(Continued from The Missing Peter Solis Nery)
I HAVE two other short stories published in Yuhum, and one illustrated story, the komiks type. Illustrated by Art Gerochi.
The komiks story is called Iwag Sang Mga Iput-iput.
I don’t think I have the original Yuhum copy, but I have photocopied the pages from a private collection.
It is somewhere in my baul of early, and mostly unpublished, writings.
*
One of my two other short stories is one of my first real gay lit.
I think it’s called Ambahanon Sang Kataw. I’m not sure. I have to consult my baul of early writings in Dumangas.
I remember that I wrote in the song Part Of Your World in my story. So it must be circa 1990.
In that time long ago, American movies are released in the Philippines months later, not simultaneous with, their American premiere.
It’s the half missing Peter Solis Nery.
*
I mean, I have several pages of the original manuscript.
I don’t know where the missing pages are.
And I’m not sure if I have a copy of the Yuhum issue where it is published.
But I remember that it’s about two young men (in their twenties like me at that time of writing) cruising each other along JM Basa Street of downtown Iloilo after one of them watched Disney’s The Little Mermaid in Allegro Theatre, which is really the cinema duplex Allegro and Riviera.
*
Imagine two young men passing each other at certain stops from Allegro on Iznart Street, to China Arts and Newpost Supply on JM Basa, to Regent Theatre near the Freedom Grandstand.
Staring. Ogling. Shy, furtive glances. The excitement of being seen.
The thrill of knowing you have been seen.
And those places! Oh, they are gone.
Those times are gone.
And I have lived those experiences.
*
I was young and restless once, too, you know.
But I was too young and too shy to pick up men/boys.
I wanted to be possessed then.
Perhaps very much.
But I was too proud to f*ck.
Too much in denial.
So I stayed a virgin until I was 30.
*
I think the other story is called Bayu Nga Pula.
It’s a Christmas story stolen from The Match Girl.
Someone had to die to get that story moving.
It was easy for me to kill off my characters at that time.
Today, I seldom kill my characters.
I think that when characters die, the storyteller just got lazy.
I probably would cringe if you read that story in public today.
But hey, there were editors who chose to publish it.
Must have been good for its time.
*
Second question from the message sender:
“What inspires you to write?”
In the beginning, it was the pride and excitement of seeing my name in print.
Bragging rights.
Everybody can tell a story.
Everybody can try to write.
But not everybody can get published.
*
I mean, there are editors and publishers that choose which stories are worthy to be published.
You must serve their taste.
And believe that their taste is informed.
You must trust that they know what they’re doing since they’re managing their business.
And they probably are in the business long enough to know.
Know what the public wants.
What the public buys.
*
So yeah, I wrote for those gods of publishing.
And then, I started winning prizes.
Most notably the Palanca Awards for my stories.
And later for my plays and poetry.
And then, I wrote for newspapers, which could not afford to pay me.
So they gave me blanket authority on everything I do for their papers.
*
If I’m not paid enough, I get to say what I want to say.
That’s my deal.
And I get away with it.
Because I am pretty good.
I’m interesting, shameless, and I understand the power of words.
I call a spade a spade; and a dick, a dick.
*
I also write ‘your anus’ as Uranus to be funny.
I invent names and terms like ‘buy sexual’ and ‘try sexual’.
And nobody ever sues me!
I’m an ass.
I mean, an asset to any newspaper.
*
I can write well.
And I’m basically free (as far as cost to them).
And I have the balls to write what naughtiness you can only secretly think of.
And because I say it ahead of anyone, people think I’m a most original thinker.
I’m a ballsy original.
I am an original. Period.
*
From 2000 to about 2006, I was pretty powerful as a newspaper personality in Iloilo.
I mean, I was always different. But respected for it.
Because I have developed my own readership.
And I’m not in any politician’s payola.
I mean, I’m not writing to advance politicians and their corrupt ambitions.
And they know I cannot be bought.
I was too literary.
Too artsy.
Too independent-minded.
(To be continued as The National Artist Talks) (500tinaga@gmail.com/PN)
