welcome
The earliest story I can remember writing was when I was in about second grade. The story (illustrated) was about a leprechaun who lived in a pantry. I also kept a diary. I moved on to rhymed poetry for some reason and then made the jump to short stories. Then I moved on to scripts and novels.
For me, writing something is more than telling a story. It's also about the challenge of orchestration. Ultimately, though, I think that writing makes me ask important questions to and of myself. This feels like a position of strength, and it's certainly interesting. So I keep writing.
For me, writing something is more than telling a story. It's also about the challenge of orchestration. Ultimately, though, I think that writing makes me ask important questions to and of myself. This feels like a position of strength, and it's certainly interesting. So I keep writing.
praise
Mantel's book is an ambitious one and it belongs in the realm of great regional writers such as William Faulkner and Wright Morris.
—The Minneapolis Star Tribune |
elemental: a novel in stories
Elemental spans six decades and follows the struggles of two white families and several Lakota women. Besides sharing a location, which is mainly North Dakota, these characters are tied together by loss and grief and by their fearless journey into both everyday horrors and the mystical. Their world is one where children appear and disappear, where recent friends immediately grow apart, and where mental illness steals minds.
These stories explore the transformative and often destructive power of the mind, the devastating effects of violence, and the workings of the undead.
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about the author
A word or two about Tara. 
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news
Tara's writings in the news. 
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the only reason i'm here
Some nonfiction work. 
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haiku for the disillusionedFrom "Tranquil(ized)" |
Saintly sliding glass
undulates blue calm, buoyant bungalows, two faced. more |
Excerpt
From "Confessions" Pushcart Prize honorable mention |
1. Breath
I watch the dead, but not in the way you might think: that is, as spirits, as cold-cloud entities hovering in the corners of rooms said to be haunted, or as they appear in horror films—gray-blue zombies hobbling rancidly down abandoned urban streets or in moonlit cornfields. Rather, I watch the ni of my old and sick ones break down and lose its vitality. I watch until the ni cannot keep wrong thoughts away, until they swirl down from the mind to the soul, already hollowed, as if awaiting them. In time I watch the ni, the strong ghost, move on and up and away; sometimes this happens before my eyes—my sweetie in a bed or on a couch or even a wicker chair on some porch. When it’s over, I take the time to watch the body not breathe. The first last breath I saw was that of a man, drawn in deeply, with gusto, and released through the top of his head. This breath was the color of a ripe cherry and I held it in my hand for exactly three seconds. more |
Excerpt
From "Woman Walks into a Bar" |
Woman walks into a bar. Woman walks into a bar, removes gloves, reveals slender fingers, healthy cuticles, strong tendons. Woman walks into a bar, removes gloves, walks along the bar, leather bag hits her hip, wool coat brushes her ankles, woman sits by a fake fireplace. Woman removes coat and scarf, drapes them over a chair. Woman walks into a bar, looks around as if she hasn’t been here before.
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excerpt
"Hamlet, CEO"
In this re-imagined Shakespeare tragedy, all is still tragic. Guy can't catch a break.
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excerpt
A Stranger in a Famed Land
From a book-length satire on the American workplace, told as a conte philosophique, or philosophical tale, in the style of Voltaire.
more
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excerpt
"Buddha letters"
From a batch of lesser-known writings of Siddhartha Gautama.
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