Robert Mangeot lives in Franklin, Tennessee with his wife, a gray cat, and this other ginger cat with plans all her own.
His work appears in various anthologies and journals, including Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, Lowestoft Chronicle, The Oddville Press, and in the print anthologies Mystery Writers of America Presents Ice Cold: Tales of Intrigue from the Cold War, Intrepid Travelers, the Anthony-winning Murder Under the Oaks, and Other Places. His work was named a finalist for the Derringer Awards and also won contests sponsored by the Chattanooga Writers’ Guild, On The Premises, and Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers. He proudly serves as president for the Middle Tennessee Chapter of Sisters in Crime. He teaches short fiction and will happily debate its whethers over beverages of choice. When not writing, he can be found counting things or wandering the snack food aisles of America or France.
Or I could tell you:
Skidding into our world half-Irish and half-Southern, clearly some brush with writing was inevitable. So it was. Skidding into Louisville not so far really from Churchill Downs, I fight working in horses. Also part-French, and this part has come Mais oui, the fiction brush would come with savoir vivre. In my college days I wrote a humor column and some this-and-thats, but not much thereafter. I was counting things and wandering snack food aisles. Eventually This Whole Writing Thing rediscovered me, and I’ve been fortunate enough to have work appear in some excellent places.
I love all things dog, and many stories were crafted with not horses but a trusty Pomeranian nearby. Lately cats have discovered my lap. I’m fine with that so long as they keep the claws in, damn the Bond-villain parallels. Maybe I’m cool with it because of that. Blofeld is Albert Broccoli cool, that’s what I’m saying. Blofeld would be cooler with a dog, though. A Pomeranian.
I dig the English Premier League, University of Louisville athletics, Dashiell Hammett, poetry, most any kind of music, and whatever sparks my French and Irish heritage. I can name the starting nine for the 1970s Big Red Machine and many of the subs. Merv Rettenmund. Ed Armbrister. Ooh, Mike Lum! I graduated from Bellarmine University–go, Knights–and they haven’t tried to retract it or anything. So everyone seems cool with that.
One time they asked me to count a colorless and odorless gas. And I did it. Another time they had me counting mock turtlenecks in subzero warehouse conditions. Once for several weeks I was a ular on television–auditing the nightly Lotto drawing. Such was my brush with stardom.
My other great joy is travel, which often seeps into my stories. Look for me in a Belgian friterie or a Caribbean market or in any international snack food aisle. Otherwise I’m at a Target shopping for chips or killer dialogue.