn’t so eerily reminiscent of her own!  Not in terms of the language, which is so uniquely Tagatac’s own, but in terms of the way he deals with a “supernatural” sighting.

Self quoted the first paragraph of this story, “What Comes After Nineteen,” a few posts back.  It begins thus:

When she looked up, the guy was standing there, on her side of San Pablo, holding a cardboard sign that proclaimed, “East.”  He had the easy look that her father had when he appeared to her, three days after his funeral on a Berkeley street.

A few sentences later:

“I’m going to Boulder,” she yelled at him.

“Okay to put the pack in the back seat?”

“Door’s open,” she replied, wondering what a dead man needed with such a large backpack.

And, since it is after midnight, self will just have to give her brain a rest and go to bed.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

Friday Evening, the Burbs (September 2012)

Self and The Man had the typical American Friday evening supper :  beef pho, the cheapest in all of Redwood City.  Somewhere on Woodside Road.  Never mind the address.  It’s next to a nail salon.  There’s a Subway in the back.

On the wall, just above self’s head, there’s a framed poster, some kind of manifesto about what makes America such a great country.

Self would like to divulge that she and The Man engaged in some suitably intellectual conversation, such as about Barack Obama’s speech accepting his party’s nomination for president, but all The Man could dredge up was a complaint about how few pieces of beef were actually in his pho (Self was having spring rolls, an appetizer.  Considering that it was only 5:30, and she and old chum Joanne had just enjoyed a very late lunch at The Left Bank in Menlo Park, and parted around 3 p.m., it’s a wonder self could even bring herself to ingest anything more)

Then we watched Colbert and Stewart (who always seem so much funnier when it’s an election year).  Self was howling during Colbert’s segment with former New Mexico governor Bill Richardson (Check out the flip in Richardson’s hair!!!)

Self can hardly believe it:  On Eric D. Snider’s movie review blog, there is actually a positive review of an Orlando Bloom performance (B+ for “The Good Doctor”).

The Man is out walking the Decrepit One.  He’s taking her two blocks, to the corner.  Will take approximately 45 minutes.  Hence, the opportunity to post.

This Sunday is the 49ers NFL debut performance.  Can hardly wait.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

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