{"id":72,"date":"2013-10-08T02:22:00","date_gmt":"2013-10-08T02:22:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/robertmangeot.com\/?p=72"},"modified":"2016-03-25T02:55:12","modified_gmt":"2016-03-25T02:55:12","slug":"behind-short-story-carcassonne-dream","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/robertmangeot.com\/?p=72","title":{"rendered":"Behind: “The Carcassonne Dream”"},"content":{"rendered":"

It is winter. Christmas Eve 2011<\/a>, and Writer Guy rides the train to Arles<\/a>. Second class. The South of France trundles by outside, salt flats and olive\u00a0trees,\u00a0the mountainside and harbor towns of the Mediterranean coast. I sip my Coca-Cola Lite and return to my laptop.<\/p>\n

For in France the writing flows, as\u00a0fast as the sweeping wind <\/a>is vicious. I plan a\u00a0collection, short stories set in different French locales, and the first idea has begun to spill out.<\/p>\n

It is about a guy in Provence. On a train. In winter.<\/p>\n

Such is my\u00a0premise. Six words nearly bring the Coca-Cola Lite out my nose: \u201cFrance Is Running Out of Sandwiches!\u201d<\/p>\n

Travel in France and you\u2019ll discover that the sandwich is no longer\u00a0a humble snack\u00a0but a lunchtime and cultural staple<\/a>. High streets are awash in boulangeries,\u00a0charcuteries, bodegas, sandwich counters. That next ham and cheese on crusty bread is never more than a few steps away.<\/p>\n

But what if it wasn\u2019t?<\/p>\n

The train chugs along, cutting inland, though farmland and salt marshes<\/a>. If the French countryside approves, it grants me no signal.<\/p>\n

First, Short Story Guy must ignore easy disaster spoof ideas and find the land of theme. The characters and words\u00a0start and stop and redirect, but more and more I see a thematic channel. What if the sandwich, civilization at its handheld pinnacle, represented the whole big set of compromises and institutions and general everyday that make up civilized living? What if my absurdist, minor disaster\u2014a mysterious shortage of bread and sandwich fillers\u2014questioned how thin the veneer of civilization can be?<\/p>\n

Yes. Short Story Guy would skewer the essence and\u00a0contradictions of civilization in 2,500 words. Or less.<\/p>\n

The train approaches Arles. I have 1,344 words, a weird old man and a major problem: clarity. My thematic goal is somewhat ambitious. I see that now. Worse, as happens too often, the midpoint comes, goes and fizzles. My story is stuck and sinking as surely as Short Story Guy would lost in the marshland out my window. I console myself with wine and sandwiches. Arles is bright and sunny, but so very, very windy.<\/p>\n

I put \u201cSandwiches\u201d aside. On the train to Paris, Short Story Guy writes about, well, Paris<\/a>.<\/p>\n

THE INGLORIOUS RETURN<\/b><\/h6>\n

It is May in Tennessee. The trees have the vibrant green of young leaves. A creative bolt jars Short Story Guy from his sleep\u2014how to finish the sandwich story.\u00a0 The crisis must escalate to its zenith of absurdity: the rise of mob government, a la French Revolution, and an assault on the last bastions of the elite.<\/p>\n

I write it.<\/p>\n

Hours and Diet Cokes later, it\u2019s not bad. Dan is lunkheadedly funny, with Bree as his straight person. The story weaves the old man and the Mistral in better now, and it\u2019s weirdly effective.<\/p>\n

O, Short Story Guy, you magnificent bastard. Civilization skewered in 2,300 words. Well within my \u201cor less\u201d criteria.<\/p>\n

I submit \u201cSandwiches!\u201d for an On The Premises <\/a>contest.<\/p>\n

Rejection.<\/p>\n

THE LEAN MONTHS<\/b><\/h6>\n

It is August. Summer presses its humidity on the broad leaves. Short Story Guy stares at the computer screen, at the sandwiches idea. The OTP critique calls it well-crafted, but believes the story takes its premise too seriously. \u201cFunny weird,\u201d they call it.\u00a0 \u201cBut not bleak enough for bleak comedy.\u201d A comedy missing the punch lines.<\/p>\n

Short Story Guy sighs and slugs back a Diet Coke. \u201cBut it\u2019s about sandwiches,\u201d I say to thin air.<\/p>\n

Having a well-crafted but weird story, I submit it two more places open to the weirdly well-crafted.<\/p>\n

Rejection.<\/p>\n

THE RE-PURPOSING<\/b><\/h6>\n

It is November. Approaching winter strips leaves from the trees. Short Story Guy sits in the writing chair, ruing the sandwiches idea and its epic freeze.<\/p>\n

I take the story to my critique group. The stakes are high; it is my first offering. \u201cWell,\u201d they say nicely, \u201chere\u2019s your problem\u2026\u201d And they list out the problems, nicely:<\/p>\n

1)\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The narration doesn\u2019t ring true. Dan sounds too omniscient, too knowledgeable. Where is the tourist of moderate intelligence?<\/p>\n

2)\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Dan wanders too much and too passively. He needs to pursue a mission in Carcassonne. A raison d\u2019etre, s\u2019il vous plait. It wasn\u2019t missing punch lines; \u201cSandwiches\u201d was a premise and setting waiting for Dan and Bree to step forward.<\/p>\n

Short Story Guy is inspired.<\/p>\n

THE CREATURE THAT ATE MY STORY<\/b><\/h6>\n

It is December, Christmas again. Amid barren trees\u00a0doze the\u00a0evergreens, some festooned in lighting. In a burst of raw\u00a0creativity, in one day I transform the story:<\/p>\n